North POV

Panic was useless.

It clouded the mind, dulled the senses, and gave power to the wrong hands. Johan wanted that from me—wanted to see cracks in the mask, the fear behind my defiance.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

So I lay still. Breathing slow. Focused.

My wrists throbbed against the cuffs. The metal wasn’t standard issue—he’d had these made. Reinforced leather, steel-core cuffs bolted to the headboard. The kind used to restrain something dangerous. Or something precious.

I took in the room again. Every detail.

Silk sheets. Rug over the marble floors. No visible surveillance cameras, but there was a low mechanical hum from the far wall. Hidden tech. Motion sensors? Maybe heat trackers. Johan always had an obsession with control. He wouldn’t rely on just chains.

He thought I’d stay down.

That was his mistake.

I tested the cuffs again. Not brute force—angles. Rotation. A flex of fingers, a shift of muscle. Slow progress. One wrist had slightly more slack. Barely, but enough to work with if I could dislocate—no. Not yet. That’d leave me slower later.

My gaze slid to the nightstand.

Glass. Whiskey. A lighter.

Close, but not close enough.

Still, it told me something.

Johan wasn’t afraid to leave things within reach. Arrogance. Or obsession. Or both.

He thought I wouldn’t try to escape.

That I wouldn’t dare.

He didn’t know me anymore.

Let him think I’m broken. Let him believe the chains worked. The more he thinks I’ve surrendered, the easier it’ll be to make my move.

I pulled at the cuff again.

Felt something—one of the screws holding the leather strap was looser. A half millimeter of shift, but I felt it. Not enough to break free now, but if I could work at it—slowly, without making noise—

The door creaked open.

I froze. Breathing even.

Johan stepped in with a tray. His shirt sleeves rolled up. A faint smirk on his face.

“You’re quiet today,” he said, walking toward the bed.

I didn’t answer.

He set the tray on the nightstand. Soup. Toast. Water laced with something, I’d bet.

“You need your strength.”

“For what?” I asked.

He smiled. “For me.”

I stared at him, voice cold. “This isn’t love.”

“No,” he agreed, and there was no mockery in his tone. “This is ownership.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you were blind.”

He leaned in, brushing my hair back.

I didn’t flinch.

Let him touch me. Let him think the fire was gone.

When he turned away to light a cigarette, my eyes snapped to the tray. Metal spoon. Fork missing. Smart. But the spoon’s edge was bent, dull, not enough to cut—but maybe enough to use.

He turned back, cigarette lit, watching me.

I held his gaze. “What do you want, Johan?”

“You,” he said simply. “Without lies. Without missions. Without the nation between us.”

“You were the mission.”

“And now the mission’s over. That means I can finally have you without the pretense.”

I didn’t reply.

He stood there for a long time. Watching me like I was both trophy and threat. Then he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

I counted to sixty.

Then I moved.

My fingers twisted toward the cuff again. This time, slower. Deliberate. I pushed against the looser screw. Pressure. Torque. My nail chipped. Blood beaded beneath the edge. But I kept pushing.

Every second he was gone, I used.

No panic.

No fear.

Just calculation.

Just the sound of my own heartbeat and the clock on the wall.

This wasn’t over.

He wanted the man he thought he could keep in a cage.

But he forgot one thing.

I don’t break.

I escape.

And when I do, I don’t come back empty-handed.

I come back with fire.

The screw finally gave.

It slid free with a near-silent click, dropping onto the mattress beneath me like a medal earned. I didn't move right away. Didn't breathe too loud. Just stared at the ceiling, letting the rush of adrenaline pass through me like a current.

One wrist free.

The other would take time. Too long.

But I didn’t need both.

I sat up slowly, suppressing the hiss of pain that came from moving my sore muscles too quickly. I hadn't had a real meal in days. My body was screaming, but my mind remained locked.

Focused.

Sharp.

I twisted the spoon from the tray. Bent it with both hands until it snapped in half. Crude, but pointed. Enough to jab. To distract. Not to kill, but to buy seconds.

I slipped the broken end into the waistline of my pants and moved for the door.

Locked. Of course.

But I knew this room’s layout now. Johan might’ve renovated the aesthetic, but the bones were the same.

Behind the curtains—an old maintenance access panel.

I ripped it open.

Just big enough for someone thin, desperate, and willing to bruise their way through metal.

Me.

I crawled through the ductwork, breathing as shallow as possible, arms straining. Every muscle screamed. My vision swam. But I kept going. Silence my only ally.

The vent opened into the east wing hall—just like I remembered.

I dropped, rolled silently, and stood.

Two guards at the stairwell. Armed. Relaxed.

They didn’t see me.

Good.

I turned down the hallway, heading toward the backup elevator used by service staff. I knew Johan wouldn’t let me out the main way. But this one? This one might still be linked to the old security keypads.

Almost there—

“Leaving so soon, Commander?”

The voice stopped me cold.

I turned sharply.

Tiger.

Blocking the corridor like a wall of muscle and quiet menace. His expression unreadable.

“How long have you been tailing me?” I asked.

Tiger raised an eyebrow. “Since you started picking at the cuffs. Johan said you would. He bet on tonight.”

I cursed under my breath.

Of course he knew.

Of course this was part of the game.

“You gonna drag me back?” I asked.

Tiger didn’t answer. Just raised a small black comm in his hand. “He’s ready.”

Two more guards flanked me from behind. I tensed, ready to lunge, to stab, to claw if I had to—but Tiger raised a hand.

“Don’t. Just don’t. It’ll only piss him off.”

I gritted my teeth.

And let them take me.

The hallway to Johan’s study was lit with amber sconces. Warm. Elegant. Deceptive.

Like the man waiting behind the double doors.

They opened with a quiet hiss.

And there he was.

Johan Armani. Leaning back in his chair behind a dark walnut desk, a tumbler of something aged and dangerous in his hand, and a knowing look in his eyes.

“You’re early,” he said, voice smooth. “I thought you’d wait until the weekend.”

I didn’t speak.

He gestured lazily toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I remained standing.

His smile didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened—more pleased than annoyed. “Still resisting. Good. I was worried the room would break you too fast.”

“You were watching.”

“I always watch, North.” He sipped his drink. “That’s the difference between us. You’re trained to anticipate threats. I raise them.”

I took a step closer. “So what now? Punishment?”

Johan tilted his head. “No, not punishment. Just understanding.”

“You chained me to a bed.”

“And you plotted an escape the second you could lift a spoon. That’s what I love about you,” he said with a grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “You never disappoint.”

“I’m not yours to love,” I spat.

He stood then.

Walked around the desk. Every step deliberate.

“You’re wrong,” he said softly. “You’ve always been mine. Even when you were lying to me. Even when you put a bullet in me and walked away like it meant nothing.”

He was inches from me now.

“I watched your betrayal on a loop for six months, North. And you know what I realized?”

I stared back, unmoving.

“That I loved you more than I hated you.”

His voice was calm. Steady. Chilling.

“I’ve stripped away the lies. The operations. The disguises. You’re not here as a spy. You’re here as you. And me? I’m the only one who sees that.”

He touched my chin.

I didn’t flinch.

But my jaw locked like steel.

“You belong here,” he whispered.

I met his gaze, cold and cutting. “You don’t own me.”

“No,” he said softly. “But I’ll never stop trying.”

He nodded to Tiger, who took a step forward.

“Take him back to the bedroom,” Johan said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

As they pulled me away, Johan’s voice followed—lazy, amused, and deeply satisfied:

“Don’t worry, North. You’re not a prisoner.”

“Just a very, very well-guarded possession.”