Chapter 50:
I woke to silence.
Not darkness—order.
A single overhead light hummed softly. My wrists weren't bound, but the chair beneath me was bolted to the floor. Cold metal. Industrial. Clean enough to feel intentional.
I tested my strength.
The room didn't react.
Then footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Unhurried—like time itself had decided to walk.
Aren stepped into the light.
No jacket this time. Shirt sleeves rolled, watch visible, expression almost… polite. As if we were about to negotiate over wine instead of my freedom.
"You recover fast," he said, pulling a chair and sitting across from me.
I didn't answer.
He placed a thin black folder on the table between us and slid it forward.
"This," he said, tapping it once, "is Phase Two."
I flipped it open.
And the world tilted.
Marriage Contract.
My name.His name.Legal clauses. Confidentiality. Duration. Control.
I laughed—sharp, disbelieving. "You've lost your mind."
Aren watched me like a scientist observing a reaction.
"No," he said calmly. "I've calculated."
I shoved the folder back at him. "I will never—"
He leaned forward.
That was when the gentleness left his eyes.
"I'm being courteous," Aren said softly. "This time."
My spine went cold.
"You don't get to own me," I snapped. "You don't get to cage me with a signature."
He straightened, unfazed. "I don't want ownership, Lyra. I want distance."
"From what?"
His lips curved—not a smile.
"From Kieller."
I stood—or tried to.
Pain exploded through my leg, weakness dragging me back into the chair. Aren didn't move to help.
"You sign," he continued, voice level, "you disappear from his board, his war, his plans. You live. Quietly."
"And if I don't?"
His eyes darkened, just slightly.
"Then next time," he said, "I won't be gentle."
I grabbed the folder and tore it in half.
Then punched him.
The fight was ugly.
No elegance. No rules.
I went for his throat; he blocked, twisted, slammed me into the table. I kicked, connected, felt bone. He staggered—but didn't fall.
He was stronger than last time.
Or maybe I was tired.
Aren caught my wrist mid-strike, yanked me forward, and drove his elbow into my ribs. Air left my lungs in a violent gasp. I tasted blood.
"Enough," he growled.
I headbutted him.
The room spun.
His fist connected with my temple.
The floor rushed up—
And darkness followed.
Voices pulled me back—not sight, not strength.
Sound.
A phone ringing.
Aren's voice, distant. Controlled.
Then—
Kieller.
Sharp. Furious. Terrified.
"Don't you dare touch her," Kieller snapped through the speaker. "She's out of the business. Why her?"
Aren exhaled slowly.
"Because," he replied coldly, "I want her out of your plan to harm her."
Silence.
Then Kieller, lower. Dangerous."You're crossing a line."
Aren's answer was calm enough to be cruel.
"I already crossed it the day you made her a target."
Something inside me cracked.
The voices blurred. The room faded.
And this time—
I didn't fight the dark.
I let it take me.