21. Vogue

My head pulseswith every beat of my heart. I pry my eyes open, but everything's a blur. I blink fast and hard, trying to clear the fog that's settled over my vision. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting a weak light that does little to chase away the shadows lurking in the corners of the room.

The air smells stale, like dampness and old dust. I lift my head slightly, my neck stiff as if I've been out for hours. The effort sends a spike of pain through my skull, and I groan, easing back down onto what feels like a thin mattress. A clinking sound stops me short. My wrists are chained. Cold metal encircles them, anchored to the metal headboard of this narrow, disgusting bed. Panic flutters in my chest. I tug at the chains, the metal links rattling against the metal with an ominous sound. They don't give. Not even a little.

Fuck.

Fear is a thick blanket smothering my thoughts. I'm chained to a bed in some basement, alone. There are no windows or doors that I can see, just bare walls and darkness. It's like something out of a nightmare, except I'm awake, and this is real.

I give the chains a more desperate tug this time. The bite of the cold metal against my skin is all the answer I get. My heart races, my breaths come too quick, and I force myself to stop, to take slower, deeper breaths. Going hysterical won't help me.

I'm terrified right now and angry. Angry at the father I never met, whose world has finally caught up to me.

This isn't Westfield; this is the big leagues. I need to be smart about this and find a way out. But first, I have to figure out why I'm here and who's done this to me.

There are muffled voices and then the sound of a key in a lock. In my state of panic, I slam my eyes shut, my heart hammering against my ribs. I can't let them know I'm awake. I can't. Not yet. I need a second to regroup and get my head straight.

"Looks like Sleeping Beauty is still out." The voice rumbles through the room, deep and gravelly.

"Maybe you hit her too hard with that shit," says another voice, this one sharp and quick like a whip crack. "We need her in one piece."

"Relax. She's tougher than she looks." There's a pause, then the sound of someone coming closer. "Besides, we need her conscious for the message to her old man."

I keep my breathing even, my body limp. I have to nail this act because if they suspect I'm awake, I have no doubt these guys will make good on whatever threat they're hinting at.

"Her father's going to flip when he finds out we got his princess," Sharpie snickers. "The Crowned Syndicate isn't so untouchable after all."

"Shut it," Gravels snaps. "This is bigger than taunting old enemies. Crestmont University is the key, and she's how we get it."

Crestmont. That word jolts through me like electricity. What do they want with the university? And what does my father have to do with any of this, apart from the obvious point of being involved in this shit up to the top of his head, never mind his neck?

"Once we're done here," Gravels continues, "the Black Vipers' flag will fly over that campus, and everyone will know we run this city now."

"Exactly." Sharpie's voice is closer now, his presence like a shadow over me. "The Crowned Syndicate's time is up, starting with their little heiress."

Everything in me screams to react, but I can't. I have to stay still and play the part for now because sometimes, the best chance of survival is just to lie still and wait for the perfect moment to strike back.

I fight the urge to shiver. My mind races, trying to piece together how deep in the crap I really am. Crestmont University—my university—is apparently a chess piece in some sick game between The Crowned Syndicate and these Black Vipers creeps, and here I am, tied up in the middle of it, thanks to the father I never knew. His world is swallowing mine whole.

"Think she's gonna wake up soon?" Gravel's voice cuts through the silence, grating on my nerves.

"Give her time," Sharpie replies, his voice low and steady. "She's not going anywhere."

Their footsteps move closer, and I sense them looming over me. I keep my eyes shut tight, my breathing shallow. It's like I'm walking a tightrope, any slip and I'm done for.

"Seems pretty out of it, though." There's a pause. "You sure she's just knocked out?"

"Check her pulse," Sharpie orders.

I feel a rough finger press against my neck, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. Play it cool, Vogue. You can't screw this up.

"Steady," Gravels confirms, pulling away. "She's alive."

There's relief in his voice, but I can't tell if it's because he cares about my wellbeing or because I'm more useful to them breathing. Probably the latter.

"Good. We'll wait." It sounds like Sharpie is the kind of guy who's used to getting what he wants when he wants it—the kind you don't cross unless you've got a death wish.

My brain is working overtime, searching for a way out. But with every second that ticks by, the danger gets more real. If I can't find a way to turn this situation around, it's not just my life on the line—it's everyone back at Crestmont, by the sounds of it, and that's a responsibility I can't afford to mess up.

Deciding I need to get with it and show them I'm alert and not taking any shit, my eyes flutter open—my act, rehearsed in the shadows of fear. I'm back among the living, or so it seems to them.

"Look who's finally waking up." Gravel's voice is a low rumble, a rolling thunder promising a storm.

"About time," Sharpie adds, shifting his weight from one foot to another like he's ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

I keep my breathing even, my face slack. But inside, my mind races, darting from plan to plan. The chains are solid, no give, but even if I could get out of them, I'd never make it to the door alive.

"What do you want?" I rasp.

Sharpie smirks. "No more shit." He steps closer, his presence looming over me like a dark cloud. "Your father's empire has been a thorn in our side for too long. Crestmont University is ripe for the taking, and with you as leverage, we'll have The Crowned Syndicate by the balls."

"Delusional much?" I bite back. Survival demands boldness. "You think you can just walk into Crestmont and take over? My father's legacy isn't some low-hanging fruit for scavengers." Well, I mean, I don't think it is. What do I know?

"Legacy?" he laughs, a sharp, barking sound. "That's one word for it. We prefer ‘target'. And with you here, we've got the perfect bait."

"You do know I have zero clue who he is, right? Like literally. If he walked in here, I wouldn't recognise him. What makes you think he'll care if you've taken me? He didn't care when he walked out on me before I was even born."

He nods, eyes cold and calculating. "Oh, he cares, bitch. But every empire falls. Yours will be no different. Crestmont, The Crowned Syndicate—they'll all crumble, and we'll be there to pick up the pieces."

"Good luck with that," I say, but my mouth is dry. They mean business, and they're not afraid to get their hands dirty.

"Let's see how long that bravado lasts," Gravels warns, a cruel edge to his smile.

"I'm not just some pawn you can bargain with. I'm nobody," I spit out.

Their laughter echoes off the walls, but I don't flinch.

My breath hitches, the cold edge of a blade presses against my cheek, just under my eye. I freeze, every muscle tensed, but inside, I'm all fire and fight.

"Still think you're not a pawn?" Gravels' sneer is inches from my face, his grip around my throat tight enough to warn, not enough to choke. His eyes are hard, gleaming in the dim light like a predator's.

The taste of fear is bitter on my tongue, but I won't let it control me. This room, these chains—they're just another obstacle. My mother taught me to tackle them head-on, one at a time, never backing down.

My mother who lied and went behind my back. But still, she knew what she was talking about when it came to surviving.

"Watch your mouth, girl," Sharpie warns, pacing behind Gravels like an anxious shadow. He's nervous, I can tell by the jittery energy rolling off him. But Gravels is a stone—cold and remorseless.

"Or what? You'll kill me?" I challenge, locking my jaw, ready for whatever comes next. "That would ruin your grand plan, wouldn't it?"

Sharpie's eyes narrow, the threat in them as clear as the blade he wields. The metal glints, a sliver of danger so close I can almost feel its bite.

"Maybe we just need to soften you up a bit," he murmurs, tilting the knife so it catches the light, casting shadows across his face.

"Go to hell," I manage, even as my heart races. Panic is not an option—not if I want to get out of this alive.

"Enough," Sharpie suddenly interjects, grabbing Gravels' arm. "We got what we came for; let's not screw this up."

"Fine." He pulls back, sheathing the knife somewhere I can't see. "But if she tries anything?—"

"She won't," Sharpie cuts him off, but then he pauses, his gaze shifting to something beyond my line of sight. "Get some rest, Vogue," he says mockingly. "You'll need it."