Silvia's POV
How dare he think he can hold me here and expect me to beg? I might not be able to fight physically, but I can still defend myself. It may not last long, but it'll buy me a few minutes. Besides, I know he can't kill me—he's too prissy to risk jail time. So either he's planning to give me away or sell me. Probably the latter.
That prick. I hope he drops dead.
He wipes my spit off his face, his eyes darkening with anger. Without warning, his hand lashes out, slapping me—*hard*. My head snaps to the side. The sting on my cheek is immediate, searing, and I taste the familiar metallic tang of blood on my tongue. I've never hated anyone more than I hate him right now.
But I refuse to give him the satisfaction. So, I laugh in his face.
"You hit like a little bitch."
He growls, low and menacing—like a puppy trying to sound tough. It's almost cute, really. He can pretend to be big, but he's nothing but a little pup with too much bark and no bite.
He slaps me again. And again. Over and over until the chair tips over, sending me crashing to the floor. Something inside me cracks. I don't know what, but the pain is agonizing, and my body screams for me to curl up and cry. But I can't—not yet.
Just as he's about to raise his foot to continue his assault, the doorbell rings.
*Ding dong.*
He freezes, looking between the door and me. Without a word, he pulls me upright and brushes the dust and blood off me like I'm a broken toy that just needs polishing.
"This is only the beginning of your miserable end," he sneers, his lips curling into a sick, twisted smile.
"You won't get away with this," I promise, my voice raw and defiant. "I swear you won't."
He laughs, the sound dark and hollow. "I already have."
He strides toward the door, and when it swings open, in walks a tall woman. She's stunning—legs for days, a waist so tiny it seems sculpted, and skin that glows as if polished by the finest oils. Her face is flawless, eyes accentuated with smoky eyeliner, lips painted in a bold red. She radiates power, and there's something hauntingly familiar about her.
"Well, isn't she lovely," the woman purrs as she steps inside. Her eyes linger on me, and I force myself to stay silent. I don't know who she is or what she wants, but I need to hear what they're planning before I make any move. Thank God this idiot didn't bother to search me—I still have my phone. The fool tied me up but left me with the one tool that could save me.
"Why'd you rough her up like that?" she chides, glancing at Drake. "You know he needs her in perfect condition for the takeover."
Takeover? Great. So I'm being sold, just as I thought. But to whom? And for what?
I need answers. "Who are you? One of his flings? Are you here to sell me off so you can ride into the sunset together?"
I'm proud that my voice doesn't shake. I sound confident—unafraid. Even though my insides are screaming.
The woman smirks and steps closer, producing a knife seemingly out of nowhere.
"Wow. A magician who kills," I quip, sarcasm my only weapon.
Her smile widens. "Oh, honey, I almost pity you. You really are beautiful, and if it weren't for my job, I would've shown you what it means to be with someone like me. You're exactly my type." She pauses, eyes gleaming. "But this is for the greater good. Your sacrifice will help build the perfect rule."
Before I can process her words, she raises the knife to my throat. The blade is so sharp that just being near it nicks my skin. The pain is immediate, far worse than it should be for such a small cut. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to keep my head steady, the room spinning as something dark and sinister courses through me.
"Wh... what's happening...?"
"Shhh," she whispers. "It's just a little wolfsbane."
Wolfsbane?
"Where's the stone?" she demands, her voice cold and precise. "Give it to us, and we'll be on our merry way."
"The stone? What stone?" I ask, genuinely confused. I don't have any stone. What is she talking about?
Her smirk falters, and she glares at me. "It seems like you need a little push to remember what Mommy left you."
The blade plunges into my stomach.
A scream tears from my throat, but the pain is so overwhelming that it barely registers. The world blurs around me, everything spinning in a swirl of red-hot agony. I hear Drake scream too—like the coward he is—but it's distant, like it's happening in another world.
"Where. Is. The. Stone?" the woman snarls, twisting the knife.
The pain is unbearable. It consumes me, and as everything fades to black, I wonder if I'm about to die for something I know nothing about.