The cave looked like it had been designed by a depressed traffic light—everything soaked in that lazy red glow that made the wet stone sweat like it was guilty of sothing. Water dripped from the stalactites overhead, slow and dramatic, as if the cave itself was auditioning for a tragedy play. The air was thick with the copper taste of blood and the old, dusty sll of rock that had spent centuries minding its business until we showed up to ruin the peace.
Bianca, Sarai, Mirabel, and Charles were strapped to tal chairs arranged in a miserable half-moon, the Monroe brand of elegance reduced to ripped fabric and travel dirt. Sarai had cried earlier—real, ssy tears—and the echoes were still ricocheting through the tunnels, stretching every sniffle into a chorus. H’s n stood scattered behind them, big silent shapes in tactical masks, earpieces whispering secrets no one bothered to share with the class. The portable screen had already gone black after playing its poisonous little movie, but the damage hovered in the chamber like smoke that refused to die.
Bianca Monroe still managed to look expensive even while falling apart. Her glossy hair was a wreck, her lip split, beauty cracked but not completely broken. She stared at the masked leader like she was doing him a favor by breathing the sa air. The ropes around her wrists creaked when she pulled at them, stubborn as her personality.
"You people are really hanging your entire career on a sentence that escaped from my sister’s mouth?" she said, voice clean and sharp. "Sarai cries when her mascara cos late in the mail. I didn’t push Eliana—or that disposable Jason—into any ditch. I don’t owe you a confession, a testimony, or even good manners, because I didn’t do a thing. This? This is kidnapping with bad interior design." Her eyes swept the cave. "Illegal, disgusting, and honestly beneath my tax bracket. When I’m out—and trust , I will be—I’m suing you so hard your grandchildren will inherit court dates. My lawyers will fold you into origami made of lawsuits."
The leader let out a dry laugh from that mountain he called a chest. The tattoo crawling up his neck shifted when he moved, a serpent trying to escape a very bad life decision.
"That mouth of yours deserves its own generator," he rumbled. "All that power and still no sense." He stepped closer. "Threats though? Adorable. Write a book about it when you get Wi-Fi."
Bianca opened her mouth to fire back—she always did—but his hand moved first. The slap cut through the cave like a gunshot, sharp and final. Her head jerked sideways, hair flying, and a furious red mark blossod across her cheek. For a second she looked genuinely shocked, like the universe had violated company policy.
Blood flooded her taste again. The cave applauded with echoes.
"Still feel like suing?" he asked mildly.
Bianca didn’t even get the chance to weaponize her mouth again before the room turned into weather.
The n fell on them like a collapsing sky—fists tearing loose in a coordinated lody, ribs used as drums, jaws tuned like broken bells, boots hunting shins the way stray dogs hunt leftovers. tal chairs rattled, ropes sang, and the Monroe idea of dignity officially filed for retirent.
A boot buried itself in Bianca’s side and the breath evacuated her lungs without two weeks’ notice. She folded with a grunt, eyes sparking.
"You bastards—get off !" she snapped, twisting in the cords that held her, all attitude and nowhere to put it. The cave answered by letting another fist crash into her ribs. Apparently the chamber didn’t appreciate motivational speeches.
Sarai scread the kind of sound that could peel paint. A punch clipped her shoulder and her jet-black hair whipped across her face like a surrender flag with delusions of glamour.
"Stop! Please, stop!" she begged, words tripping over each other. "Bianca, make them stop—this hurts so much, I can’t—" She sucked in air that didn’t want to co. Mascara bled down her cheeks in crooked rivers, turning her into a very expensive raccoon.
Mirabel tried to remain the statue she believed herself to be. Even with her pearls knocked sideways and her blouse ripped at the sleeve, she wore composure like stubborn perfu. Then a fist grazed her temple and the statue discovered gravity. Stars burst behind her eyes.
"You animals!" she hissed. "Do you have any idea who I am? Mirabel Vexley—board mber of Vexley Holdings! This is barbarism with gloves. Release us at once!"
Another punch answered her résumé.
Charles doubled over when they redecorated his stomach with knuckles. He wheezed like an old engine rembering it hated the owner’s manual.
"Mirabel!" he coughed. "What the hell have you dragged us into? Plotting against Rafael was madness—I told you!" A blow smashed his arm and he flinched. "I had no part in any of this. You and your sches are going to get us killed before dessert!"
Bianca, stubborn queen of denial, felt her ribs argue with every breath—sharp, bright pain, probably cracked, definitely angry. Her green eyes watered, but she chewed on her split lip and refused to give the cave the pleasure of seeing her break.
Sarai wasn’t built from the sa material. She fainted, woke, fainted again, body jerking like it was practicing for death. On the third round she just slumped, soft and trembling.
"Bianca... sister... help ," she whispered when consciousness briefly rented her again. "Everything hurts. Please... water... sothing..."
"Tell them we’re sorry," she whimpered. "Bianca, make it end. I didn’t an to say anything. I love Jason, but this is too much—my bones feel borrowed and the owner wants them back."
Mirabel spat blood onto the stone floor, finally losing the queen-mother filter.
"Charles, you spineless relic, don’t you dare fra with your cowardice," she snarled. "This is on those Monroe girls—Bianca and Sarai with their boutique jealousies. I’ve been holding this family together while you sat in the audience."
Charles laughed—a broken, terrified sound.
"Hold it together? You’ve been poisoning it from the start! Marrying for my money, scheming against my son—Rafael was my legacy!" Another punch folded his arm. "And now look at us—bleeding in a cave God forgot to na. If we die here, Mirabel, it’s wearing your lipstick!"
Mirabel touched the swelling around her eye and glared.
"Keep talking and I’ll make sure the afterlife files a complaint about you too."
The n continued their work, grunting through the chorus of cries. None of the captives had ever t violence this honest—no contracts, no etiquette, just pain speaking its native language.
And the language was fluent.
Bianca, looking the worst of them all—her fierce beauty twisted into a mask of bruises, one eye nearly swollen shut, blood staining her designer outfit—said nothing. She clenched her jaw, enduring the pain in silence, knowing that admitting anything would seal their fates worse than this beating. Her mind raced: Confess? No way. That footage was grainy; they have no real proof. Hold out, Bianca. You’ve survived worse.
The n finally stepped back, breathing heavily, their fists raw from the assault. The captives slumped in their chairs, a chorus of ragged breaths and muffled sobs filling the air. Sarai’s cries were the loudest, hysterical now. "Bianca... please... say sothing! Help us! I can’t take this anymore—my arm feels broken, and my face... oh God, my face! What if Jason sees like this? He’ll never want !"
Bianca turned her head slowly, wincing at the pain, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Shut up, Sarai. Just... shut up. Crying won’t help. We stick together, rember? Like always."
Mirabel, ever the manipulator, tried to rally them with her cold tone, though it wavered now. "Girls, listen to . United, we’re strong. These n are bluffing—they wouldn’t dare kill us. We have connections, power. Demand a lawyer, Bianca. Remind them of the consequences."
Charles groaned, his voice laced with defeat. "Connections? In this hellhole? Mirabel, for once, admit you’re wrong. This is your web of lies catching up. If I’d known about your plans with these girls... I’d have stopped it. Rafael—he’s my boy. I should have protected him."
The tension thickened as the chamber door creaked open with a dramatic groan, the sound reverberating like a death knell. In stepped H, his powerful fra silhouetted against the dim light from the corridor. He was a towering presence, dressed in a dark suit that blended with the shadows, his eyes dark as the abyss, exuding a controlled fury that made the air feel colder. The captives’ eyes widened in recognition—H, the enigmatic enforcer tied to Rafael’s world, a ghost from rumors and shadows.
Bianca’s swollen lips parted in shock. "You...? What the hell are you doing here?"
Sarai whimpered, her green eyes wide with terror. "Oh no... Bianca, it’s him. He’s going to make us disappear. We’re done for!"
Mirabel’s icy composure cracked further, her voice sharp but trembling. "What the hell is happening right now? Why are you involved in this? Rafael called you, didn’t he? That ungrateful cripple. Release us. We had nothing to do with Eliana."
Charles, bewildered and bloody, stared at H with dawning horror. "You... you’re the one who had us kidnapped? Sir, if this is about Rafael, I swear—I didn’t know the full extent. Talk to . We can negotiate."
H ignored their pleas, his voice a low, gravelly command that echoed through the cave. He addressed his n directly, right in front of the captives, his tone devoid of rcy. "They’ve all refused to confess. Stubborn lot. Fine. Kill them. All of them. Bury the bodies deep in the mountain where no one will ever find them. I’ll handle the cover-up—make sure no questions are asked. Vanish them like they never existed."
The n nodded grimly, cracking their guns with ominous clicks—chambering rounds, the tallic snaps piercing the air like final judgnts. The sound sent a wave of pure panic through the group. Sarai scread outright, thrashing wildly. "No! Please, no! Bianca, do sothing! I don’t want to die—Jason, my life, everything! Help!"
Mirabel’s face drained of color, her manipulative facade crumbling. "Sir, wait! You can’t—think of the scandal! The Vexley na is very well known!"
Charles bellowed, his passive nature igniting into desperation. "Mirabel, shut up! Sir, please—I’m Rafael’s father. Blood! rcy for blood!"
But it was Bianca who broke first, the panic surging through her like ice water as the guns leveled at their heads. Her voice erupted in a frantic rush, words tumbling out in a betrayal born of terror. "Wait! Stop! Don’t shoot! It wasn’t —not alone! Everything that happened... the push, the plans, all of it... it was Mirabel Vexley’s idea! She orchestrated the whole thing! She ca to , promised shares in the empire if I got rid of Eliana. Jason was collateral—she said it had to look like an accident! Bla her! She’s the mastermind! She also threatened to kill my sister Sarai if I refused to comply."
The cave fell silent, save for the drip of water and the captives’ heaving breaths, the web of betrayal tightening its noose as H’s dark eyes glead with satisfaction.
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