THREE YEARS FOR NOTHING

The Obsidian Lounge 2

The question hung in the air, unanswered and uncomfortable.

Margot felt a jolt of recognition shoot through her chest. Riverbend. That was where she’d been this morning, finalizing her divorce from Thaddeus. If he hadn’t wasted so much of her time with his pathetic attempts to make her reconsider, maybe she could have stayed longer. Maybe she could have seen the new chairman herself. With her looks and charm, she could have caught his attention directly, bypassed all these middlemen, secured the partnership without needing to grovel.

The thought made her blood boil. She whirled on the cage suddenly, her heel striking the iron bars with a sharp clang.

The cage shook violently. Elspeth lost her balance and pitched forward, her body slamming into the internal spikes welded to the bars. A gash tore open along her forearm, deep enough that bone-white gleamed for a moment before blood welled up and spilled over. Elspeth convulsed, her scream strangled in her throat as pain overwhelmed her ability to breathe.

Her fingers clenched tighter around the pendant, and blood from her palm dripped down the chain, pattering onto the floor.

Margot’s eyes locked onto the pendant. She’d seen it before—had seen Elspeth clutching it every single day for three years like it was some kind of lifeline. Something snapped inside her. She reached through the bars, grabbed the chain, and yanked hard.

The metal links bit into Elspeth’s neck. She choked, her hands flying up instinctively to pull it away, but Margot was stronger and fueled by three years of resentment. The chain snapped with a sharp ping. Margot snatched the pendant, held it up to examine the battered leather and tarnished metal, then threw it onto the marble floor with contempt. Her heel came down hard, grinding it into the stone.

“Trash from a convict,” she spat. “And you treat it like it’s some precious treasure?”

Elspeth’s hands shot out, feeling desperately for where the pendant had fallen. Her fingers scraped across the marble, frantic and blind. Margot’s hand lashed out, slapping her hard enough that Elspeth’s head snapped to the side and cracked against the iron bars. Blood streamed from a cut on her forehead, mixing with the tears she couldn’t stop.

Margot grabbed Elspeth’s chin, forcing her face up. “You should be grateful,” she hissed, her perfectly manicured nails digging into skin. “Grateful you didn’t starve to death all these years. Now Gregor’s taken an interest, so you’re going to behave and finally be useful for once.” Her smile turned vicious. “And if you dare resist? I’ll have someone cut your tendons and throw you into the red-light district. You can spend the rest of your miserable life being used by whoever pays enough.”

The crowd had grown larger now, drawn by the spectacle like moths to a flame. Some of them whistled, crude and leering. Others flicked cigarette butts through the bars, aiming for Elspeth’s huddled form. A thrown cherry pit hit her cheek, someone laughed.

Dorian stepped forward, pulling a riding crop from where it had been resting against one of the couches. He prodded Elspeth’s bleeding arm with the tip, pressing into the wound until she cried out. “Crawl out of the cage yourself,” he ordered, his voice carrying the bored authority of someone who’d never been denied anything. “Show Gregor you know your place.”

Elspeth shook her head weakly, her whole body trembling. She pressed herself against the far side of the cage, as far from the door as she could manage.

Gregor’s patience evaporated. His voice dropped into something cold. “If you don’t obey immediately,” he said, each word precise as a scalpel, “I can make sure your prisoner brother doesn’t survive tomorrow. One phone call. That’s all it takes.”

The words hit Elspeth like a physical blow. Her breath caught. Her hands stilled. Despair washed over her features. She could endure anything for herself. She’d proven that over three years of neglect and cruelty. But not this, not her brother’s life.

The physical agony radiating from her wounds and the psychological weight of utter helplessness shattered the last fragments of her will. She knew she couldn’t escape. Knew there was no help coming. So she gritted her teeth against the pain that was trying to tear her apart from the inside, and slowly, inch by excruciating inch, she began to bend her knees.

Her hands braced against the blood-slick floor. Her forehead nearly touched the marble. The crowd leaned in, anticipation thick in the air.

Just as her knees were about to touch the ground, BOOM.

The heavy wooden doors at the entrance exploded inward with violent force. Fragments of carved mahogany flew through the air like shrapnel. The chandeliers swayed. Glasses rattled on tables. Every head in the hall snapped toward the entrance.

A firm voice cut through the stunned silence. “Stop."

Thaddeus Crane walked in.