Oh to be loved

12

Amara's pulse quickened as she heard Cillian rise from the bed. The air in the room seemed to thicken, her body instinctively tensing at his approach. She kept her eyes on the door, willing herself to stay calm, to not show the fear building within her. If she could just remain composed, maybe-just maybe-she could find an advantage.

"I told you," Cillian said, his voice deceptively calm, "you'll see Malik when I decide. Not a moment sooner."

Amara felt a flash of anger. She turned to face him, her chest tightening with fury. "You can't keep him from me forever. You can't control every part of my life, Cillian."

He was close now, standing just a few feet from her, his tall figure cutting an imposing shadow against the soft morning light. His blue eyes, cold and calculating, met hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I already do," he said simply, his tone steady. "Every move you make, every decision you think about-I control all of it. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

Amara felt like the walls were closing in on her, suffocating her with his words. She fought against the feeling, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "I'll never accept it. I'll never belong to you."

Cillian's jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something-anger, perhaps, or frustration-but it passed as quickly as it came. He took a slow breath, then tilted his head slightly, as if assessing her like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

"You're strong," he mused, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "I've always admired that about you. But strength can be bent. Molded."

Amara's stomach turned at the idea. She clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm not something you can shape to your will. I'm not a tool for your amusement."

Cillian stepped closer, his presence looming over her, but he didn't touch her. Instead, he looked at her with that same cold detachment, like he was observing a challenge rather than a person. "You think you still have a choice. That's where you're wrong, Amara."

Her heart raced, but she refused to let him see her falter. "There's always a choice. I'll never stop fighting. Not for myself. Not for Malik."

For a moment, silence filled the room, the tension between them palpable. Then, to her surprise, Cillian's expression shifted. The cold indifference in his eyes softened, just a fraction, and he let out a quiet sigh.

"You want to see your brother?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "Then let's make a deal."

Amara's breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure if this was a trap or if he was being serious, but the possibility of seeing Malik again-of making sure he was alive-was too powerful to ignore. Still, she couldn't let herself trust him. She had to be careful.

"What kind of deal?" she asked warily.

Cillian folded his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving hers. "You stop resisting. You stay here, with me, without trying to run or fight. No more attempts at escape. In exchange, I'll let you see Malik. You'll be able to visit him regularly, as long as you cooperate."

Amara felt her skin prickle with dread. This was exactly the kind of twisted compromise she had feared. If she agreed to this, she'd be giving Cillian more power over her than ever before. But if she refused...

Her mind flashed to Malik, wounded and alone in the cellar. If something happened to him because of her defiance, she'd never forgive herself. But if she agreed, she'd be allowing herself to be further drawn into Cillian's web of control.

It was a terrible choice-an impossible one.

She looked into Cillian's eyes, searching for any sign of deception, but his gaze remained steady. Cold, calculating, but steady.

"I want to see him first," Amara demanded, trying to keep her voice strong. "Before I agree to anything."

Cillian's lips twitched, as if he found her boldness amusing. "Fair enough. I'll allow it."

His willingness to compromise surprised her. He had her trapped, vulnerable, and yet he was giving her a sliver of what she wanted. But she knew better than to believe this was a kindness. There was always a cost with him.

Cillian turned, gesturing toward the door. "Come."

Amara hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. This could be another manipulation-another layer of his control-but she had to see Malik. She needed to know if he was okay.

Reluctantly, she followed Cillian out of the room, her mind racing with potential outcomes. They walked in silence, the heavy atmosphere of the mansion bearing down on her with each step. The opulence of the house, the grand hallways and lavish furnishings, only made her feel more trapped. It was like a golden cage, beautiful but inescapable.

They descended the stairs to the lower levels, the air growing cooler as they neared the cellar. Amara's anxiety spiked. What if Malik's condition had worsened? What if he was too weak to even speak?

Cillian stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, nodding to the guard stationed nearby. The man stepped aside, unlocking the door and swinging it open. The dark, stone hallway beyond sent a chill down Amara's spine.

"This way," Cillian said, leading her down the narrow passage. The air was damp and cold, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. It smelled of mildew and stone, the kind of place designed to break a person's spirit.

At the end of the hallway, they reached a small room. Cillian opened the door, and Amara's heart clenched at what she saw inside.

Malik lay on a narrow cot, pale and weak, but alive. His side was bandaged, though blood still seeped through the white cloth. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but steady.

"Malik..." she whispered, rushing to his side.

His eyelids fluttered open at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, he looked disoriented. Then recognition dawned in his eyes, and a weak smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Amara..."

Tears stung her eyes as she knelt beside him, her hand gently touching his. He was alive. That was all that mattered right now.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "This is all my fault."

Malik shook his head slowly. "No... It's not. You did what you had to do."

Cillian stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a detached expression, his arms folded across his chest. He made no move to intervene, as if this moment was part of the deal-part of his strategy.

Amara swallowed the lump in her throat and looked back at Cillian. "You've seen I'm willing to cooperate," she said, her voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill. "Now, let me take care of him. Get him proper medical attention. If you want me to stay... you have to give me this."

Cillian's gaze flicked to Malik, then back to Amara. He was silent for a moment, considering her request. Then, with a nod, he signaled to one of the guards outside.

"Have someone bring a doctor," Cillian ordered, his voice calm but authoritative.

Amara exhaled in relief, her grip tightening on Malik's hand. It wasn't much, but it was something. For now, it would have to be enough.

As Cillian turned to leave, he paused at the door, his voice soft but dangerous. "Remember the deal, Amara. This cooperation is on your terms... for now. But I expect you to hold up your end. No more running."

Amara met his gaze, her jaw clenched. "I won't run. Not yet."

Cillian's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile before he walked away, leaving her and Malik alone in the dim light of the cellar.