The Keys to freedom

Silence looks good on you

Last year

The early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft streaks across the bed. Oz blinked awake, stretching her limbs across the cool sheets, realizing the space beside her was empty. Frowning slightly, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand and then reached for her phone.

A text lit up the screen: "Went for a run. Be back in 30 and I'll take you to breakfast. I Love you."

She smiled, her heart warming at Pyke's message. She pulled his oversized T-shirt closer around her, the fabric brushing her skin as she slipped out of bed.

In the small bathroom attached to his room, she ran a toothbrush over her teeth, humming softly to herself as she brushed.

When she stepped back into the room, she wandered toward the full-length mirror near the corner to adjust her hair. As she ran her singers through her hair, something in the reflection made her freeze. A figure looming behind her.

Heart pounding, as she whipped around to see Lance, standing in the doorway. His piercing gaze made her stomach churn. Instinctively, she tugged the hem of Pyke's shirt lower, as if it could shield her from the sudden unease crawling over her skin.

"Mr. Hastings, what are you doing here?" she asked nervously. "Pyke's not here."

"I know," Lance said, stepping into the room.

The certainty in his tone made her stomach clench. There was something predatory about the way he moved, slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking its prey.

As he came closer, his eyes narrowed. "Tell me miss Harris, do you love my son?"

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Of course I do."

"Then why," he asked, his voice dropping to a low growl, "would you limit him to someone like yourself? Pyke has a bright future ahead of him, but all he sees when he thinks about his future...is you."

She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze despite the fear coiling in her chest. "Pyke can make his own decisions. And I'm not limiting him to anything."

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "If you really cared about him, you'd remove yourself from the equation.

"Is that so?" She glared.

"You're nothing but an anchor holding him back,"

"Is this about what's best for Pyke, or for you?" she challenged. "Afraid he won't want to stick around to help with the family business?"

Lance's lips curled into a wicked smile. " Now I've been more than generous with you girl," he sneered. "I've let this little fling of yours go on for a long time, but Pyke will be graduating soon. And I think it's in your best interest that you let him go now."

"Is that a threat?" she retorted, her eyes narrowing.

"I think of it more as a friendly warning," Lance replied with malice.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, but she refused to let him see her fear. Instead, she smirked, the defiance in her expression only fueling his anger. "You don't scare me," she said, her voice steady. "You're just a bitter old man trying to control something that isn't yours to control."

The slap came so fast she didn't see it coming. A sharp, brutal crack echoed through the room as the force of it whipped her head to the side. A stinging heat bloomed across her cheek, her skin throbbing where his hand had struck.

Silence hung heavy.

Lance exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers as if the act had been nothing more than an afterthought. When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm, almost bored.

"I have control over whatever I choose to have control over," he said smoothly, like it was fact, like it was law. "I'm untouchable."

He took a step closer, his presence suffocating, his next words curling with sick amusement.

"You, on the other hand, Lozzie..." He let the name drip from his tongue, slow and taunting. Mocking. Cruel.

"Are not."

His fingers trailed down the side of her face, tracing the very spot he had struck, a twisted parody of tenderness.

She was speechless. Stunned. She had always known he was a cold man, ruthless even—but never expected that kind of reaction out of him, I guess she wasn't around him enough to know better. Pyke had always said he was scared of his father and know she understood. Now she felt it.

"Silence looks good on you, Miss harris," he said.

"You son of a—" she started, her hands shooting up to shove him away. But before she could make contact, his hand fisted in her hair, yanking her upright with a brutal force that sent a jolt of pain down her spine.

"You really want to see just how much control I have?" he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, his breath hot against her skin.

He threw her onto the bed, her body bouncing once before sinking into the mattress. Another blow came, sharp and cruel, stealing the air from her lungs. Panic crashed over her like a tidal wave, drowning out reason, replacing it with sheer, unfiltered terror.

She screamed. A desperate, gut-wrenching sound, raw and hoarse as it tore from her throat.

"PYKE!"

But the walls absorbed her cries, and outside, Pyke remained oblivious.

He stood on the porch, rolling his shoulders as he finished stretching. He crouched to tie his running shoe, fingers moving lazily over the laces before reaching for his earbuds. He fiddled with them for a moment, adjusting the fit, slipping them into his ears just as her cries reached their peak.

The world around him faded into silence as he pressed play.

A steady beat pulsed through his head, drowning out everything else.

Without a second thought, he took off down the street, the rhythm of his footsteps matching the music.

And behind him, trapped within the four suffocating walls of that house, Oz's nightmare began.