I wake up, and my head is pounding. My stomach threatens to rebel with every breath, and my mouth tastes like death. Groaning, I roll over in…Rafael’s bed? I’m sure I went to sleep in Lucas’ bed.

I sit up, and my stomach instantly turns over. Jumping out of bed, I rush to the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. My body heaves and wretches until I finally collapse on the cool tile. I’m dying. Literally dying. Forcing myself to my feet, I strip out of my clothes—the same clothes I was wearing yesterday—and get in the shower. The falling water feels like needles on my sensitive skin, but I also feel gross, so I allow it to wash away the grime of the previous day and night.

When I’m done, I dry myself, brush my teeth and throw on a sundress. I leave my wet hair hanging down my back before I head for the door. I don’t know what time it is, but the sun is reaching high into the sky. I grab the door handle and twist it…it doesn’t move. I try again. Nothing. What the hell?

I try twice more, yanking the door as hard as I can. It’s locked. I’m locked in this room! Am I a captive again? No, Rafael wouldn’t do that. Would he? What if Nero has decided he’s not taking no for an answer? What if Rafael has no choice?

I wrench open the balcony doors which are thankfully unlocked, and rush to the railing, glancing down at the ground only one floor below. Could I jump? I might break something. I can’t think through anything rational other than the fact that I’m locked in. A prisoner. I can’t be stripped of my free will again, even if it’s for my sister. I’d rather take my chances with the desert.

I hear the sound of the lock turning, and my fingers tighten around the railing as I press myself tightly against it. The door opens, and Rafael steps into the room, his gaze landing on the bed before searching me out. When his eyes fix on me, his shoulders relax slightly.

“Avecita.”

He moves towards me, and I press against the balcony railing so hard I’m in danger of falling over it. He pauses in the doorway to the balcony, taking in my stance. His brows pull into a deep frown.

“What are you doing?” he asks, warily.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “You’re giving me to Nero, aren’t you? You said I was free!”

His frown deepens. “Nero? What?”

He steps closer, and I hold my hand out. “Stop.”

“Anna, what the fuck?” Without warning, he charges me. I can barely register the movement before he locks his arms around my waist and drags me back inside, closing the patio doors behind him.

“If you don’t want me anymore, just let me go.” My voice cracks, betraying the barrage of pent up emotions from the last two days.

With a feral snarl, he storms the short distance between us, his hand slamming around my throat as he throws me down on the bed. “You are pushing my fucking buttons, and I am running out of patience.” His fingers flex against my throat, and I close my eyes as a silent tear trickles over my temple. How did we get here? How did everything become so warped? Warm breath rushes over my face before his lips press to my forehead, so contradictory to the bruising grip he has on my throat. “Listen to me, and listen well. I am never letting you go.” I open my eyes and find him staring down at me. “You are locked in because we need to talk, and you’re not leaving this room until you do.” He releases me and pushes away, leaving me there on the bed.

Slowly, I sit up. Rafael has taken a seat in the small armchair in the corner of the room. His legs are spread, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks…worn. Tired. He’s silent for long moments—his eyes fixed on me.

“Last night, I was already pissed when I came up here to find you in Lucas’ bed.”

“He didn’t—”

He holds up his hand, cutting me off. “I don’t care what happened. You sleep in my bed. Always.”

I pull my knees to my chest and drag a shaky hand through my damp hair. “It’s not good for you, Rafael.” I’m not good for you.

“Don’t put it on me. This has nothing to do with me.”

How could he say that? “It has everything to do with you,” I snap.

He tilts his head. “You told me to go and fuck someone else. Why?”

“Because you need to!”

“No! Because you fucking need me to!” He explodes from the chair, his entire body radiating anger as he jabs a finger in my direction. “You want me to confirm that you’re not good enough so that you can accept that bullshit. It’s easier to accept it than fight for this, isn’t it?”

He makes me feel like shit with a few sentences. My fragile heart cracks and bleeds, and I can feel the warm liquid seeping into every atom of my body, drowning them. I’m suffocating in this sea of hatred and self-loathing, and I have no idea how to save myself anymore. In many ways, my life was easier as a slave. I had no emotions, no purpose, no need to think or feel or do anything. Surviving was easy. This…living…it’s hard.

“What do you want from me?” I whisper.

He stands there, practically trembling with rage. “I want your trust.”

“You have it.”

He laughs humorlessly. “Oh, little warrior. I’ve never been so far from having it as I am right now.”

“I trust you.” I do trust him.

He moves closer and drops to a crouch right in front of me, his anger retreating. “You did. When I was your captor and you were owned. You trusted me. But now…”

“I do.” I choke on a sob because he looks so hurt, and I know it’s me hurting him. I reach out and stroke his cheek. “I do.”

“You have to trust me to know what you need.” He takes my hand and turns it over, brushing his lips over the inside of my wrist. “You need to trust that I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“Then trust me to fucking help you because, baby, you hate yourself, and it kills me.” I close my eyes and tears fall down my cheeks. I’m heartbroken and sad, for him, but more for myself. This man loves me, and he’s patient and so strong. I feel like the ghost of a girl, wading through the rubble of something that was once beautiful. And he’s there, holding out his hand, offering to pull me back to life. Only every time I go to take his hand, mine passes through his.

“You can’t help me. I’m never going to be fixed, Rafe.” Why can’t he see this?

“Then break. I’ll be right here to put you back together again.”

Frustration and anger spike through my bloodstream. “There is no together! This is as good as it gets. I’m a whore—”

He’s standing in a flash—his fist pulling my hair so hard that he wrenches my head back. He closes his eyes, his jaw ticking erratically. “You are not a whore!”

I can feel myself spiraling, falling into an abyss and he’s trying to save me because that’s what he does. He loves me, and I can’t even bring myself to give him something that so many other men have had from me. “You’re right. I can’t even fuck you.”

He releases me and steps back, his anger now a visceral thing, filling the room until I can barely breathe. Up and down, round and round, this is what we do. My emotions playing havoc on us both, as he’s forced to follow me in this toxic dance. He drags his hands through his hair before he loses it and rams his fist into the wall. When he pulls it away, his hand is bleeding, his blood staining the wallpaper.

“You’re better than this, little warrior,” he says through clenched teeth. Shaking his head, he looks at me with sad eyes, his anger mixing with his despair. “You never stepped out of the cage, but the door is still open.” He turns to me and holds out his hand. “I’m asking you to trust me. Step outside.”

I stare at his hand, and it’s so much more than a meaningless gesture. “I just have to trust you?”

“Completely. All in. Be free, avecita.” Be free. I am free technically, but I know he’s right. I’m not. I’m a prisoner of my own thoughts and fears. A slave to years of conditioning and self-loathing. But how can I escape that? I’ll always be sullied by what I am, by what I was. “Trust that I love you,” he says so quietly I barely hear it, but I feel it, to the very depths of my soul. It whispers to his, pleading with him to save it from its own torment. He loves me. I love him. And maybe he can love me enough for the both of us.

On a shaky breath, I lift my hand, hesitating before I place it in his. And he doesn’t pass through me. He grabs hold of me in a way that tells me he’ll never let go.

“I love you too,” I breathe.