Chapter 4 - The Invisible Walls
The next three days were a descent into a gilded hell. Willa was allowed the run of the penthouse, but she was never alone. Kensington’s men were everywhere—silent, shadowy figures who moved through the rooms like ghosts.
Brutus was getting stronger. His coat had regained its sheen, and he had taken to following Willa everywhere, his massive head resting against her knee whenever she sat down to rest. He was her only tether to reality, but even he felt like a fellow prisoner.
"You're making a mistake," she told Kensington on the fourth day. They were in the library—a cavernous space filled with books that looked like they hadn't been opened in decades.
Kensington was looking at a map on his desk—not a map of the city, but a map of the docks, marked with cryptic, red symbols. He didn't look up. "I don't make mistakes, Willa. I make decisions."
"Keeping me here won't save him," she said, gesturing to Brutus, who was lying by the door. "If you keep us locked up, the stress will kill him faster than the illness ever did."
Kensington finally looked up, his eyes weary. "The stress of the outside world is what will kill you. You have no idea what’s coming. There are people who want to tear this empire down, and they wouldn't hesitate to use you to get to me."
"So you’re keeping me safe?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you call it?"
"I call it survival."
Willa stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the desk. "I survived Brendan. I survived two years of living on the edge of nothing. I don't need your protection. I need my life back."
Kensington stood up, his height dwarfing her. He was closer than he had ever been. "You think you know survival? You know how to hide. You don't know how to fight."
"Try me," she challenged.
He looked at her, and for a split second, the mask slipped. She saw a flicker of admiration—or perhaps something more dangerous. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small, metallic key. He placed it on the velvet surface of the desk.
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"That opens the balcony door," he said. "It’s a fifty-foot drop to the terrace below. If you want to leave, leave. But know this: once you step out that door, you are no longer under my guard. And the city is a very hungry place."
Willa stared at the key. It was a choice—the only choice she had ever been given.
