The neon pulse of "The Gilded Lily" hummed through the soles of Skye's heels, a familiar, rhythmic vibration that felt like a heartbeat. It had been a month since she had reclaimed her stage. After the terror of the Forest Kingdom and the legal battles that followed, Roman had finally conceded that she couldn't be a bird in a gilded cage- even a cage as beautiful as his estate. He had vetted every staff member, installed a new biometric security system in the wings, and ensured that the "Songbird" could sing again, provided she was never alone.
Tonight, she felt like liquid starlight. Her dress was a floor-length sheath of shimmering silver chainmail that caught every stray beam of the club's violet spotlights. It clung to her curves like a second skin, the back draped low to reveal the smooth expanse of her sun-kissed skin. Around her neck, the blue diamond Roman had given her rested against her collarbone, a cool weight of protection.
"You're on in five, Skye," the stage manager whispered, giving her a supportive nod.
Skye looked toward the VIP booth where Roman usually sat, his dark, commanding presence a silent anchor for her performance. It was empty tonight. An emergency board meeting regarding a hostile takeover in the European sector had kept him chained to his desk at the estate. He had loathed letting her go, his eyes dark with a possessive worry that only intensified after Patricia's break-in, but he had sent two of his best men- Vance and Kael, to shadow her every move.
"Break a leg," Vance muttered, standing like a stone sentry by the velvet curtains.
Skye stepped onto the stage. The roar of the regulars was instantaneous. They had missed her. The room was packed with people who didn't know her as the woman who had brought down a Prince; they knew her as the voice that made the world stop spinning for an hour.
She sang with a raw, soul-baring intensity that night. Every lyric felt like a tribute to the life she had fought for. She sang for the boy who called her "Captain Mom" and for the brute who had claimed her soul. As the final notes of her set faded into a standing ovation, Skye felt a rush of pure, unadulterated freedom.
"Thank you," she breathed into the microphone, her eyes shimmering. "Goodnight."
Exhausted but exhilarated, she ducked backstage. Vance and Kael were momentarily held up at the stage door by a group of high-profile investors demanding to know the Songbird's booking rates. Skye, moving with the confidence of someone who felt safe in her own territory, slipped toward her private dressing room to change.
"I'll just be a second, guys!" she called back to the men over the loudness of the music.
She pushed open the heavy mahogany door to the backroom area. The air here was cooler, smelling of old wood and expensive perfume. The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows long and stretching. Skye hummed a low tune as she reached for the handle of her dressing room, her mind already on the drive home and the way Roman would look at her in this silver dress when she finally walked into his office.
She didn't hear the click of the door behind her. She didn't see the shadow that detached itself from the darkened corner.
Just as she turned the knob, a massive hand clamped over her mouth, and a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. Skye's eyes went wide, her heart leaping into her throat. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled against a thick, damp cloth that smelled of sweet, cloying chemicals.
Ether.
"Shhh," a voice hissed in her ear- a voice that made her blood turn to ice. It wasn't the voice of a stranger. It was refined, cold, and laced with a terrifying, familiar amusement. "The Dragon isn't here to save you tonight, Songbird."
Skye thrashed, her silver dress rustling violently, her heels scraping against the floorboards. She tried to reach for the panic button she knew was hidden in the lining of her clutch, but her vision was already beginning to fray at the edges. The world began to tilt. The violet lights of the club seemed to bleed into a deep, inescapable black.
The last thing she felt was the blue diamond being ripped from her throat before the darkness claimed her entirely.
When consciousness finally returned, it didn't come all at once. It leaked back into her brain like cold water. Skye's head throbbed with a rhythmic, pulsing ache, and her mouth tasted of copper and chemicals.
She tried to move her hand to rub her eyes, but her arm wouldn't budge. A sharp, metallic clink echoed through the room.
Skye's eyes snapped open.
She wasn't in a dungeon or a warehouse. She was in a room that was hauntingly beautiful- and utterly terrifying. The walls were draped in heavy, forest-green velvet, and the furniture was ornate, antique gold. Large windows looked out over a dark, sprawling landscape of pine trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was an elegant room, a place of high-class luxury, but to Skye, it looked like a tomb.
She was laying on a massive four-poster bed with silk sheets that felt like ice against her skin. Her silver dress was still on, but it was torn at the shoulder.
She tried to sit up, and that's when she felt the weight. Her wrists were shackled to the heavy mahogany headboard by short, polished steel chains. Every movement she made resulted in a jarring, rhythmic rattling that seemed to mock her.
"Roman..." she whispered, her voice a broken rasp.
"Roman can't hear you, Skye. No one can."
The door at the far end of the room creaked open. Standing in the doorway, framed by the light of the hallway, was Ryder Vane. He had shed his cream linen suit for a dark, tailored blazer. In his hand, he held the silver chain of her blue diamond necklace, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.
He walked toward the bed, his footsteps silent on the thick Persian rug. He looked down at her with a look of terrifying, calm possession- the look of a man who had finally reclaimed a lost prize.
"You look beautiful in silver," Ryder murmured, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw with a cold finger. Skye flinched away, her chains clashing against the wood. "But you'll look much better in the colors of the Forest Kingdom. I told you, Skye... I don't like losing what's mine."
"Roman will kill you," Skye spat, her eyes flashing with a desperate, trapped fury. "He will burn this place to the ground."
Ryder let out a soft, chilling laugh. He leaned over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. "Roman Thorne is currently busy dealing with a massive security breach at his estate and a series of legal fires started by his lovely ex. He thinks you're safe with his men. He doesn't realize that even the best men have a price."
He dangled the blue diamond in front of her eyes. "This is just a rock, Skye. A pretty little bauntle from a man who thinks he can buy loyalty. But I? I don't want your loyalty. I want your voice. And I want you back where you belong."
He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight shifting the mattress, making Skye slide toward him. She pulled against the chains, the metal biting into her skin, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Welcome home, Songbird," Ryder whispered, his eyes dark with a sick triumph. "The auction is over. And this time, there are no more bids."
Skye looked at the dark forest outside the window and felt a cold, hollow dread. She was back in the nightmare, chained to a ghost, and the only man who could save her was miles away, fighting a war on two fronts.
She wasn't the "Captain Mom" here. She wasn't the Queen. She was a prisoner in a cage of velvet and gold, and the song in her heart was a scream.