Chapter 1 — Shards of Defiance

Poppy

The shard of glass feels cold and alien in my trembling hand, a splinter of rebellion I barely dared to claim. I don’t remember where I picked it up—some forgotten corner of Lennox’s penthouse, where the flawless facade hides rot beneath its surface. My fingers tighten around the shard, its edge biting into my skin. The faint pulse of the tracker embedded in my neck matches my racing heartbeat, a cruel rhythm imposed on me.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to focus. My entire world feels as brittle as the glass I hold. The room around me is oppressive in its sterile perfection, its muted tones swallowing me whole. The rain slicking the glass windows blurs the skyline, each light beyond promising a freedom I can never touch. Leather and Lennox’s cologne linger in the air, sharp and suffocating, as if the room itself wears his scent.

The shard hovers at the base of my neck, a trembling promise of freedom. The skin there is tender, and as the jagged edge presses down, pain blossoms sharp and immediate. I bite hard on the inside of my cheek to silence the cry rising in my throat. The guards outside cannot know. They cannot see me falter. Even as the thought forms, my chest tightens under the weight of inevitability—Lennox’s retaliation would be far worse than this wound. He would not simply punish me. He would destroy me in ways that leave marks far deeper than scars.

My breathing quickens, shallow and frantic. The lump beneath my skin is a cruel mockery of a second heartbeat, a pulsating reminder that I am not my own. My freedom is just a sliver of flesh away—so close and yet impossible. I press harder. Blood trickles down my neck, seeping into the high collar of my blouse. My Ironwood Pendant swings lightly against my chest, its edges brushing my skin, grounding me. Lennox doesn’t know its meaning, and that makes it mine—one small corner of myself he hasn’t yet stolen. If he knew, would he tear it away too? Probably. The thought twists my gut, but it also fuels my determination.

The shard trembles in my grasp. The hum of the penthouse—the faint whir of hidden technology, the unnatural silence of its luxury—swells around me, deafening. Gabriel’s steady, unreadable gaze flashes in my mind, followed by Alexia’s laugh, bright and warm like sunlight breaking through a storm. Memories of a world beyond Lennox’s clutches, a world I’ve kept at arm’s length to protect them. To protect myself. A world that feels as distant as the skyline.

The shard slips from my bloodied fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound echoes in the stillness, and my heart seizes. The creak of the door follows, quiet but unmistakable. Cold air rushes to meet my skin, snapping me into the moment. I twist toward the shard, desperate, but before I can reach it, a heavy boot grinds it into the polished floor.

The scent of Lennox’s cologne reaches me first, stronger and more suffocating than ever. My body reacts before my mind can catch up—my spine straightens, my hands fly to cover my neck, but it’s too late. I feel him before I see him. His presence sharpens the air in the room, thickens it, makes it impossible to breathe.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Lennox’s voice is soft, almost amused, which makes it all the more terrifying. He never needs to raise his voice. The weight of his authority crushes the air from my lungs.

I don’t answer. I can’t. My breath hitches as his hand clamps around my arm, pulling me upright with ease. My legs feel like water, but he holds me steady, his grip unyielding. The shard of glass crunches beneath his boot as he steps closer, his sharp blue-gray eyes locking onto mine. I force myself to meet his gaze, though my pulse pounds in my ears. He sees my fear, I know he does. He always does.

“Defacing my property, are we?” he murmurs, his free hand ghosting over the blood on my neck. The touch is light, almost tender, but it sends a wave of nausea through me. His tenderness is a lie. A calculated mockery. His gaze flickers down to the pendant where it rests against my collarbone. His lips curl in distaste.

“Holding onto scraps of sentimentality, I see,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “Pathetic.”

I clutch the pendant instinctively, shielding it from his gaze. His sneer deepens, and for a moment, I think he’ll tear it from me. He doesn’t. Instead, he lets go of my arm with a flick of his wrist, as if I’m beneath his notice. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws a pristine white handkerchief and tosses it at me carelessly. It flutters to the floor between us, a mockery of civility.

“Clean yourself up,” he snaps, his tone as sharp as the shard had been. “And don’t make me remind you what happens to those who forget their place.”

I nod stiffly, swallowing the tremor in my throat. My hands shake too hard to grip the handkerchief at first, but I force myself to press it to the wound. The sting of the fabric against my skin is grounding, anchoring me to the present. Lennox watches me for a long moment, his eyes colder than the rain-streaked window behind him. Then, without another word, he turns and strides out. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final and absolute, like a coffin lid sealing shut.

I sink to the floor as soon as he’s gone, my back pressed against the wall. My legs tremble beneath me, my chest heaving with shallow breaths. The shard of glass lies crushed and useless under the light, a broken reflection of my fleeting hope. My fingers tighten around the Ironwood Pendant, the rough wood digging into my palm.

For a moment, I let my head fall back against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling. The pendant feels warm in my hand, its carved surface rough and imperfect, like the faint thread of resilience I cling to. Even here, in Lennox’s world, roots can grow in darkness.

“I’ll survive,” I whisper into the empty room. My voice is barely audible, a fragile promise I make to no one and everyone at once. Gabriel. Alexia. Myself.

My fingers curl tighter around the pendant. Survival isn’t freedom, but it’s a beginning. And for now, that has to be enough.