Chapter 3 — Chains and Shadows

Poppy

Lennox’s car slices through the rain-slick streets like a predator on the hunt, its tinted windows shielding us from prying eyes but offering me no protection from the man beside me. My reflection flickers against the glass in fragmented glimpses—pale, hollow-eyed, haunted. The Tenement District blurs past in a haze of neon streaks, their colors smearing against the dark like misplaced hope. The Black Pearl Brooch feels like a lead weight against my chest, its recordings coiled with the tension that wraps around my ribs.

My hands rest stiffly on my lap, fingers laced tightly to hide the tremor I can’t quite suppress. Lennox sits in studied silence, his presence a leaden force that fills the car. The sharp tang of his cologne mingles with the damp air, cold and invasive, like him. He doesn’t speak, but his gaze burns into me when it strays my way, his scrutiny a smoldering reminder of the trap I can’t escape. My heart races, a quiet staccato that matches the faint pulse of the tracker embedded in my neck.

Alexia’s laughter echoes in my mind, warm and unguarded, a brief flicker of light in an otherwise dark evening. Her hug at The Skylight Club had been a moment of solace I don’t deserve. And then there was Gabriel, his steady gaze stripping away the mask I wear so carefully. His words had cut through me: “You don’t belong here.” Not an accusation. A truth. The memory lodges in my chest, painful and disarming, as dangerous as it is fleeting.

The car slows, approaching Lennox’s penthouse—glass and steel rising against the stormy night like a fortress. My pulse quickens, a rabbit caught in the tightening jaws of a trap. This place, this immaculate hell, has seen more of my fear and despair than I care to admit. Its cold beauty looms over me, always ready to devour what little remains of me.

We roll to a smooth stop. Lennox’s hand brushes my wrist lightly as he gestures for me to exit. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a shiver through me, ice sinking into my skin. “Come,” he says, his voice a blade slicing through my thoughts.

I follow him out into the drizzle, the cold droplets pinpricks against my skin. They evaporate as soon as we step into the private elevator, the doors sealing us inside. The hum of its ascent grinds at my nerves. Each passing floor tightens the noose around me, the numbers blinking like a countdown to something inevitable. My reflection in the polished steel doors stares back at me, fractured by the faint fog of my breath. For a single, fleeting moment, I close my eyes and brace myself. This is the point of no return, and I know it.

When the doors slide open, the penthouse unfolds with its usual stark perfection. Sheets of glass reveal the city below, raindrops racing down their surface like prisoners chasing freedom. The hum of hidden surveillance is ever-present, threading the air with a whisper of omniscient control. Lennox strides forward, his movements deliberate, the tempo of a predator staking its claim. I follow at a measured distance, every step a tightrope stretched over the abyss.

He makes his way to the bar, the quiet clink of glass punctuating the silence. His back is to me as he pours himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Ellison?” he asks, his tone deceptively conversational. It’s a snare lying in wait.

I hesitate, choosing my words as carefully as if they could detonate. “It was... enlightening,” I reply softly, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage.

He turns, the glass poised in his hand as his piercing blue-gray eyes find mine. They are cold, dissecting, a scalpel uncovering more than I want to show. He takes a slow sip, the silence stretching until it feels unbearable.

“Enlightening,” he repeats, his voice laced with something unreadable. “An interesting choice of words.”

I nod, forcing my gaze to hold his. “I gathered what you needed—names, alliances, details,” I say, each word carefully weighed.

He sets the glass down with deliberate care, the sound a sharp punctuation mark in the stillness. “Did you now?” His smile tightens, never reaching his eyes.

My hands shake as I unpin the Black Pearl Brooch, the cool metal slick against my fingertips. Placing it on the bar, I step back, the absence of its weight leaving a phantom ache against my chest. Lennox picks it up, his fingers tracing the intricate silver filigree with a precision that makes my stomach churn. He activates the playback, and the room fills with muffled voices—Calloway’s words spilling out in damning fragments.

I hold my breath as the recording plays, dread coiling in my stomach. Did I miss something? Did I say too little? Too much? Lennox leans against the bar, his eyes narrowed as he listens, the city lights carving sharp shadows across his face. The brooch’s tiny red light flickers like an accusing eye, and I suppress the urge to flinch.

When the recording ends, the silence crashes down, deafening. Lennox exhales slowly, setting the brooch aside with a faint clatter. His gaze locks onto me, and my chest tightens.

“You did well,” he says, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth. Relief flickers, fragile and short-lived. “For the most part.”

The air between us thickens as he straightens, stepping closer to me. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, a cat toying with its prey. Instinctively, I step back, my spine meeting the bar’s edge.

“But,” he continues, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “you were distracted tonight.”

The accusation carves through me. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Distraction?” I echo, my voice faint and brittle. The word struggles to leave my throat, denial a bitter taste on my tongue.

His hand snaps out, cold fingers gripping my chin with enough force to still me completely. My breath catches, trapped beneath the weight of his touch. The whiskey on his breath mingles with his cologne, both sharp and suffocating. “You think I didn’t see you?” he murmurs, his tone soft but laced with venom. “Your little reunion with Alexia. The way you looked at her, as though she could save you.”

Panic rises, clawing at my chest. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Poppy.” His grip tightens, the pain lancing through my jaw. “You belong to me. Every glance, every breath, every thought. Do you understand?”

I nod frantically, suppressed panic blurring my vision, the tracker’s faint pulse under my skin only amplifying the dread. His eyes bore into mine for a moment longer before he lets me go, the abruptness leaving me unsteady. I stumble back, my hand flying to my neck in a futile gesture of protection.

“Good,” he says, his tone returning to its deceptive calm. He retrieves his glass, swirling the amber liquid lazily. “You’ll need to be more careful in the future. I won’t be so forgiving next time.”

The dismissal is clear. My legs feel like lead as I retreat to the elevator, my breaths shallow as I press the button. The doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me in. My fingers brush the Ironwood Pendant beneath my blouse, its rough texture grounding me as the walls of the elevator feel like they’re closing in. The memory of Alexia’s carefree laugh and Gabriel’s steady gaze lingers, fragile but persistent.

The city stretches out below me, the rain-streaked windows a reflection of my inescapable reality. Lennox’s wrath is a storm I endure, but deep within the cracks of my resolve, a flame flickers.

I will survive this. I will survive him. And one day, I will be free.