The fever clung to Heaven like a second skin, leaving her trapped between wakefulness and exhaustion. The medicine Jayden had brought helped dull the burning sensation, but it did little to ease the chill that ran through her. She lay in bed, her mind clouded with memories of Dylan's mocking voice, his touch—always reminding her that she belonged to him.
She hated it.
She had to get out.
The thought circled in her mind relentlessly, but her body refused to cooperate. Her limbs were weak, and even lifting a glass of water felt like an impossible task. Still, she knew one thing for certain—Dylan Martin wouldn't let her go so easily.
The door creaked open, and Heaven tensed.
Jayden stepped inside, his expression softer than Dylan's ever was. He carried a tray of food, setting it down beside her. "You need to eat," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Heaven turned her face away. "I'm not hungry."
Jayden sighed. "You'll need your strength, Heaven. If not for yourself, then for your little brother."
Her eyes snapped back to him, a flash of pain and anger in them. "Is that a threat?"
Jayden shook his head. "No. Just a reminder." He studied her for a moment before lowering his voice. "I know you hate him. But if you want to survive, you need to play smart."
Heaven clenched her fists under the covers. She hated how helpless she felt. Hated how they controlled every aspect of her life now. "You don't know anything," she whispered.
Jayden smiled slightly, though there was no humor in it. "You'd be surprised." He stood up, heading toward the door. "Eat. It'll be worse if Dylan finds out you didn't."
With that, he left, and Heaven was alone again.
She stared at the untouched food.
He was right. If she wanted to survive—if she wanted to escape—she had to be strong. She had to play smart.
With newfound determination, she picked up the spoon and forced herself to eat.
Little did she know, outside her door, Dylan stood in the hallway, listening.
And he was smiling