I hate him.
I hate Xavier Blackwood with every fiber of my being as I turn and sprint deeper into the freaky chamber full of spikes. My bare feet slap against the cold marble floor, the sound echoing off the twisted architecture around me.
But I run anyway.
Cora’s screams still ring in my ears from those speakers, each cry driving me forward even as my body protests. My legs shake from the orgasm he wrung fromme, muscles weak and unsteady, but terror for my best friend gives me strength I didn’t know I had.
A part of me recognizes this for what it is—manipulation at its finest. Xavier played my emotions like a virtuoso, using my love for Cora against me. He knew exactly which buttons to push to make me comply after I’d finally found the courage to say no.
I run anyway.
Because real or fabricated, I can’t risk those screams being genuine. I can’t live with myself if Cora comes to harm because I was too proud to play his sick game.
The corridor narrows as I go deeper, metal spikes jutting from the walls at increasingly sharp angles. What started as decorative intimidation has become a hazardous obstacle. The space between the spikes shrinks with each step, forcing me to weave between them more carefully.
My breathing comes in short gasps, partly due to exertion and partly due to the growing claustrophobia. The red lights cast everything in hellish shadows, making the spikes look larger and more menacing than they probably are.
But probably isn’t good enough when razor-sharp metal hovers inches from my skin.
The walls seem to pulse inward with each beat of my heart, spikes reaching for me like grasping fingers. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the controlled temperature as the space continues to contract.
Too close. They’re getting too close.
A whimper escapes my throat as I press myselfagainst what little clear wall space remains. The spikes aren’t just decoration anymore—they’re a trap.
My chest tightens with panic as the realization hits. There’s no way forward without risking impalement, but going back means facing Xavier again. This means abandoning any chance of helping Cora.
The metal walls seem to breathe around me, spikes gleaming like teeth in a closing mouth.
I don’t think—I move.
My legs pump beneath me as I sprint toward the narrowing gap between the spikes. The metal points gleam like fangs in the red light, reaching for me from all sides. There’s maybe three feet of clearance, shrinking with each second that passes.
Two and a half feet.
Two feet.
I launch myself forward, diving between the closing walls as the spikes scrape together behind me. The sound of metal grinding against metal fills the corridor, and I feel the brush of razor-sharp points against my back as I tumble through.
My knees hit marble on the other side, skin sliding against the polished flooring. I’m alive.
And I’m exactly where Xavier wanted me to be.
The thought hits me as I scramble to my feet, looking back at the now-closed passage. The spikes have sealed completely, forming an impenetrable wall of metal teeth. There’s no going back the way I came.
Of course, there isn’t.
Because Xavier Blackwood doesn’t leave anything tochance. Every corridor, every trap, every moment of seeming choice—it’s all designed to push me deeper into his maze. The spike trap wasn’t meant to kill me. It was meant to force me forward.
Into whatever fresh horror he’s prepared next.
I turn away from the sealed passage and face the corridor ahead. More red lights, more shadows, more uncertainty about what waits around each corner.
But I run anyway.
My bare feet slap against cold marble as I sprint down the new passageway, not daring to look back at the trap I escaped. Every instinct screams that I’m walking deeper into his web, playing his game exactly as he intended.
The walls here are smooth, with no spikes or obvious threats, but that doesn’t make me feel safer. If anything, the normalcy feels more ominous. Xavier’s mind doesn’t work in straight lines—the real danger always comes when you think you’re safe.
