Chapter 228

Evelyn

My eyes blinked open to darkness. Well, a room barely deserving the name. Crumbling walls, shattered water pipes, and the constant drip of water hitting the damp floor surrounded me. The cold wetness had seeped through my boots, and sweat slicked my skin-not from heat, but from the suffocating gag biting into my mouth.

"Well, well." His voice slithered through the room, echoing off the broken walls and scraping against my nerves. "Someone's finally awake, huh?"

Through the haze of drowsiness, I saw him. Tyler. He stood before me, a knife glinting in his hand, the blade catching what little light filtered through the cracks. The silence wrapped around us, broken only by the distant chirping of crickets. No passing cars, no sign of life—just isolation. Wherever I was, it was a place no one with good intentions would tread.

He moved closer, his eyes as dark as his twisted heart. He crouched before me, his knife still in hand, his presence suffocating.

I pressed back against the chair, every inch of me recoiling. He'd positioned me against the wall-had he been afraid I might tip over and ruin his sick little game?

"Don't be scared, Belladonna." His voice dropped to a whisper, a cruel smile curling his lips. "We haven't even started yet."

The blade's cold edge traced over my jean-clad thigh, and a whimper slipped through my gag. My eyes followed the metal's path, but fear kept my lids pinned open. I couldn't look away. I couldn't risk not seeing what came next.

Tyler terrified me. He unraveled me down to my bones.

But then my gaze snagged on the bandage around my hand-the very hand he'd cut before. Confusion clawed its way through my fear. He'd patched me up, but why? Why tend to a wound if he planned worse?

The thought vanished as he pressed the knife's tip under my chin, tilting my head until our eyes met.

"Speaking of starting the game..." His tone was almost playful, but a sharp undercurrent of malice twisted every word. "Tell me, how should we begin?"

He leaned closer, his breath brushing against my skin. "You've got options, sweetheart, but every one of them ends with that cute little-what do you call it? Oh, Sienna." His tongue curled around the name, drawing it out. "Every path leads to your sweet Sienna being ripped right out of your belly. So, why not pick the quickest route? The sooner it's over, the better for you."

A shiver tore through me, raw and violent. The chair rattled beneath me, my body betraying the terror I couldn't hide. Even if someone were miles away, they'd know how badly I was shaking.

I tried to speak, but the gag turned my voice to muffled, broken sounds.

"Oh, right. You need to talk." Tyler chuckled, and with a casual cruelty, he yanked the gag free. Air rushed into my lungs, burning, sharp. My chest heaved as I sucked in breath after desperate breath.

"Bad call with the gag, huh?" He feigned sympathy, a mocking tilt to his head. "I wondered if you'd die before I even started. That would've been a shame."

"Tyler, please." My voice trembled, tears clouding my vision. "Whatever happened between us-my baby has nothing to do with it. She's innocent. I'll talk to Jacob. I'll make him give you back everything. Just-"

His finger pressed against my lips, a mockery of gentleness.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered, his voice a silk-covered blade. "Don't rush. Breathe properly. If that baby dies in your womb, how will I kill it before your eyes?"

His tone was soft, almost tender, but the words dripped with venom. They burrowed under my skin, embedding themselves in my blood, in my bones. This nightmare was only beginning.

I stared at him, wide-eyed, disbelief crashing over me in waves. His words, the cruelty in his eyes, the venom dripping from every syllable-this wasn't the Tyler I'd known.

What had happened to him?

"What happened to you, Tyler?" The question slipped past my lips, a whisper in the damp, rotting air. For a split second, something flickered in his gaze-pain,

perhaps but it was gone before I could grasp it.

"Me?" He chuckled, light and casual, "Me?" He chuckled,

as if we were sharing a joke over

coffee. "Jail happened to me. It changes things, you know? Teaches you a few murder techniques,

introduces you to

convicts w

stories that make your skin crawl. And when you've got nothing left to lose, well, you get to be your true self." s

He leaned in closer, his breath a hot, unsettling presence. "The real Tyler Ricci. You're about to meet him, but what a shame-you'll die before you really get to know him." His head tilted, a mask of mock pity slipping into place.

I sucked in a breath, my lungs fighting against the lingering fog of whatever sedative he'd used. My vision swam, the room twisting at the edges, but I forced my voice to steady.

"I won't deny that I hate you, Tyler. I won't deny that you're the most sick, selfish, and depraved person I've ever known I'll carry that hate to my graved My voice wavered, but kept. going, needing him to hear me. "But this this isn't you. It doesn't feel like you." s

Something sharp moved through his expression, a crack in his armor.

"I wouldn't say ever truly knew you, but I know this isn't real. You're not doing this for Jacob. You could hate him all you want, but this this isnt about him. What is it, Tyler? What are you really trying to do? Who are you trying to get back at?" s

His reaction was immediate. His eyes widened, then narrowed, his jaw clenching

so tight I thought I heard his teeth grind. His fists tightened around the knife, knuckles white and trembling.

I'd struck a nerve. I wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing, but I couldn't stop. The words had taken on a life of their own, spilling out of me, raw and unfiltered.

"What is it, Tyler?" My voice softened, weighed down by exhaustion. "Why are you trying to—"

The knife flashed.

"Shut the fuck up!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the blade, for the pain, for the end.

The room cracked open with a slicing noise, sharp and wet, and my breath caught in my throat.

Was this it?

Darkness coiled around the edges of my mind, ready to swallow me whole.

But there was no pain. No sharp intrusion of steel into flesh.

Slowly, I cracked one eye open, just a sliver.

Tyler stood before me, the knife buried not in my chest but in the wooden armrest of the chair. His hand still gripped the hilt, the metal vibrating with the force of the strike. His chest heaved, breath ragged, eyes wild with something I couldn't name.

Rage. Regret. Desperation.

Something in him had snapped, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late to break through.