Chapter 18

**Allison's POV**

I nearly lost it when Zain suggested I go on one of their twisted missions. Has he lost his mind? Then again, considering I'm stuck in their asylum of madness, it's probably safe to assume that everyone here, except me, is completely off their rocker.

A torture house. How medieval of them! Poor Hector—just imagining the pain of his bruises made my own face ache. I've never been beaten, but I'm pretty sure it hurts like hell.

"Don't worry. I won't let you out of my sight. Not until you're ready." Darius's voice cuts through my thoughts as soon as Zain disappears from view.

Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious, considering how much I wish I could vanish from his sight entirely. Having his attention is punishment enough.

"Thanks," I mutter through clenched teeth, my words dripping with sarcasm. His nose wrinkles in disgust, as if my tone offends him.

"You think I'm the worst person alive, don't you? You probably think my brother is better. Just a thug, but with a heart of flesh..." He starts, his voice laced with a strange mix of bitterness and pain. It's as if he's trying to prove he's not beyond redemption. But why? I've seen too much of his cruelty to believe that.

"I don't care. I'm in your debt. I don't think you should care what I think either." My words are defiant, dismissing his attempt to engage me in some moral debate.

"Good." A weird smile curls on his lips. I can never figure him out—he shifts like a chameleon. "I checked on your mother, by the way."

My heart skips a beat, and every thought in my head vanishes. "My mom? You really checked on her?" I repeat, my voice trembling with hope as I swallow nervously.

He pauses before replying. "I did."

I swallow again, the lump in my throat growing. "And? How is she? Does she hate me? Is she awake? And my... my dad? Is he by her side? Of course, he is. He loves her too much to leave her." I'm rambling, trying to hold back the tears that burn behind my eyes. Knowing Darius, he's probably enjoying my vulnerability, waiting to twist the knife.

"She's awake. She looked pale, but better than the last time I saw her. And yes, Frank never left her side. The man looks miserable, I confess." His tone is unexpectedly normal—no sympathy, but not mocking either. "How's your relationship with her?"

The question catches me off guard. My jaw drops, and I don't know what to say. I shrug, avoiding his gaze as my eyes dart between my flip-flops, his shoes, and the floor.

"Fine," I reply simply, not willing to delve into anything deeper, knowing he'd just use it against me.

"I asked you a question, Allison. I expect a detailed answer. I want to know why you blame yourself for your mother's sickness."

If I didn't know better, I'd think he actually cared. But I know him—this is just another way to torture me. He's probing my weakest point, and I won't let him. I won't let him break me.

"What do you want to hear?" I snap, feigning interest as I mock him. "That we were enemies? That I have mommy issues, or maybe now daddy issues? Why do you care? What do you want with this information? I love my mom, as any daughter should. And yes, I blame myself for her being in the hospital. If you had any humanity, you'd understand that! It doesn't matter if she's been sick for years—my actions pushed her over the edge."

He flinches, but only for a second. "She's been sick for a while. That's all you need to know. Stop blaming yourself. If anyone's to blame, it's Frank. He knew about her condition from the start, yet he let you think you were the cause."

I can't bear to talk about my father anymore; it's too hard to keep a clear head and steady heartbeat. He knew all along about my mother's illness and still blamed me. Because of him, I can't forgive myself—and I'll never forgive him.

What puzzles me now is Darius's sudden attempt to comfort me. It feels like I'm being set up for a colossal blow that will shatter my sanity.

"It doesn't matter," I mumble, giving up on the conversation.

"You're right, it doesn't. Enough of the madhouse tour, too. I'm taking you shopping. It's time you start looking like a Hunter girl." He grins, leading me to the exit and even holding the door open for me.

I must have dozed off on the way because the next thing I know, we're at a boutique—a couture one, to be precise. The air inside smells like pure luxury.

"Bienvenue, Monsieur et Madame," a sophisticated woman greets us, her elegance making me feel out of place.

My mouth falls open as I try to take in the splendor around me, too distracted to notice how she's flirting with Darius. I'm more focused on a pair of lemon-green nine-inch platform heels that seem to call my name. I can't imagine walking in them, but I can definitely picture myself towering over Darius in them, staring him down as I strangle the life out of him.

"...Allison? I didn't know you liked shoes that much..." Darius's voice pulls me back to reality, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Er, sorry." The apology slips out, though I don't mean it.

"This lovely lady will help you choose some outfits. And please, do wear them properly—they're not wrappers for sharp objects. This store is very expensive, and if you respect money at all, you'll wear the clothes right. If not... it'll just add to your debt."

The word "debt" leaves a sour taste in my mouth, my stomach churning at the thought. Hearing it from Darius makes me feel sick. What's worse is how he's now smiling at the saleswoman, practically drooling over her lips. I wouldn't be surprised if he had sex with her right here—he's shameless like that.

The thought makes me shudder. He has no shame.

"I hear you," I reply flatly.

"Hmm. Well, I'll be over there, waiting for you, my model. You'll try on as many dresses as I want, and I'll decide which ones are worthy. But make sure you put on a good show, or..." He lets his threat hang in the air, a smile playing on his lips.

"Don't worry, my love. She'll wear them all. I'll dress her up myself if I have to, and considering what she's wearing now, it shouldn't be too hard." The saleswoman blabs on, making me hate her even more. Who does she think she is with her fake French accent?

Okay, maybe it's not fake. I'm just a hater.

With a nod from Darius, she grabs my wrist and drags me to a different room—a stunning one, I won't lie. A long row of elegant, yet borderline slutty, dresses are lined up for me to try. I could die here with a smile on my face, wake up, and die again.

"This is my brand room. Every dress here is my design," she says proudly, earning a sliver of respect from me. If she designed these beautiful dresses, she's got talent.

"They're beautiful," I admit sincerely.

"Beautiful? Non. They're heavenly. I design these for special Hunter girls. You don't know how lucky you are to have a handsome and generous boss like that. I'd do anything to get him into my pants, but... he doesn't like me much. Apparently, he doesn't mix business with pleasure."

I kind of admire how she says whatever comes to mind. It's funny. And I might even pity her a little—falling for someone like Darius must be tough. Any girl who has a crush on him probably wakes up every night in a cold sweat, wondering what's going on in his twisted mind. I wonder how many hearts he's broken. Hopefully, millions.

"Sorry," I drawl.

"Sorry? You don't like him much, do you?"

I choke on a chuckle. "Much? Try not at all."

She turns to study me, a suspicious frown on her face. "Weird. Every girl that comes here either already loves him or has a crush on him. You're very... different. I'd love to hear your story, but I already know it. He kidnapped you, right? You're his biggest debtor. Your dad must have been in some dirty business, and for a priest?" She shakes her head in disappointment, tossing a simple yet elegant black dress into my hands. It's short, form-fitting, and looks like it's made of pure silk.

"He was a gambler on the run," I explain.

"Nah, he was Darius's friend too. Or rather, a role model, seeing how old he was. Your mother, on the other hand, was badass. Sorry for your loss, by the way..."

"No, she's not dead. Just sick."

The woman glances at me and shrugs. "Good for you. I hope she doesn't die. Put on the black dress, and then go out the back—he's waiting for you there."

I nervously strip off my nightgown in front of her, feeling her eyes burning into my skin.

"Hmm. Great body. I'm sure he'll want to fuck you."

"Excuse me?" I snap, my face flushing with anger and embarrassment.

"Wear the dress girl."

I catch my reflection in the mirror and can't help but smile at the woman staring back at me. The dress transforms me, making me look more confident, more... powerful. But the smile fades quickly as reality sets in—I'll have to parade in front of Darius like a fool.

"It really suits you. You should consider modeling for me when Darius finally lets you go," the saleswoman says, her tone almost friendly.

I nod and force a smile before stepping through the back door where Darius is waiting. The moment I lift the curtain, I see him hunched over his phone, his face a mask of frustration as he furiously types away. For a moment, I think about slipping back into the dressing room unnoticed, but instead, I stay put, silently observing him.

"Fuckers..." he mutters under his breath, the anger in his voice palpable. But then he looks up, and his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his forehead melts away, replaced by a smile that seems genuine—real pleasure and pride.

"You look..." He pauses, swallowing hard as his eyes travel over me. He leans back, clearly savoring the sight. "Beautiful."

"Thanks," I reply, allowing a small smile to escape. For once, I can agree with him.

"We've got to go, anyway," he says, abruptly shifting gears. "Something's come up with my daughter."

"Daughter? You have a daughter?" The words slip out before I can stop them, my surprise evident.

He smiles, a little amused by my shock, and shrugs. "You're not the only daughter in the world, Allison."