Camila's POV
The echo of Lucien's footsteps faded, but the weight of his words still pressed down on my chest.
Fight me… or survive me.
What kind of choice was that?
The grand dining room emptied around me, but I didn't move. My appetite was long gone, and even if it hadn't been, the taste of fear made everything feel rotten. I stared at the untouched food—expensive, perfectly plated, and completely wasted.
Just like me.
Eventually, I stood and wandered through the corridor, hoping—foolishly—to find something that looked like an exit. But everything here was designed like a palace. Rich. Cold. Too clean, too still. The kind of place where secrets lived behind every gold-framed door.
The guards didn't speak, only followed. Silent shadows reminding me I wasn't free.
I tried doors, found some locked, others leading to elegant bathrooms, dressing rooms, a hallway lined with mirrors. In one, I caught my reflection. I barely recognized her—the girl in silk, eyes wide, hair tamed into something softer. Not me. Not really.
Lucien wanted silence and loyalty. But I wasn't sure I had either left in me.
I reached a balcony. Moonlight washed over the railing, silvering the stone. Beyond it, the city lights sparkled like false promises. So close… and so far away.
My fingers curled around the edge.
Don't be stupid, Camila. You're not jumping. You're not giving him the satisfaction of watching you shatter.
Not yet.
"I hope you're not thinking of running," a voice drawled behind me.
I turned sharply. A tall woman stood in the doorway—dark red lips, curves that didn't need effort, and a glare that could slice through bone.
One of his mistresses.
She stepped closer, arms crossed. "You're new. So I'll say it once: stay out of our way. Don't think for a second that just because he paid a lot for you, you matter."
I didn't answer. But my silence wasn't submission—it was calculation.
She smiled thinly. "Good girl." And then she walked away, heels clicking like gunshots down the marble hall.
I exhaled, staring out at the night.
This place wasn't a home. It was a cage dressed in gold and silk. Lucien Valentini hadn't stolen my freedom with chains—he was suffocating me with control.
But I wasn't broken yet.
And I wouldn't play by his rules forever.
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Chapter — Camila Reyes (A Prison Made of Gold, Part 2)
Camila's POV
The red-lipped woman's threat still echoed in my ears, but it wasn't fear that clenched in my chest—it was something colder. Stronger. Anger.
She didn't know me. None of them did. And that was going to be their mistake.
I left the balcony, moving like a ghost through the halls. I didn't try to be loud, but I didn't try to disappear either. It was late—too late for servants to be sweeping the marble floors. And if Lucien's people noticed me, I'd just pretend I was lost.
Let them think I was still soft and scared.
I counted doors as I passed. Noticed turns. Marked landmarks in my mind: a cracked mirror, a painting of a bleeding saint, the strange black vase with crimson flowers that looked too fresh to be real. Every detail carved its way into my mental map.
If I was ever going to get out of this place, I needed to know it better than Lucien did.
I turned a corner and saw a hallway I hadn't noticed before—narrower, darker. It looked... wrong. Like something the house itself wanted to hide.
And that's when I heard it.
A muffled cry. A scream, quickly silenced.
I froze.
My breath hitched. My feet moved before I could stop them.
I shouldn't. I knew that.
But I had to.
The door at the end of the corridor wasn't locked. That surprised me. It almost felt like a trap. Like they wanted someone curious to open it.
But I did anyway.
Inside, the air was different. Heavy. Cold.
There were no chandeliers, no marble floors—just stone. Damp and dark, like a basement dressed in shadow. I moved quietly, following the faint sound of movement, of sobs swallowed by thick walls.
And then I saw it.
Through a gap in the iron bars of another door.
A room. A boy—no, a man—chained to a chair, bruised and bloodied. His shirt torn, his face unrecognizable beneath swelling and cuts. One eye was swollen shut, the other stared blankly ahead.
Someone had done this to him.
I pressed a hand to my mouth.
"You weren't supposed to see that."
The voice came from behind me.
I spun—and found myself staring into the eyes of a tall man in a dark uniform. Not a servant. Not a guard. Something in between.
My heart punched my ribs.
He stepped forward, calmly. "Come. Let's get you back before Mr. Valentini finds out."
I didn't move.
"I said come."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. There was steel beneath the softness.
I let him lead me away. But I looked back once.
The man in the chair hadn't moved. But in that moment, I knew something: this place wasn't just a prison.
It was a kingdom of secrets.
And I had just found one.