Chapter 25 – Rule One

Margot’s POV

The world came back to me in pieces: a hand, a shake, a jolt so violent my entire body rattled on the floor. My eyes scrunched shut as I let out a groan, every muscle stiff, my back screaming with newly found aches.

I didn’t feel ready to wake up yet…

“Ugh…” I mumbled, stretching out slowly, limbs heavy and unwilling. “Just five more minutes…”

Wrong. Something was wrong.

“No! Get the fuck up,” Coban snarled, his voice splitting the fog of my dreams like a whip. “I’m not taking you to breakfast wearing that. Cells open in fifteen – don’t make me fucking drag you to the shower.”

My eyes shot open at that voice.

I blinked up, disoriented for half a breath—then when I glanced over my shoulder, my vision locked on him.

Coban.

Crouched down right next to me. His bare chest glistened, a towel slung low around his hips, dark hair dripping wet from the shower.

It took everything in me not to recoil.

The nearness. The aggression in his tone. The heat still radiating off his skin. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fire and was ready to throw me into one.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t hear you—” I scrambled up onto my elbows before turning fully to lock eyes with him.

But then he stilled.

His expression twisted. Not anger. Not amusement. Something sharper. Eyes locked on my face like they’d spotted something rotten.

“What the fuck is that on your face?” he asked, features screwing up.

My stomach dropped. My mind raced.

What…?

Then it hit me.

The damn bruise!

I’d forgotten all about it!

After last night’s shower, I’d gotten really tired, wanted to put my things away, and only got halfway through before grabbing my blanket and curling up on the floor.

I’d completely skipped the concealer. The bruise was on full show now, bare and blooming like an ugly secret across my skin.

“Oh. That?” I forced a nervous laugh, scrambling to play it off as though it were nothing. “I, um… I fell. Hit a table edge. Stupid, really.” My words came out fast, tangled, and idiotic.

I reached to stand, desperate to put some distance between us—

His hand shot out like a cracking whip, closing around my wrist firmly.

He yanked me back down, closer to him now, as I inhaled a sharp, fearful breath. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to remind me that he could hurt me if he wanted to.

His grip was commanding, fast, terrifying.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, voice low and lethal. “That’s breaking rule number one.”

My chest tightened. My lungs forgot how to work. It was the first time he’d touched me since I’d arrived, and even though it wasn’t a hit, it felt like one. His speed, his precision—it was a warning of how dangerous he was. A demonstration.

My lips parted, dry and useless. “I–I’m not lying, I—”

He didn’t buy it. His stare pierced through me like knives.

“You want another night on this floor?” he snapped.

“No.” The word slipped out like a breath, barely audible.

“Then don’t test me, Bella!” he snapped, the pet name feeling like a punishment itself each time he used it.

I was spiraling. Every cell in my body screaming be smart, Margot, be safe.

“I–I was attacked… walking home one night.”

It sounded more like a question though, even to me.

“Attacked, yes. That explains the bruises down your legs… I noticed them too, I’m not a fucking idiot…” he started, as I nodded slowly and swallowed the lump in my throat.

I had almost forgotten how exposed I had been, asleep without my blanket for cover and in shorts! Of course, he had seen them! I was only glad that the more ugly scars were hidden on my back… thankfully still concealed.

Was he believing it? A random attack in the street? Had I actually managed to save myself from the ‘my Dad’s an abusive asshole chat?’

Coban’s jaw ticked, eyeing me over.

I was terrified that he could smell the lie. Taste it.

“Shower. Get dressed. Think about your choices before you lie to me again.” He rose to his full height, his grip on my wrist pulling me up with him. “You can tell me the truth about who attacked you when you get out! But be warned, three strikes and you’re out, princess.”

Then, just like that, he turned and walked away—like nothing had even happened. Like he hadn’t just yanked my body and soul off the ground with a single hand and reminded me that I was his to deal with however he saw fit.

My legs were jelly, but I didn’t hesitate.

I rushed to the drawer, rummaging blindly for my clothes and underwear before returning to the box for the makeup compact I’d stupidly ignored the night before.

My fingers found the concealer, and I clutched it like a lifeline, along with the folded uniform, a clean pair of underwear, and the soft hairbrush.

No more mistakes.

I darted for the bathroom and shut the door behind me with a shaky breath, locking it like my life depended on it.

Maybe it did?

“Ten minutes!” I heard Coban yell from the other side of the door, as I trembled and stripped off in record time, rushing into the shower.

The water scalded me.

I let it. Turned the handle all the way to the left until the heat bit into my skin like punishment.

I scrubbed fast, mechanical, barely processing the motions. Soap. Rinse. Soap. Rinse again. I didn’t let myself linger. There was no luxury in this. No time to think, or feel, or cry.

I had ten minutes.

I shut the water off and reached for the towel, wrapping it tight around my chest as I stepped out into the cold, sterile bathroom light.

Glancing in the mirror, the bruise was worse than I remembered.

A sick bloom of purple and green spreading like oil across my face.

‘Three strikes and you’re out’.

I chewed my lip, knowing I had no choice but to be truthful…

I tugged on my clean underwear first, followed by the new pale grey sweatpants I was forced to opt for over the pink, before peeling on a white, soft sports bra topped with a fitted white vest. My skin was still boiling from the shower, and so I decided to carry my matching grey sweatshirt.

My fingers trembled as I opened the makeup compact and began dabbing concealer over the bruise.

It was thin, but I layered it anyway, praying it would hold.

It helped. A little. Enough to look like maybe it wasn’t what it was. Enough to fool someone who didn’t really want to look closely.

I took my hair down again, and brushed through it with quick, jerking motions until it sat somewhat presentable.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, the cell doors began to buzz and clang open, the sound echoing like gunshots through the walls.

Coban was waiting near the door dressed in a full black sweatsuit; the most clothes I had seen him in since we met. Hair still damp but styled neatly.

He looked me over slowly, taking in the grey and white outfit and my new face, the work I’d done to cover the bruise.

“Better,” he muttered. “Put on your sweatshirt and slides, and let’s go.”

I nodded, moving to retrieve the white slides, slipping my feet into them—thankful they fit—before tugging on the jumper against my hot skin, not wanting to argue.

Here goes nothing…