Page 7 of Mystic's Sunrise

Maybe it would.

Drago had made sure of that. The first time one of the prospects lingered too long near the hallway while I was walking past, Drago beat him so badly he had to be carried out.

He hadn’t touched me.

Hadn’t spoken to me.

He just looked.

That was enough.

Now, they wouldn’t even meet my eyes. Not at meals. Not in passing. It was like I was a ghost again, only this time, not because I was trying to be invisible.

But because I wasuntouchable.

Drago’s.

The first time I heard someone whisper it behind my back, the words felt like chains slipping around my throat.

“She’s Drago’s.”

I told myself I was safe. That he had rescued me. That what I had now was better than where I came from.

But freedom shouldn’t feel like this.

I sat with him in the corner of the common room most nights. A book in my lap I didn’t really read. A drink I didn’t touch. Just… sitting. Watching.

Drago always had one hand on me when we were together, on my leg, my hip, the back of my neck. Possessive. Proud.

And every time a man lingered too long near me, he’d tighten his grip like a reminder.

But no one dared approach. No one dared get close to me.

Until her.

Lucy.

She walked in like chaos on two feet. Confident. Full of life. A mouth that didn’t know how to stay shut. And for some reason, she sat next to me like I was just another girl in the room.

“Is that coffee?” she asked one night, peeking into my mug.

I blinked. “Tea,” I said softly.

“Oh.” She paused, then smiled. “That sucks.”

And just like that… I wasn’t alone anymore.

She didn’t flinch when Drago looked her way. Didn’t lower her voice. Didn’t act like I was some dangerous thing wrapped in silence.

She talked.

She listened.

She laughed.

And something in me—something buried deep under years of silence—stirred.

I latched onto her friendship the way a drowning girl clings to driftwood. Because Lucy didn’t see me as a warning sign. She didn’t care who I belonged to.

---