Chapter 2 Jerome Black

Aiyana 's P.O.V

Waking up felt like swimming through tar.

Heavy, suffocating, dragging me back under every time I tried to break the surface. Voices drifted in from somewhere far away, muffled, distorted, like I was underwater.

A beeping noise cut through the fog, steady and rhythmic.

My eyelids fluttered, then sank as the world wouldn’t stay still.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I managed to pry my eyes open but closed them back, sharply.

Blinding white swallowed everything.

A ceiling. Smooth. Sterile. Too bright. Too clean.

Hospital?

My breath hitched. I turned my head slightly, and pain exploded through my skull. A groan escaped before I could swallow it.

Then something cold tugged at my wrist.

Not IV tape.

Metal.

I blinked hard until the blur sharpened. My arms were pulled slightly apart, not painfully—but secured.

I was chained.

Actual chains. Silver metal cuffs locked around both wrists, attached to the bed frame.

My heart lurched so fast I thought it would tear out of my chest.

What…

Where…

Why…

The memories slammed into me with savage force.

The street.

The bleeding.

The black car.

The man.

Jerome Black.

No. That had to be a dream. A trauma-induced hallucination clinging to the edges of consciousness. My brain trying to cope with dying by imagining shiny cars and sharper men.

I swallowed hard, but my throat scraped painfully. The IV needle in my arm pulsed with each heartbeat, sending coldness through my veins. My legs trembled violently as sensation crawled back into them.

I wasn’t dreaming now.

But had I been dreaming then?

I forced myself upright. The chains rattled loud enough to echo.

My breathing quickened, too fast, too shallow. My chest tightened.

I scanned the room.

It wasn’t a normal hospital room.

It was luxury, in a terrifying way. Everything was white, silver, and clinical. Machines hummed quietly beside me. There were monitors I’d never seen before, showing readings that looked far too advanced for any public hospital. The walls were reinforced metal beneath the painted surface. Cameras in the corners blinked red.

The door across from me was guarded.

By three men.

Huge. Silent. Dressed in identical black suits that hugged their bodies like armor. They looked carved from stone, stiff posture, unreadable faces, eyes that didn’t blink enough.

Eyes that were looking straight at me, and looked like it had been looking for a long time.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. My mouth dried instantly. I pulled myself tighter against the bed’s headboard, the chains clinking with each panicked motion.

They didn’t move.

They didn’t speak.

They just stared.

Were they even real?

Maybe I was dead. Maybe this was hell. Maybe hell was waking up in a hospital chained to a bed with men watching you breathe.

My voice trembled out of me before I could stop it.

“H-Hello?”

Nothing.

Not a nod, not a glance exchanged. Just three pairs of cold eyes.

I pulled harder on the restraints, instinct clawing its way up my throat. Pain shot through my arm as the IV needle tugged deeper into my skin, but fear overruled it. The metal cuffs bit into my wrists as I yanked against them again and again.

“Please.w-why. why am I…” My voice cracked. “Is someone there? Please…”

No reaction.

Only more staring.

How unlucky could I get?

I froze when a shadow appeared in the doorway.

A tall, dark silhouette.

My pulse jumped so violently that my entire body twitched. I blinked furiously, clearing my vision.

The shape stepped into the room.

Black suit.

Black shirt.

Black aura.

My stomach dropped so hard it dragged my soul with it.

No.

No, no, no…

It wasn't a dream.

Jerome Black was real, and he was in front of me.

Walking toward me with the same unhurried, predatory grace he had when he crouched over me in the street.

He didn’t need to run.

His presence filled the entire room, crowding the air until it felt too thick to breathe.

The guards straightened even more, barely perceptible, but noticeable.

They feared him.

Everyone feared him.

My entire body shook uncontrollably. I pressed myself back against the headboard, curling into a tight ball despite the screaming protest of my wounds. The IV needle dug deeper, sending a sharp sting up my arm.

I ignored it.

I ignored everything except the looming danger approaching my bed.

Jerome stopped beside me.

His eyes swept over me, slowly, coldly, dissecting every part of me like he was cataloguing damage or assessing a possession. The lighting made the angles of his face even sharper, carved in steel rather than skin.

He looked annoyed.

That terrified me more than anything.

Finally, he spoke. His voice low, calm, and deadly enough to shatter bone.

“Make sure you don’t kill yourself.” He stated, staring at the drip needle that had almost dug itself fully into my vein.

The words slithered through the air like a warning wrapped in velvet. I stiffened, breath trapped in my throat.

“You belong to me now.” He continued, each syllable precise. “And only I can take your life.”

My heart stopped.

Actually stopped.

A ringing filled my ears, drowning everything else out. His voice repeated in my head, slow and deliberate, like he carved the meaning into my skull:

You belong to me now.

Only I can take your life.

No dream could craft this level of fear.

No hallucination could make my blood run this cold.

He was real, and I was chained in his hospital.

A pathetic whimper escaped before I could choke it down. My vision trembled. Sweat cooled on my skin, turning my hospital gown damp. The monitors beside me beeped faster and faster, revealing my panic to everyone in the room.

Jerome didn’t flinch.

Didn’t soften.

Didn’t offer comfort.

I mean I didn't dare imagine comfort from him, I was just hoping I could help the life I didn't loose last night.

He simply watched, studied, like my fear was data he could use.

I drew my knees up tighter, curling so hard around myself that my ribs screamed. I wanted to disappear.

Sink into the mattress. Vanish, but the chains kept me grounded in the nightmare.

Jerome leaned forward slightly, lowering his face just enough so his shadow draped over me.

“This...” He said quietly, “is the only reason you are still breathing. Remember that.”

My tears broke then.

Silent, shaking, impossible to stop. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could unsee him. Unhear him. Unknow he existed.

But the smell of him, sharp, expensive, and cold, hit my senses.

The heat radiating from him.

The weight of his stare.

He was too real.

Far too real.

I felt the moment my mind snapped under the pressure. A crack, a break, a shatter. The world spun violently, the lights above me doubling and tripling. My head felt too light and too heavy at the same time. The ringing grew louder, drowning the beeping machines.

My body went limp against the bed.

The last thing I saw…

The last terrible confirmation that this wasn’t a dream…

Was Jerome Black’s face. Again.