**Noah’s POV**

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the tray of food in front of me. Eggs, toast, a couple of apple slices—simple, but it smelled better than anything I’d had in a long time. My stomach growled, loud enough to make me flinch. I glanced up at the guy who’d brought it, the one with the scar on his face. He stood by the door, arms crossed, his eyes cold and hard, like he was guarding a criminal. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t want to. All I knew was he worked for Enzo, and that was enough to make me hate him.

I picked up the spoon, my hands shaking a little, and started eating. The first bite hit my tongue, warm and salty, and I realized how starving I was. I didn’t care how I looked, shoveling eggs and toast into my mouth like I’d never see food again. My dad used to forget to buy groceries, so I was used to going hungry, but this was different. I ate so fast I almost choked, the apple slices sweet and crisp. When I finished, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up. The guy was still there, watching me like I was a bug he wanted to squash.

“How long am I gonna be here?” I asked, my voice rough from crying earlier. I set the spoon down, trying to sound tougher than I felt. My body still ached from the chains, from my dad’s bottle, from everything.

He turned, his face blank, like I hadn’t even spoken. “I don’t answer your questions,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “You’re here. That’s it.” He grabbed the empty tray, the plates clinking, and headed for the door.

I opened my mouth to say something else, but the door swung open before I could. Enzo walked in, and my heart stopped. He looked… different. His eyes were darker, wilder, like something was burning inside him. The way he stared at me made my skin crawl, like I was something he wanted to tear apart—or worse. I gripped the bed, my knuckles white, my pulse racing so fast I felt dizzy.

He didn’t even look at the scarred guy. “Leave,” he said, his voice sharp, like a whip. The guy nodded, no questions, and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him. It was just me and Enzo now, and the air felt heavier, like it was pressing down on my chest.

I forced myself to speak, my voice shaking. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked. I didn’t know what was wrong with him, but this wasn’t the Enzo who’d set those rules earlier. That guy was cold, controlled. This Enzo was something else—something dangerous.

He smirked, a slow, creepy smile that made my stomach twist. He stepped closer, so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with something sharp, like danger. His hand reached out, brushing my cheek, his fingers rough but warm. “Finally, I can feel you,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

I froze, my blood turning to ice. “Get away from me,” I said, pulling back, but the bed was right behind me. There was nowhere to go. “What are you talking about?”

His face changed, like something snapped inside him. His eyes flashed red, and before I could move, he lunged, pinning my shoulders to the bed. I gasped, my heart pounding as I shoved against his chest, but he was too strong, his hands like steel. “You don’t get to talk,” he said, his voice rough, not like before. “You belong to me. That’s all you need to know.”

Fear hit me hard, sharp and cold. This wasn’t the Enzo I’d seen before. That guy was scary, sure, but this was different. He was wild, like an animal wearing his skin. I pushed harder, my nails digging into his arms, but it was like fighting a brick wall. “Let me go!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “Please, just stop!”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck, and I froze, tears burning my eyes. I didn’t know what he was going to do, and that scared me more than anything. My dad had hit me, Jake and his friends had beaten me, but this—this was something else. He wasn’t just angry. There was something wrong with him, something that made my skin crawl and my heart race at the same time.

“I’ve waited too long,” he said, his voice low and rough, like it wasn’t fully his. “Everyone will know you’re mine.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I whispered, “Please, leave me alone.” My voice was small, pathetic, and I hated it. I hated how weak I sounded, how helpless I felt. I’d spent my whole life taking hits, but this was different. This was deeper, like he was reaching into my soul.

Then, out of nowhere, he froze. A low growl ripped from his throat, and he stumbled back, collapsing to the floor. I scrambled to the edge of the bed, my heart pounding, watching in horror as he clutched his head, his body shaking like he was fighting something. “No,” he growled, his voice different now, like he was arguing with someone I couldn’t see. “I won’t let you take control!”

He was talking to himself, his words sharp and angry, his hands clawing at the floor, leaving scratches in the wood. I pressed myself against the wall, my breath shallow, too scared to move. What was happening? Was he crazy? Or was it something worse? His eyes were still red, glowing like fire, and his hands were shaking, like he was trying to hold something back.

He went quiet, his body still, and then he looked up at me. The red glow was gone. The wild, hungry look was gone too. Now he just looked… sad. Angry, but sad, like he was carrying a weight I couldn’t understand. His chest heaved, and he stared at me, his voice soft but rough. “Are you okay?”

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