The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 942

When Clive woke up, his head was splitting. It felt like a thousand steel needles were violently churning inside his skull. He tried to raise a hand to rub his temples but found his arm too heavy to lift. His entire body felt weak and drained, as if every ounce of strength had been siphoned out of him.

He forced his heavy eyelids open. His vision blurred for a long moment before finally sharpening.

What met his eyes wasn't the familiar, pristine white ceiling of Zeus's apartment. Instead, he stared up at a rough concrete ceiling covered in hairline fractures, with dark, damp water stains creeping out from the corners.

The entire space was agonizingly cramped and sealed off. A single low-wattage bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting a dim, jaundiced glow that stretched his distorted shadow across the cement floor.

Realization hit him. Clive jerked upright, but a wave of dizzying vertigo immediately sent the room spinning. He collapsed heavily back onto the hard bed.

Beneath him was a rusted, single-sized iron frame bed, topped with a pitifully thin mattress that dug painfully into his bones. Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, he propped himself up to scan the room. His heart plummeted.

It was a windowless, sunless basement. Barely a hundred square feet, the furnishings were horrifyingly sparse. Aside from the uncomfortable iron bed, there was only a wobbly plastic stool and a brand-new, portable plastic toilet.

No windows. The only exit was a heavy steel door.

The door looked heavily modified—thick, solid, and sealed tightly at the edges.

The air was thick with a nauseating mix of damp mildew and pungent disinfectant.

Panic swept over Clive like a freezing tidal wave.

What the hell was Zeus planning to do to him?

Clive scrambled off the bed, his legs turning to jelly. He stumbled toward the door, threw his weight against it, and grabbed the handle, twisting it with all his might.

Sliding down the freezing steel door, a crushing wave of helplessness hit him. He slumped onto the concrete floor, utterly drained, while an invisible hand squeezed his heart tight.

Time crawled by in the suffocating silence. Maybe it had only been a few minutes, or maybe a century had passed.

Just as his mind was about to be completely swallowed by despair, the distinct, metallic scrape of a key sliding into the lock pierced the quiet.

Clive bolted upright like he'd been electrocuted, his heart pounding against his ribs, his eyes locked onto the door.

It swung open. Zeus walked in, casually balancing a small tray holding a glass of water and a few pills.

He had swapped his usual immaculate suit for light, casual loungewear. His expression was placid. He even had a forced, gentle smile playing on his lips, making him look completely natural—as if he were just checking in on a sick sibling, rather than subjecting him to inhumane captivity.