My moist eyes took in the cold marbled floor stretching underneath the high ceiling. Everything gleamed with wealth, like the house didn’t know how to be lived in.
The witch tugged me forward, snapping me out of my trance. My feet faltered as my mind raced. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t just rich—he was powerful. The kind of power that made people disappear without a trace.
What could he possibly want from us? From me?
The maid led me through an arched doorway into what appeared to be a dining room.
There he sat at the head of the table, his back to me, his fingers curling around the stem of a wine glass, the liquid inside catching the light like blood.
I thought I knew fear, but this man redefined it.
He didn’t look at me right away, but somehow I felt his sentience.
The shadows played tricks on his face until he looked more like a nightmare than a man.
I stopped in the doorway, my fists clenched at my sides.
Hot anger and hatred surged through me. It was so volatile that I nearly pulled out the glass and plunged it into his neck.
Instead, I forced myself to breathe.
CHAPTER FOUR
A Little Death
The woman pushed me toward the table. I resisted the urge to glare at her, watching the way her fingers trembled as she tried to guide me. Still, it didn’t make me hate her any less.
He hadn’t looked at me since she brought me here, but I knew he was aware of my every move.
A few slow steps and I was just behind him. My heart hammered against my ribs as I imagined pulling the broken glass from my dress. It would be so simple. One quick thrust into the artery of his neck.
My fingers twitched.
“Don’t.”
His deep voice made my hand fall limp at my side, my fingers trembling.
There was no way he could see me—no way he could read the thoughts raging in my head.
Chaos, he infiltrated inside me. I’d never felt such strong emotions for anyone, not even love, until this hatred. Disgust. Loathing.
The moment stretched into another, and I only released the captive breath when he motioned with the wine glass in his hand.
“Sit,” he commanded.
The woman behind me stiffened and stepped away quickly.
I clenched my fists as I reluctantly obeyed, lowering myself into the chair across from him. The table was an untouched expanse of white cloth, the kind you’d see in a fine dining restaurant, not a prison.
Food was placed in front of me—lavish and warm, the kind of meal meant for celebration. My stomach churned at the sight.
He finally looked at me and gestured toward the plate. “Eat.”
I stared at him, bile rising in my throat.
“Eat?” I repeated. “You think I’m going to sit here and eat after you—” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “After you killed Adrian?”
His gaze didn’t falter, didn’t even flicker. He just sipped the wine as if I’d trust him with the food. It could be poisoned or drugged for all I knew.
