Movement catches my eye. Subtle. Barely there. Something flickering at the edge of the tree line.
My pulse skips.
The pull is instant. Visceral. Like a fishhook lodged under my ribs, tugging me toward the window. Toward outside. Toward air that doesn't taste like Prescott's cologne and Father's disappointment.
"I think I'll take a walk." The words come out before I think them through. "In the gardens. Before the sun sets."
Father's attention snaps to me. Sharp as a blade. His eyes narrow, calculating. Assessing threat levels. Escape routes.
"A walk?" He exchanges a glance with Prescott. Silent communication passes between them.
"I just need air." I force a shrug. Keep my voice light. Casual. Like I'm not screaming inside.
The silence stretches. Taut as a wire ready to snap.
Father's gaze slides to Donovan. A single nod—barely perceptible.
"Donovan will accompany you." Not a suggestion. A command. "And don't wander too far."
I bite back the response clawing up my throat. Angry words only make things worse.
"Fine." I stand, smooth my dress. The silk whispers against my legs.
Donovan moves into position. Not beside me—that would be too obvious. Behind. Just far enough to seem respectful. Close enough to grab me if I run.
The garden doors open, and cool air hits my face. Sweet. Clean. Everything the dining room isn't.
I breathe deep, pulling it into my lungs, letting it wash away the suffocating atmosphere. The scent of roses and jasmine. Fresh-cut grass. Earth.
For a moment—just a moment—I can almost believe I'm free.
The gardens sprawl before me. Geometric precision. Every hedge trimmed to mathematical perfection. Every flower bed a calculated arrangement of color and height. French Renaissance style, Father always says with pride.
More like a maze designed to trap rather than delight.
I walk slowly. Heels clicking on stone paths. The sound echoes, then gets swallowed by the vast emptiness. Birds settleinto trees, their evening songs fading. The breeze rustles through leaves.
Behind me, Donovan's heavier footfalls. Steady. Relentless. The shadow I can't shake.
The gardens may be beautiful, but they're still part of my prison. The perfectly trimmed hedges are just walls made of leaves. The fountains and statues—just decoration on my cage.
I glance back. Donovan trails at a respectful distance. His face impassive. Professional. But his eyes track every movement.
The flicker of movement catches my attention again. Deeper in the gardens. Near the far hedge line.
Something tugs at me. Draws me forward.
"Everything okay, Ms. Faulks?" Donovan's voice carries across the space between us.
"Fine." Too sharp. I force myself to soften it. "Just enjoying the fresh air."
But the pull intensifies. Like a current I can't resist.
I keep walking. Deeper into the gardens. Away from the house.
That's when I notice them.
Bees.
