His enforcers move around him with efficient brutality, tossing fuel, feeding flames, kicking debris aside. The fire roars up, crackling against the cold air.
My stomach drops, but not from fear. From disbelief at the man setting the world on fire before breakfast.
Just then, Gustav pauses.
His head lifts.
He looks up straight to the second-story window — straight at me. As if he felt my eyes on him from fifty feet away.
A slow, sharp smile spreads across his face. The kind that says he knows exactly what I’m seeing. Exactly what he did. Exactly who he is.
My heart flutters anyway.
Ridiculous. Completely insane.
But my fingers move on their own, a tiny bashful wave, like a princess greeting her dark prince.
His smile widens. Just for a moment.
Heat crawls up my neck. I spin away and bury my face in the blanket. I get ready for the day, taking a shower and slipping on a warm outfit. I can’t stop smiling about everything. The wedding, reception… after. I want to tell the world, but I’ll settle for Tyra.
Except I don’t have my phone. I fold up the blanket and head to Gustav’s bedroom. To return it. That’s all.
I set it gently on his bed and back away.
Might as well look around.
Something catches my eye.
My phone. Sitting on the dresser beside coins, a necklace, and cuff links.
It’s clearly a sign.
I hesitate only a second before taking it, cradling it in both hands like something precious. I run my thumb over the screen. It won’t turn on. Dead. I simply hold it, strangely afraid he might snatch it back.
We are different now, though. Closer. I don’t know what to call it, but it doesn’t feel wrong to take it back.
I slip it into my pocket and leave. In a long hallway, I stop upon hearing something.
A low, guttural moan.
Agonized. Male. Haunting.
It drifts through the hall from somewhere to the left.
Guilt prickles, but curiosity pulls harder.
Wrapping my arms around me, heart hammering, I move slowly down the hall and push open a door.
Inside—
The blond man from my first dinner. Flushed cheeks. Bleeding lip. Arms spread and chained against an iron frame. Naked. Shivering. Jagged gashes carved down his side.
A puddle streaks his inner thigh. The floor is stained beneath him. It smells of urine.
He whimpers, head lolling when he notices me.
“Help me.”
