“Okay?” He moves towards his door again.
“But—” I start. What am I doing? Why am I arguing for him to lock me in?
“Yes?” He asks, looking as tired as I feel.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, peeling myself away from the banister and walking back to my room. This could be a trick. Maybe he plans to chase me down and bring me back.
He said he liked chasing me. I swallow thickly. I haven’t heard him come back out of his room. I don’t think he’s trying to trick me. I think he’s being genuine.
I sit down on the bed. Is he trying to make me accept that I’m agreeing to this ridiculous situation? I’m not, right? Not really. I’m just playing along for now.
I get under the covers and stare at the dark ceiling for a while. Then I grow tired of my thoughts and find the remote. I flip on the TV and watch the news. I fall asleep waiting to hear about them finding Thomas wrapped up with a Christmas tree at the tree farm we left him at. But all there is is infomercials.
The next fewdays are uncomfortable. Slowly, I come to accept I’m willingly here. However, I’m not happy about it. I spend nearly all my time locked in my room.
Soren doesn’t leave the house. He probably called out like I did. My assistant squealed when I blurted, but it was because I had eloped. I begged her not to be excited, but she said that was nonsense. And the sounds she made when she found out it was the newest client made me blush.
I’ve managed to avoid seeing Soren since our trip to the county clerk’s office to turn in our marriage license. Apparently, that ends now. I can see his shadow under my door.
“Sophie.” A light rapping shakes the door. “Are you awake?” With a sigh, I drag myself from doom scrolling and crack the door. Icy eyes peek at me. He looks away, and I catch the side of his jaw, which is covered in a five-o’clock shadow.
“Will you come down? I have something for you.” I consider it. Clearly, staying in here isn’t going to change anything. When he backs away from the door, I follow.
My eyes focus on his wide back. As the nerves and shock have settled, I can’t help but think about him. Soren was right about that. I’m fascinated. He’s a conundrum.
There are small signs of his psychopathy that I witnessed already. I want to poke and prod him more. For instance, he seems immune to being nervous or anxious.
Soren leads me to the large kitchen, and we sit at the dark wooden table. The chandelier is made out of shed deer antlers that create sharp shadows in chaotic design on the ceiling.
Maybe it’s nerves, maybe it’s just complete fascination. But I want to test him.
“I should call the FBI,” I say. He sits in the chair beside me.
“Maybe,” he says with zero interest.
“You don’t believe me?” My eyes drag across his face.
“I believe you might.” He’s relaxed.
“Aren’t you worried?” I finally ask, getting straight to the point.
“Worried?” He thinks for a moment. I stare with intense focus, trying to see signs of masking. He notices and looks right back at me, giving me all his attention. His head leans to the side, and he raises an eyebrow. Then he smiles.
Soren’s smiles are meant to disarm and charm, and he’s mastered them. Despite his cold blue eyes, he feels warm instead of chilling.
“I’ve always thought it’s a waste of time to worry about what may or may not happen. So, no, I’m not worried.” It’s a logical answer, but most people don’t work that way—picking and choosing which emotions to feel.
I’m being reeled in, and it’s entirely my fault that I’m captured by Soren’s allure.
Intelligent, well-functioning psychopaths are a fixation I’ll never shake. It’s a personality feature that others find terrible. My family was convinced it would get me in trouble one day. They were relieved when I switched careers.
Well, it seems they were right all along because here I am, living with a psychopath, promising to keep his secret in exchange for studying him.
“Do you have a plan if I report you?” I ask. I’m latched on to every move he makes. The way he sits in his chair, where his eyes settle…
His languid, comfortable movements say he’s unconcerned despite everything. His eyes capturing me show confidence and a desire to keep me focused on him.
“I haven’t thought about it,” he admits. I tap my fingers on the table and finally look away, unable to keep holding his intense gaze.
