"No," I agree, closing the door and locking it. "We are the only light for miles."
I walk over to the bedside table and pick up a small, silver device. I toss it onto the bed.
"Your phone," I say.
Ivy turns around, her eyes lighting up with hope. She rushes to the bed and grabs it.
"You’re giving it back?"
"Go ahead," I say, leaning against the doorframe, crossing my arms. "Make a call."
She fumbles with the screen. She dials a number—probably Sarah again, or the police. She puts it to her ear.
She frowns. She pulls it away, looks at the screen, and dials again.
"It’s not connecting," she says, panic rising in her voice. "There’s no signal. Why is there no signal?"
"Look at the bars, Ivy."
"Zero bars. But... we’re in the Hamptons. There should be service."
"Not here," I say calmly. "The Estate is a dead zone. I have a jammer installed in the foundation. No cellular signals go in or out. No GPS. No Wi-Fi, unless it’s my hardline."
Her hand drops. The phone slips from her fingers and bounces on the duvet.
"So I can't call for help," she whispers.
"No one can hear you," I confirm. "You could scream until your throat bleeds, and the only things that would hear you are the seagulls and the waves."
I push off the doorframe and walk toward her.
"This is isolation, Ivy. True isolation. No social media. No news. No distractions."
I stop in front of her. I reach out and brush a lock of hair from her forehead.
"Just you. And me."
She trembles. "Why? Why do you need this?"
"Because out there," I gesture to the window, "the world is trying to tear you apart. The world is loud. It’s dangerous. Here... you are safe. Here, you can focus on what matters."
"And what matters?" she asks, her voice breaking.
"Us," I say. "Your duties as my wife."
"Duties?" She looks at the bed, then back at me, fear spiking in her eyes.
"Not just that," I say, though the hunger is there, coiled in my gut. "I want to know you, Ivy. I want to peel back every layer until there is nothing left but the truth. And I want you to know me."
"I know you," she spits out, a spark of defiance returning. "You’re a kidnapper. A murderer."
"I am your husband," I correct her. "And tonight, we celebrate our honeymoon."
I reach for my belt.
Ivy flinches, taking a step back. "Silas..."
"Relax," I say, undoing the buckle. "I’m not going to rape you. I told you. I have standards."
