But I’m not as clueless as they think. The owner of my contract isn’t the hero. He’s the villain.
These men do his bidding.
“This? This is the girl they said they want? She’s too small,” says the man on the left end. He gives me another once over that oozes disdain. “We’re supposed to have someone who can seduce a man if need be; who can be bold enough to tell lies and pass undetected.”
“She is very undetectable,” Ignazio insists. “Just look at her. Pretty enough… but very unassuming.”
I hide the scowl that threatens to take over. From the time I was a young girl, Ignazio has found ways to subtly and not-so-subtly insult me. One second I’m too short and weak. The next second he claims my hips are too round. Then I’m just “pretty enough.”
He does the same to the other dancers. They’re either beaky or scrawny or he’ll accost one if she’s going for seconds during dinner.
In this case, he’s using his criticisms to advocate for me. To what end, I’m unsure.
I know nothing about these men other than they work for Nero. They wear all black and talk in a fast East Coast accent only vaguely hinting at their Italian ancestry.
“If this is who they want,” says the man in the middle, stroking his chin. “She’s better than nothing.”
“There must be something they’re not telling us.”
“What did your boss tell you anyway?” Ignazio sidles over in keen interest.
Talk about a lack of subtlety…
I’d roll my eyes if I weren’t standing in front of them.
Still in the preparatory position, my thighs shake from exhaustion and discomfort.
“What our boss told us is for us to know and you to mind your fucking business,” says the last man, the one on the far end.
A single scolding look is all it takes—Ignazio falls silent and doesn’t dare fish for info again.
But he does delight in the cash that’s offered. His eyes light up, his hideous grin spreading to reveal his nicotine-stained teeth. The men finalize their transaction with an exchange of money and a crushing handshake.
Ignazio whines in pain, bending half over, his knees shaking. The one whose gripped hold of his hand is the man in the middle, flexing his power in warning.
“Don’t fuck this up for us. If you do, it’s your head on a pike.”
The trio pivot on their heels at the same time. Suddenly I’m back under their microscope. They crowd around me, forming a wall that blocks Ignazio out.
Still, I remain where I am. Still a doll. Still obedient.
“They say you’re our best chance,” the right one says. “So that’s what we’re going to do. And if you say a word, it’ll be your head on a pike too…”
I gasp as I spring up in bed, drenched in sweat despite the frost on the window.
Several seconds pass before I’m aware enough to recognize I was dreaming. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m lying in Caelian’s massive king-sized bed—larger than a regular king-size, it’s built for a man as broad and large as Caelian is.
Except it’s vast and empty without him.
The sheets are untouched and wrinkle free. The air cold and unsettling.
I clutch the duvet to my chest and force out the breath trapped in my lungs. I can’t sort into words what’s bothering me. An inexplicable feeling is disturbing my spirit, like I’m vaguely sensing something is off.
The silence weighs down on the room until it becomes unbearable and I’m leaping out of bed. I go straight to the window that overlooks the front part of the estate. The grounds sprawl into the darkness without any sign of waking life. Even the insects have turned in for the night.
“Cael, where are you?” I mutter.
No one had updated me before bed.
