It’s been building ever since Luca caught me in his private office and revoked my garden privileges as punishment.
How long has it been now?
Five days?
That sounds right.
Five days confined to my suite with nothing but my tortured thoughts and the four walls closing in around me.
Five days of pacing the same thirty-foot circuit until I’ve worn an invisible track in the Persian rug.
Five days of staring at the ceiling, counting the decorative moldings—forty-seven—and the crystals in the chandelier—two hundred and thirty-eight—because my mind needs something, anything, to focus on besides the spiraling panic.
Five days of eating meals I don’t taste, restless sleeping plagued by nightmares, watching the hours blur together until I can’t remember if it’s Tuesday or Friday or if time even matters anymore.
I haven’t seen Luca since that confrontation in his study.
The one where I asked what happens to me after the alliance is secure and he deflected the question, which told me everything I needed to know about my lack of guaranteed survival.
It was also the one where he stood close enough that some traitorous part of me responded despite knowing better.
Since then, nothing. Just isolation and silence and the slow dissolution of my sanity.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump.
The lock clicks, and a new maid enters.
She’s younger than Maria, probably early-twenties, and she reminds me of a skittish foal.
She’s been bringing my meals for the past few days, always moving quickly and leaving as fast as possible.
“Your breakfast, miss,” she says quietly, setting the tray on the table by the window.
I watch her from where I’ve stopped mid-pace, noting the way she keeps glancing at me like I might shatter if she looks too long.
Maybe I will. Maybe I already have.
“Is Maria alright?” I hear myself ask. I haven’t seen her in days and it worries me.
The maid’s hands still on the tray. Her face goes pale. “I…I don’t know, miss.”
But she does know. I can see it in the fear written across her features, in how quickly she backs toward the door.
Something terrible happened to Maria. But I’m also not surprised. She had to know that was a possibility. Especially once I said something to Danny. I honestly thought it had been a test at first. A test by Luca to see if I would try to escape at the first opportunity.
“She was stupid,” I continue, my voice sounding strange and distant in my own ears. “To think Romano’s offer was real. Or that anyone in this world keeps their promises.” I swallow hard. “Or maybe she wasn’t stupid. Maybe she was just desperate enough to believe in rescue, even from someone who’d probably kill her at a moment’s notice.”
The maid practically flees, and I’m alone again.
I don’t touch breakfast. I haven’t had much appetite lately. Instead, I return to my pacing, counting steps this time because my mind is fragmenting and I need the structure, need the numbers, need something concrete to hold onto.
One. Two. Three. Four. From the bed to the window. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. From the window to the door. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. From the door to the bathroom. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen?—
The lock clicks again.
I freeze mid-step, my heart lurching into my throat. The maid returning? Luca? Or has the moment finally come with whatever fate awaits when my usefulness expires?
But it’s Danny who enters, his green eyes sweeping the room.
