Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and glare at him, my jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it.
“What am I supposed to do all day,” I ask, “if I’m not allowed to work, leave, or function as a human being?”
He lifts his glass of coffee and takes a slow sip. “Take up a hobby.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “A hobby?”
“Knitting, perhaps,” he deadpans. “Or gardening. Or pottery. Something domestic? Maybe something . . . soothing.”
“You’re insane.”
He shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.” His gaze pins me. “If you need inspiration . . . maybe read.”
“Read what?”
He cocks his head, pretending to think. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe finishWuthering Heights.”
My mouth goes dry.
His smirk widens. “See how it turned out for Cathy.”
I shove my chair back so hard that when it skids across the floor, the legs screech against polished wood.
Lorenzo watches me stand, completely unfazed or bothered.
It’s infuriating.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
His smile turns soft, and now I’m scared. I riled the beast. He’s like a wolf lowering its head before the kill. “Maybe. But you aren’t much better.”
I shake my head, confused.
“You still haven’t taken responsibility for what I’ve become.”
The room feels too hot. I reach the door before I realize my hands are trembling. As I grab the handle, his voice slides across the room.
“Breakfast is at eight every morning. Try not to be late tomorrow.”
I don’t look back.
Not because I’m strong.
But because I’m terrified of what I’ll see if I do.
36
Lorenzo
Victoria’s footstepsecho down the hall. Her retreat should make me happy, but instead, the farther she gets, the more it pisses me off. Every click of her shoes feels like I’m being stabbed.
When she turns the corner and disappears out of sight, I want to demand that she comes back. But something tells me that even if I ordered her to return, she’d tell me to fuck off.
It’s a bit of a turn-on if I’m being honest.
