The door shut behind her, and the lock clicked again.
I turned back to the window, rubbing the sting out of my wrists.
There were too many guards outside to count. I had no phone, no tools, and no way out.
I searched the room, finding only empty drawers and nothing sharp enough to cause harm or be used as a weapon. The windows swung open only a few inches. Whoever had set this place up knew exactly how to turn luxury into a cage.
I circled the room again, checking every corner, looking for anything they might have missed. I didn’t care about comfort—I needed options. But there weren’t any.
I had no idea what they had planned for me, but if they took me back to The Sacrifice at some point, I might have a chance to escape because I was so familiar with the exits and the layout. I just had to survive long enough to be taken there and somehow convince them to let me dance. Then I might have a shot.
Maybe my stalker would come. Probably not. I’d screwed up his plans and gotten him shot at. Whatever interest he’d had in me probably vanished the second I ran from him.
I sat down on the bed and tried to calm my breathing, to quiet the panicked thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind. My shoulders ached. After battling those goons at the theater and sleeping on concrete for two nights, my legs were aching. No, restwould not be coming to me anytime soon.
With a huff, I stood and moved to the center of the room. I needed to get control of something—anything.
I dropped into a slow, careful yoga flow, moving through each position with intention. I let the movements anchor me, using the rhythm to steady my thoughts. With every stretch, I focused on opening my joints and loosening the tightness in my muscles, forcing my body to fall in line when nothing else would. Controlled breathing gave me structure, something solid to focus on. Each pose allowed me to get a little more distance from the fear threatening to consume me.
As long as I kept moving, I stayed somewhat in control of my emotions. But I couldn’t hold it off forever. The moment I stopped, the panic crept back.
For almost an hour, I sat on the floor with nothing to do except worry. Then I moved to the chair. Then I stood again. Nothing felt right.
I walked back to the window. The guards hadn’t moved.
The house was eerily quiet.
And I wasn’t stupid. Delgado didn’t bring women here to have polite conversations. I wasn’t just some employee who’d quit without notice. I’d embarrassed him. Disrespected him. That meant I wasn’t walking out of here untouched. Torture was a given. Rape was likely. The only real question was how long he planned to keep me alive, or worse, how long he would keep me here before selling me.
Eventually, I curled up on the bed, sinking into the soft mattress and pulling the luxurious blanket around me. It was probably the last comfort I would ever experience.
My eyes shut, and all I could see was the face of my stalker.
I thought of the way he’d raised his hands in the hallway. No gun pointed at me. No shouting. Just calm eyes and a cautious voice, as if he was dealing with a frightened, lost pup.
He and the other guy could’ve overtaken me right then. But they hadn’t. Who was this stalker? This man, whose worried, pale blue eyes had been invading my dreams since I’d served him a cup of coffee and mouthed off to him—why did he keep following me? More importantly, why did he keep letting me leave?
I didn’t know who—or what—he was. Maybe he was just another kind of monster. But he hadn’t zip-tied my wrists. Hadn’t thrown me into a car. Hadn’t called Delgado.
He’d said my name like I mattered.
I rolled onto my side, clenching my fists into the blanket under my chin.
My parents would’ve hated this. My sister would’ve told me I was irresponsible.
They would have been right.
Before now, I’d lived an easy life—mostly. But my determination to make it big on Broadway—coupled with the fact that I’d never been afraid of anything, never been cautious, laughed in the face of danger like it couldn’t touch me—would be my ultimate downfall.
Now my recklessness had me by the throat.
I thought about my understudy part inCity Song,and tears stung the back of my eyes. Missing a rehearsal without even calling them would result in immediate termination. They’d replace me the next day with one of the other talented women who’d auditioned. I’d be a ghost by the end of the day. No one would ever hire me again.
I shut my eyes, my mind drifting again to my Russian stalker.
The one whose voice played over and over again in my thoughts…my dreams. I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. His mouth. His angst. The way he’d kissed me, like he hated himself for wanting me.
I couldn’t understand why he kept showing up out of nowhere.
