And God help me, part of me didn’t want to escape at all.
Not until I learned more about him.
Not until I understood the way he made me feel—like I was both prey and the only thing he couldn’t bring himself to slay.
I hopped down from the ledge and stepped back inside, shutting the patio doors. The emptiness of the penthouse swallowed me again.
I walked down the other hallway toward the guest suite. As I passed a closed door, curiosity took hold of me. I paused and slowly turned the knob.
The moment the door opened, I gasped.
It was the prettiest room I’d ever seen.
Soft blush tones blanketed every surface like the inside of a pale pink rose. Delicate florals climbed the wallpaper, entwined with hints of green, like an English garden at the height of spring. The scents of lilac and honeysuckle drifted through the air. For a second, it transported me back to Tennessee—to a front porch swing and my mama’s favorite summer candle.
Everything in the room was feminine. Opulent.
On the wall opposite me, beneath a mirror framed with gilt scrollwork, sat an antique white vanity with a matching stool tucked beneath. A chaise lounge was situated next to the window, its pale cushion the perfect color for the theme of the room. The pink silk curtains pooled glamorously on the floor.
I stepped inside.
It was a princess suite, but for a grown woman. Graceful. Romantic. Perfect.
I moved to the closet, pulled the door open, and gasped again.
It was full.
High-end dresses, blouses, skirts, coats, heels. Everything I could see still had tags and was arranged in precise rows. Purses were stacked like displays in a boutique. Every label wasof a name I recognized but could never afford. Chanel. Dior. Valentino.
I ran my hand across the fabrics. Silk. Satin. Cashmere.
Whoever this woman was, someone had spent a fortune on the items in this closet.
Was she a lover? A girlfriend? A wife?
A sharp pang lanced through my chest.
I wasn’t the jealous type. Not normally.
But this? This woman was clearly everything I wasn’t. Polished. Worldly. Sophisticated. The kind of woman a man like him would happily keep up. I imagined her lounging on that chaise with a glass of wine, wrapped in something expensive, waiting for him to come home. She was probably some goddess in heels with legs for days and the confidence to command any room she entered.
So what the hell did he want with me?
A barefoot bumpkin with bruises on her thighs, a girl who served coffee and worked at a strip club.
I backed out of the closet and moved into the attached bathroom. In here there was high-end everything too—the kind of soaps and shampoos that cost more than I made in a week working at Cipher. She must be someone he cared for.
Maybe she was coming back soon.
Maybe she’d walk through the door and find me here like some stray dog he’d dragged in off the street.
Unease settled deep in my stomach.
I left the room and went back down the hallway to the guest suite. It was a very nice room, but much simpler.
That was when I saw it—my phone, sitting there on the dresser.
I walked over and picked it up warily, as if it might bite.
