My shoulders tighten, and my jaw clenches until it aches. I stand in the foyer and slip my dark rain jacket over my shoulders. I need to head to the café and type my psychological paper for my abnormal psych class.
Smiling, he leans against the front door, tucking his fingers into his pockets. I avert my eyes to the floor, then back at him. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, as if he’s going to devour me. My gaze meets his, and he smells of cedarwood and danger. The long black-sleeve shirt hugs his body like a glove, and his jeans cling to his hips. I swallow thickly as my hands grow damp.
He points upstairs. “We’re going to watch a movie together in the living room.”
No. I’ve already spent too much time in this mansion, and I don’t want to be here any longer. Sometimes the walls feel as if they’re closing in on me, whispering secrets. While Irvin was gone, I searched the attic, trying to kill time, and I came acrossa picture of the previous owners. They both unalived themselves in the very room Irvin and I share. They said the mansion made them go mad. I don’t believe in ghost stories, but if this place were to be haunted, I wouldn’t be surprised—especially after my hallucinations with the locket.
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, standing straight. “I’ve been locked up in this mansion for far too long. I’m getting the hell out of here.”
He grins, eyes narrowing. “You don’t have a choice.”
I’ve had enough of his bullshit. He will not bully me. Not this time.
I fold my arms across my chest. “What are you going to do? Lock me in here again? Been there, done that.”
“If you don’t go upstairs, then you’re not leaving this house for another week. Your choice.”
I stomp my feet, pulse accelerating. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Yeah, I am.” He turns the deadbolts on the French doors and grabs my hand.
I yank away from him, squaring my shoulders. “I’m sick of your shit, Irvin.”
He grins. “Go to a doctor if you’re sick. You’re still not going anywhere. This is non-negotiable.”
I shoot up my middle finger. “Fuck you, Irvin. Unbelievable.”
“I’m trying to protect you. Robert was found with a bullet in his head in Perkins Hall.”
I side-eye him. He was gone for a whole week. So where was he? Irvin will kill anyone he sees as a threat to us. Did he kill Robert and point the evidence toward the killer so he could get away with it? Irvin is intelligent. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
He intertwines his fingers with mine. “I don’t want to lose you like I lost my mother.”
My cheeks heat, and I nibble on my bottom lip. I’m not falling for his manipulation tactics, but I can’t help feeling sorry for him. The subject of his mother is a sensitive one. It doesn’t help that I know how it feels to lose a parent. I feel bad for him, and I don’t know why. My shoulders tighten, and I play with my braided hair.
I’ll fake a connection with him, pretend like I actually care about him, so I can manipulate his feelings and then break his heart. Crush him. Bit by bit. When I break his heart, he’ll let me go. I remove my coat and place it on the rack.
“Fine.”
My feet drag like cinder blocks as we walk into the living room. My throat closes, reminding me of the night I hallucinated. I’m glad Irvin wasn’t here to witness my meltdown.
The chef brings two plates and sets them on the table. The smell of garlic, salmon, and green beans lingers in the air, and Irvin sets his food on my lap. We eat in silence, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s watching me, sizing me up, probably calculating his next move. Irvin is always two steps ahead, so I have to watch my words carefully.
I can’t come on too strong because he’ll suspect I’m up to something. He’s not stupid, after all.
Once we’re done eating, he sets our plates on the coffee table. We sit in silence. The deadly yet calm rain softly taps against the fanlight windows. The sky is ashen. My heart slows down, and I relax my shoulders, sinking into Irvin’s warmth. This is all a game. Wrap him around my fingers so I can break him.
He clicks the remote. “What do you want to watch?”
There’s a motive with Irvin. I can feel it in my bones. “Pretty Woman,” I answer.
“WhyPretty Woman?”
“Because my mom loves it.” The answer slips out. I didn’t mean to share that tidbit about her.
He twirls a few strands of my hair around his finger, then softly taps me on the nose. “Speaking of parents, when’s the last time you heard from them?”
I stare at him, needing to keep my cool. “It’s been a while. They disappear sometimes, and I don’t hear from them.”
