I was in her bathroom, emptying toiletries into a box, when a flash of hot-pink lace caught my eye in the laundry basket.
I didn’t hesitate.
I set the box down on the toilet seat and pulled the lace free, the fabric still warm from the rest of her clothes. I brought it up and inhaled once—deep, deliberate.
Yeah.
That was her.
Not perfume. Not soap. Beneath it was the unmistakable scent of cunt, faint but ingrained, soaked into the lace like it belonged there. Like she did.
“Do you two want some alone time,” Rowan said from the doorway, dry and unimpressed,“or should I pack all her shit up on my own?”
He was probably jealous.
I folded the knickers once and shoved them into my pocket.
“No,” I said, not looking up as I tipped the last bottles into the box.“We’re fine. Thanks for asking.”
When I glanced at him, he was already going through her laundry basket.
I needed to get her to the clinic.
The sooner we broke her in, the better.
???
Nothing in the house had changed, except that I cooked more.
Nick could cook. Rowan never did. I cooked because I enjoyed it—the precision of measuring, the discipline of technique, the importance of quality ingredients. Ordering in or hiring help was out of the question, and Nick’s version of food was unhealthy and careless.
Ella stayed in her room, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves.
She wasn’t wrong.
That was why I was waiting for her when her shift ended. We needed results. That was the only way she’d integrate with us. Rowan had been unusually generous, giving her time—but I couldn’t see the point of restraint.
Yes, I saw the appeal.
But hesitation was inefficient.
She spotted me leaning against the car and looked away as she approached.
“Taxi service,” I said evenly.“We’re taking a detour. Rowan wants to make sure you’re not diseased.”
Her fingers tightened on the strap of the bulky bag slung over her shoulder. Whatever ran through her head, she kept it there.
Rowan wanted her broken down. What I wasn’t sure of was whether he truly understood what kind of cage she’d been living in already.
The drive passed in silence, which suited me. She wouldn’t like what I had to say—and now wasn’t my time.
I stayed close while the tests were done. Waited outside the toilets while she provided a urine sample.
Rowan had already confirmed she was on birth control. I’d taken possession of the pills. She’d be swallowing one every morning in front of me.
Pregnancy was a complication.
And it would interfere with the things I intended to do to her.
