Physical reactions, that’s all they are. I have one goal—to get out of this alive. Screw the man.
Now, Elias doesn’t even blink when I stroll past him in his office as I head up to the third floor. A devious streak inside me wants to drive him crazy.
I taunt him with a sway of my hips,“Come catch me,”or thunder up the stairs in my stilettos just to drive him nuts with the noise, but he ignores me. If it weren’t for the twitch of his jaw and the clicking of his lighter, I’d think I wasn’t getting to him.
Then there’s the silent bodyguard who still follows me everywhere when I’m outside the mansion. But when I’m inside, he gives me privacy. Ren and I have reached an understanding: I won’t test him and he’ll leave me alone.
Frankly, I’m not dumb. If I run, we’re back to square one. Those cold-blooded murderers in The Association will hunt me down or go after my family, which is precisely why I’m in this predicament in the first place.
Frustrated, I climb the stairs again.
The third floor is “forbidden,” which only means I now come here daily. So far, Elias’s threats don’t have bite. If it’s truly forbidden, he wouldn’t have removed the barricade, right?
The first time I came up here, all six doors were locked. Oddly, five of them are on one side of the hallway. Then, over the next few weeks, suspiciously, five doors would click open, one by one, right as I passed them. I’d look up at the camera in the corner, seeing the red light blink, just as it does now.
He’s watching me. I know he is.
I give the camera the middle finger, and it blinks again.
I can almost hear his dark chuckles.
Elias is taunting me back.I know you’re snooping. I control the flow of information, not you.
Over time, I’ve explored the open rooms—a small study, three guest bedrooms, and the last one, the room Ren mentioned before, is my favorite place in this cold, dark house.
An enormous library.
It’s like the ones in Europe—ornate, gold leaf decorating the ceilings, antique sconces on the walls, filled to the brim with books, completely out of place in this modern home.
The mobster definitely loves reading.
Cece pads at my side, tail brushing my calf. I’ve asked the devil why he has the cat and if she’s from the Albanian café, but no surprise, he doesn’t answer my questions. Either way, I’m grateful for her. It’s like she understands me; she knows I have nobody here.
I don’t contact home other than occasional messages to tell them I’m okay. I cut the brief calls short because I don’t want them to worry. If my brothers sense an ounce of sadness or desperation, they’ll come get me, safety be damned.
So I tell them Elias and I have a comfortable relationship, that we’re roommates who barely see each other. I tell my friends we’re in the thick of our honeymoon phase and he’s whisking me around the world. And with time zone differences, I can’t call often. I send staged photos: stock images of a couple holding hands, chocolates that mysteriously end up in my bedroom every morning, and lots of photos of the calico cat.
It’s quiet this morning. Hannah fussed over my breakfast like the mother I’d never had. Moments like these make my heart clench. Iwish I remembered my mother. I wish I could taste her food, which Rex always said was delicious.
I’m eating again. Hannah’s food is divine, so why keep punishing myself if the Shadow King doesn’t care if I starve to death?
A few guards patrol the perimeter and, of course, Ren lurks about, his movements precise and purposeful, which tells me he’s just like Elias: lethal, violent, if not more dangerous.
I stop in front of the mysterious locked door on the third floor, the only door on the right side of the hallway.
Two locks. The first looks simple. I kneel and tug a bobby pin from my hair, trying to remember the steps for picking a lock from the videos I’ve watched.
My answers must be inside, right?
If this works, then I’ll work on the keypad, which looks like a cipher. I see faint wear on the number two. My blood thrums at the idea of a puzzle. No new puzzle boxes have shown up from my mysterious admirer. Perhaps they didn’t realize I got married and moved away.
I insert my bobby pin into the key slot and press my ear against the wood.
Wiggle it right. Then left. A lift. Another click.
I twist the knob. It doesn’t budge.
Releasing a sigh, I try again. Left. Then right. I add a second bobby pin the way I’ve seen the experts do it.
