I crossed to the piano, drawn despite myself.Ran my fingers along the closed fallboard.
“He had it tuned the day after you signed the contract.”Alice’s voice was gentle, like she was delivering news she knew would hurt.“Before that, no one had touched it in years.”
I stared at her.“He knew I played.”
“Mr.Antonov is very thorough.”
I heard what she didn’t say.He’d researched me.Learned my habits, my history, my mother’s influence.Prepared this room, this piano, this prison before I’d even agreed to walk into it.The contract wasn’t a negotiation.It was a trap I’d sprung the moment I crossed his threshold.
“The greenhouse,” I said, turning away from the piano before I could do something stupid like lift the fallboard and play.“What’s really in there?”
Alice’s expression smoothed into pleasant neutrality.“Storage, mostly.Some construction.Mr.Antonov is having work done.”
She was lying, or at least not telling the full truth.I could see it in the careful way she held herself, the practiced blankness of her face.The same look my father’s staff used when guests asked about the hotel’s finances.
But I didn’t push.Not yet.I filed the information away and followed her through the rest of the tour.
The windows on the first floor had bars.Decorative, Alice explained, from when the house was first built.Security concerns.The ironwork was beautiful, intricate scrolls and flourishes that softened the cage they represented.But I noticed she didn’t offer to open any of them.
My sitting room was the last stop, a small sunlit space adjoining my bedroom.My laptop already set up on a desk by the window.My phone charging on the nightstand.My favorite blanket draped over the arm of a reading chair.My entire life compressed into a gilded cage, arranged to feel like home.
“Is there anything else you need, miss?”
I looked at her.This woman who’d served Raphael for years, who knew his secrets and kept them.Who was kind to me despite being complicit in my captivity.
“Why do you stay?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand.Her eyes softened, and for a moment she looked less like a housekeeper and more like someone’s grandmother.
“I raised his mother.She was a good woman.Creative, passionate, full of life.”Alice paused, something old and sad crossing her face.“He’s a good man, underneath all of this.He just needs someone to remind him.”
“And you think that’s me?”
Alice’s smile was sad.“I think he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”
She left before I could ask what that meant.
The hours crawled by.I tried to read, couldn’t focus.Tried the piano, stopped after three notes.Finally, when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I reached for my phone.
I called the hotel at noon.
Sophie answered on the third ring, her voice bright with surprise.“Lena?I thought you’d be back by now.Where are you?”
“Still at the manor.”I heard how that sounded and winced.“It’s complicated.”
“I’ll bet.”Her tone shifted into something warmer, more knowing.“Did you stay the night?Is it serious?”
If only she knew.I’d told Sophie the same half-truth I’d told everyone except Clara: that Raphael Antonov was helping with the hotel’s financial situation, that he’d taken a personal interest in the property.Let her assume whatever she wanted about why a billionaire would take a personal interest in the owner’s daughter.It was easier than explaining contracts and kneeling and the collar box sitting on his desk.
“Sophie.Please.Just tell me what’s happening there.”
“Fine, fine.”Papers shuffled in the background.The familiar sounds of the hotel office, the life I’d been living just days ago.“Occupancy’s at 78 percent, which isn’t bad for January.Mrs.Calloway complained about the water pressure again, which is Mrs.Calloway being Mrs.Calloway.The Lawson wedding is on track for next Saturday.Michael handled the florist drama beautifully, and…” She paused.
“And what?”
“There’s something else.Your direct line.Someone’s been calling.”
I gripped my phone tighter.“Who?”
