I didn’t move for ten minutes. I waited until her voice faded down the grand staircase. Then came the second click.
Caspian.
Most of his visits followed hers, as if he waited until I was at my lowest.
Revulsion and a twisted sort of gratitude warred inside me as he stepped into the room. The cloying scent of expensive scotch mingled with the stale attic air and the sharp tang of spilled water. He was thirty-eight, tall and awkward in his designer suit, which clung to his thin frame as if reluctant to touch him. His beady eyes swept over me with a predator’s patience.
He leaned close, his breath hot and laced with liquor and something rotten. “Did she hurt you, Chloe?” His voice oozed with syrupy sweetness—an imitation of concern that made my skin crawl.
I never forgot how he’d once told me, in the dark, that he could make all the pain stop. His threats always hid behind kindness, and his protection always came with a price.
My stomach lurched, but I forced a small grin.
“I brought your favorite,” he said, kneeling in front of me. He peeled back the foil on the ceramic plate, revealing a perfectly seared filet mignon, buttery potatoes, and wilted greens. The rich aroma filled the attic, a stark contrast to Olivia’s dry ham sandwich. For one fleeting second, the smell eased the tension in my shoulders. Food from Caspian was proof I was still human.
“Let me feed you, my baby girl.”
I opened my mouth. I took every bite he offered and chewed slowly. When the plate was half empty, he set it aside. His cold, clammy hand moved to my jaw. I tensed at the slick feel of his skin but stayed perfectly still.
“You’ve been such a good girl lately,” he murmured. “But if you ever stop…” He gave me that small, sad smile—the one that always made my skin crawl. “Well. My sister listens to me, and your father listens to her. So when I tell Ava you’re too fragile to be moved…”
He leaned in until his lips brushed my ear.
“There’s a facility outside Ocala. Very discreet. They specialize in girls who can’t be controlled. They use restraints for their own safety, of course. I visited last year. Some of those girls have been strapped down so long they’ve forgotten how to walk.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Wouldn’t want that for my baby, would we?”
He tapped his cheek. “Thank me properly.”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his cheek. He groaned, shifting so his mouth caught mine in a lingering, disgusting kiss. I didn’t flinch. I was a doll. Dolls don’t feel.
“Good girl,” he panted, patting my exposed thigh. The frilly skirt he’d given me a month ago was far too small. He never brought me clothes that fit—for his own perverted reasons. “You’re almost twenty-five. Let them have what they want when the time comes. Then you’ll be all mine, and we won’t have to stay in this attic anymore.”
He stood, adjusted his hardened manhood through his pants, and slipped out, taking the real plate with him so there would be no evidence of his “charity.”
The second the lock turned, I rose to my feet. The single bulb overhead flickered, casting wavering shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The room felt narrower than ever. Claustrophobic. Cold.
I walked to the corner, grabbed a rag, soaked it in the chipped basin, and scrubbed my mouth until my skin stung and the taste of him was gone.
I had thought about running a thousand times. But where would I go? The sheriff came to Sunday dinner. The doctors my father paid had files on me thicker than my wrist. If I ran, they’d find me. They’d sedate me. They’d put me somewhere with no windows and no mercy. My father’s reach was everywhere—and the sickest part was that he used my momma’s own money to keep me trapped.
Momma said a lawyer would come. But who was he? Would he protect me, or would he shake my father’s hand on the way out? I couldn’t gamble on him. So I waited. I plotted. I endured. Each day, the stakes grew higher. I clung to hope with gritted teeth, counting the seconds until escape—knowing any mistake could end everything.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and let the words I couldn’t speak echo in my mind:When I am free, Caspian, I am going to kill you.
Then I looked down at the driveway.
Two black SUVs had just pulled in. A man stepped out of the lead vehicle—tall, wearing a suit that cost more than my father’s car. His eyes immediately scanned the roofline. He didn’t look like a guest. He looked like a wolf.
Killian Hart.
The man Olivia would soon marry in their outdated arranged marriage. I needed him.
He was supposed to be mine anyway. Even locked in this cage, I held one advantage Olivia didn’t: she was pretty. I was breathtaking. I had heard it my entire life. Nut-brown skin, dark waves that reached my waist, and a body shaped like my mother’s—wide hips, narrow waist, and curves that haunted men’s dreams. If I ever got close enough to him, the world would tilt in my favor.
Arthur didn’t know that I knew all their plans. I moved silently, a ghost among thieves, collecting secrets and waiting for my moment. They didn’t know the door could be opened with an old credit card from the inside because the wood was so warped. They didn’t know they were nearly out of money. They didn’t know I had read the letter from my mother’s attorney and memorized the name, address, and phone number.
I knew about the merger. I knew about the trust. And I knew exactly what they planned to do with me once Olivia wore that ring and the inheritance papers were signed.
I looked at the ruined sandwich on the floor, then back at the man in the courtyard. I had been a doll for fourteen years. I had eaten their scraps and kissed monsters. But I had a plan for every single one of them.
