I snatch one of the tissues and dab my eyes.
For a moment, I consider opening up to him about Sylvie, about how goddamn scared I am. But then I realize that I barely know the guy.
Oscar pushes the tea closer. I take a sip, letting the warmth steady me.
He glances away for a moment, as if trying to figure out the best way to say what he has on his mind.
"You are in a new world now, bella," he says. "A world of lions, of men who live their lives on scales that people like you and I can't imagine. But I sense strength in you. You'll adapt."
Another sip. I can taste that it's chamomile, sweet and floral.
"What happens if I try to leave?" I ask quietly.
His expression softens. "I would strongly advise against it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only thing I can say."
We sit in silence for a moment as I take another few slow sips of tea. Sylvie's face appears in my mind over and over.
Oscar stands, smoothing his jacket.
"Come," he says, "you must be exhausted. Let me show you to your room. Bring your tea."
He extends his hand and I take it. Oscar helps me out of my seat and we leave the kitchen, making our way through the house, up the grand staircase, and down another hallway. It's lined with portraits of imposing men and women with stern expressions.
Oscar stops at a door near the end and opens it. The room is not at all what I expected.
It's big, but not ostentatious. There's a four-poster bed with soft white linens. A window overlooking a dark expanse of what I assume is a garden. A small sitting area with a velvet armchair and a lamp that casts a warm, golden light.
It's beautiful.
But it's still a cage.
"There are clothes in the wardrobe," Oscar says. "Tub, shower, and toiletries in the en suite. If you need anything, there's a bell by the bed. Someone will come."
I nod, numb.
When he lingers in the doorway, I see something similar to pity in his eyes.
"Miss Thea," he says quietly, "I do not know what brought you here tonight. I do not know why Mr. Moretti spent a small fortune on you. But I can tell you this: Mr. Moretti does nothing without reason. If he brought you to this house, he believes that you belong here."
"I don't belong here," I whisper.
Oscar's smile is one of understanding. "Perhaps not yet. But that may change. Buona notte."
With that, he closes the door softly behind him.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the closed door.
No drugs. No fog. Just me and every choice I made tonight, spread out in front of me like evidence.
I followed Mick because I didn't want to make a scene.
Sylvie followed because she was looking for me.
And somewhere across this city, she's paying for it.
