Panic rose so fast it made my chest seize. I backed away from the window, shaking my head, dragging in air that never seemed to reach my lungs.
No, I wasnotdoing this again.
I would not wait for another man to decide what happened to me. I would not kneel. I would not learn to live inside whatever pretty prison Leo Moretti had built for me.
He thought he had already won. That was the only reason I was still breathing. That was his mistake. I’d kill him before he killed me.
I wiped angrily at the tears spilling down my face. Crying would not open doors. Hating myself would not get me home. Regret would not save Aurora or Matteo or Sienna.
I needed to think.Reallythink.
I forced myself to stand still in the middle of the room and started going over every option I had.
Scream? And who would come? His staff? His guards? Men loyal to him because he paid them, terrified them, or both?
Attack him? With what? Bare hands and a half-healed ankle?
Throw myself out the window? Better to die than belong to him?
I shut that thought down so hard it made me sway.
No.
I was not dying for him, either.
That left only one option.
I could not fight Leo openly. Men like him crushed open defiance for sport. But maybe… maybe I didn’t need to fight in the open at all.
If he thought I was beaten, he would loosen the leash. If he thought I was scared enough, obedient enough, resigned enough, he might stop watching so closely.
And when he did, I would run.
I would learn the layout of the penthouse. Count the doors. Watch who came and went. Find the staff entrance. Steal a phone, cash, a keycard, anything useful. I would learn his patterns and his guards’ routines and every blind spot in this monstrous glass tower he was so damn proud of.
Then I would leave. And if I had to crawl out of this place on my hands and knees, I would.
My breathing started to steady.
For the first time since Papa told me who my husband was going to be, something besides fear took root inside me.Resolve.
Leo Moretti might own the building. He might own the city. But he was never going to own me.
Thetraywasalreadythere when I noticed it. I hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t heard footsteps. One second Iwas leaving to shower in the stupid marble bathroom, and the table was empty, the next, it wasn’t.
Food.
My stomach twisted. I stared at it from across the room like it might move. Like it was alive. Bread. Fruit. Something warm under a silver lid. Tea, and a saucer of milk. Some sugar cubes. Who told him I liked my tea that way?
My pulse started to climb. A memory slipped in before I could stop it.
He poisons people slowly. Just to watch them suffer.
My fingers curled into my palms. This was how it started. Not with chains. Not with violence. With something small. Something quiet. Something I’d take willingly, like a bite of the delicious meal he’d presented me with.
A bite. A sip. And then?
Death?
