Page 37 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

Because I don’t want to believe that any child of mine could contain the depths of darkness that Andreo does.

I zip the bag shut and hook it over my shoulder. I haven’t texted Anna yet to let her know that I’m planning to take her up on her offer to move in for a little while, but I’ve resolved not to until I know for sure that I’m out of this place. It feels as though I might jinx it if I tell her before I’ve made it out of the mansion. Stupid superstition, and I know it, but God, if I can control anything in this mess, I will take whatever chance I can get.

The doctor just turning up out of nowhere like that is a sign of exactly how this pregnancy will go if I decide to stay here. Every detail planned for me, no part of this left to my own choices. I already feel claustrophobic at the thought. I’m sure Antonio would frame it as his attempt to protect me, to lift the weight of whatever is on my shoulders, but instead it just feels like it did with Andreo, when he demanded control over every inch of my life whether I wanted it or not.

I hook the bag over my shoulder and sneak toward the door, opening it a few inches and looking up toward the camera, which is flashing with its usual blank, watchful eye over me. I glare up at it, almost not caring who’s on the other side to see it. They can try and stop me again, and I will make such a scene that they will have no choice but to let me go. That’s my plan, as foolish as it might sound, to scream and kick and tell them all that they are keeping me here against my will, and hope that one of them takes pity on me and lets me loose.

But as I make my way down the corridor, something feels…off.

I can’t quite put my finger on it at first, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my pulse quickening beneath my skin. Is it just that I’m paranoid, overthinking all of this?

My eyes dart this way and that, looking for something, anything, that might explain why things suddenly don’t feel as they did before, but nothing reveals itself. I resolve to push onward, shoving the uncertainty downward and taking another few steps forward toward the door that I know will be watched by a guard. I don’t know who’s on the door today, but this will pose the first major issue, as I’m sure they will do anything in their power to⁠—

And then I push open the door and find it unguarded. Okay, something is wrong here, something is seriously fucking wrong. In the dim light, I look this way and that, trying to figure out what has gone amiss. I take another step forward, and my foot connects with something—something warm, soft. I look down⁠—

And suck in a sharp breath, hand clapping over my mouth when I realize what I’m looking at. It’s Paulo. And it looks like…

It looks like he’s dead.

I reach down with a shaky hand, hardly able to make out in the semi-darkness what might have happened to him. His face is lit by a shard of light pouring through the half-open door ahead of us, and I can tell that it’s him, but his eyes are closed, mouth slightly open, entire body slumped over to one side.

“Paulo?” I hiss.

I know I should be taking this rare chance to make a break for it, to run and put as much distance between myself and this place as I can, but there is no way, in good conscience, that I could ignore what I’m seeing in front of me.

He doesn’t respond. I reach out to stick my hand in front of his face, willing him to let me feel some warm breath on my skin, but I’m so panicked I can hardly make it out. He might still be breathing, or I might just be living in a fantasy where this man is not dead on the ground before me. I swallow hard, knees buckling dangerously underneath me. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be happening…

The door before me swings all the way open, and my head snaps up, cold terror gripping my heart. I want to run back to my room, close the door, forget about all I had planned in my escape from this place, but it’s too late for that now. Something has happened, the kind of thing you can’t just turn back from, and the only way out is through.

My heart stutters in my chest when I realize that there’s someone standing there in the outline of the doorway. Someone I recognize. Someone I wish I didn’t. Someone I never thought I would lay eyes on again, as long as I lived…

“Julia,” Andreo greets me, his voice so icy-cold it feels like a dagger straight to my throat.

My breath catches, and I back toward the door, but he’s already moving toward me, clearly unwilling to let me go now he has me where he wants me. A smile spreads over his face, though it looks like something more fitting for a shark hunting their prey than a human being.

“Nothing to say to me, hmm?” he asks, as he closes the distance between us. Beyond the door, I can hear a commotion. Is he attacking the house? He must know the place well, given that he lived here for so long, but I never thought—God, I never imagined, not in a million years…

Paulo groans behind me, and I drop down in front of him, catching his hand in mine.

“Paulo,” I whisper. “Paulo, tell me, where is⁠—”

But before I can finish what I’m saying, I feel something behind me—hands dragging me upright, and then I feel an arm wrap around my throat. And I can smell him, the scent of him filling my senses, the memories of all the hell he put me through stuck in my head all over again.

“Andreo, please, let me go⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls to me. And as I try to wrestle myself free, I send out a silent prayer—not to any higher power, but to the one person I know will be able to get me out of this.

Antonio.

19

ANTONIO

I’m ripped out of my dreaming state with a start, eyes narrowed, gaze flitting around the room. I have honed my instincts well enough to know when something is off, and right now, I’m certain something is not as it should be.

I throw on some clothes and grab my laptop, flipping it open and tapping into the CCTV—and when I see what’s waiting for me, horror crawls up my spine.

The house is under attack.