There was another dress draped across my bed by the time I stepped out of the bathroom. The scent of soap still clung to me. I've scrubbed the dried syrup off my chin until the skin burned, then gave up and took a second shower just to feel like myself again.
Once Olga stormed out after her lecture, there hadn't been anything left to do except pace the room like a caged animal. Checking corners, shadows, vents, I've spent most of the day searching for more cameras. More eyes, more proof that he was watching me.
I found nothing, thankfully. No red lights. No soft mechanical hums.
But still, the quietness of it all didn't cease the heaviness in my chest. It only made it worse.
At that point, I wasn't even hungry anymore. Just completely wrung out. My hands were aching. My wrists were throbbing, sharper and deeper, as if the bones themselves were protesting what they've been forced to endure.
I tried not to look at them when I stepped into the bathroom, but I couldn't ignore it forever. And when I finally lifted my bandages...I winced.
The bruises were worse than I expected. Deep reds and purples blooming over my skin like cruel fingerprints, encircling my wrists like a pair of grotesque bracelets. Anger flickered, then sadness, guilt and something I didn't want to name.
And beneath it all, the faint crusted line of dried blood, like a reminder of how small I was here. How trapped. How easily someone as powerful as him could break me. And how terrifying it was, that part of me had let him get close enough to try.
Steam billowed out behind me the moment I walked out into the room again. The white fluffy towel wrapped around my body, and that was when I saw it. Another dress, laid out neatly at the foot of the bed like it was some twisted offering. I had no idea who had slipped it in while I was in the shower, or how they managed to do so without me hearing a thing.
But there it was. And I didn't even bother pretending to care anymore.
Instead, I lifted my head toward the camera, now that I knew exactly where it was, and flashed it a middle finger before letting the towel fall from my body.
Let him watch. Let him choke what he can no longer have.
He can be furious at me all he wants, torture me all he wants. Hell, I'd even let him lock me in here until my bones turned to dust. But he will never be getting that part of me, ever again. Not ever. I'd die before I let him.
I moved slowly, seductively, as I put the dress on. The red silk sliding over my skin, cool and soft. It fell to my knees, sleeveless, with a small ribbon tied neatly at my waist. It was pretty. Elegant. Something I might've worn willingly...in another life.
A life where there weren't any monsters or lost memories in my story.
Once I was done, I flashed the camera a grin and a wave, before moving towards the dresser by the bathroom. I've done a sweep of this room earlier, before I cleaned myself up
The door to my bedroom opened just as I finished dressing, still smoothing stray strands of my dark hair in the bathroom mirror. This shade was starting to grow on me. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't miss seeing my natural hair color.
The two guards entered at the right moment. Broad, suited, earpieces tucked against their skulls. Everything about them screamed Russian and unmovable, like they were carved from stone. Their faces didn't even flicker. Not even when I walked toward them and held out my hands.
"No need," one of them said, clipped and cold. "Boss's orders."
My brows lifted. "Well," I let out a low, disbelieving laugh, "looks like he has a heart after all."
The other guard, the bald, middle-aged one built like he had been deadlifting tractors since infancy, didn't even miss a beat. "He also said to knock you out if you try something."
I scoffed, letting my hands fall behind my back in a loose clasp.
"Touch me and see what happens," I muttered under my breath as I stepped past them.
One walked ahead. Two stayed behind.
Their formation was boxing me in on all sides. Silent and suffocating. Like I was locked in a moving, walking cage. And I was the animal inside it, dressed in red silk.
We moved through the hallway, and I can't help but admire the dark wood that contrasted softly against the lighter furniture as we moved through the hallway. It made the whole place looked more warm, curated, almost modern.
Cozy, with an old-world charm. Nothing like the prison Alexandre had turned my life into.
Which was funny, since the whole place reminded me of the apartment I once had during university. Back when my grandfather, surprisingly, let me attend business school in New York, where I had gown up with my parents before they passed. Those years had been the closest thing I've had to experiencing true freedom. To be myself.
I could barely remember them now.
I was still clinging to those fading scraps of memory when it hit me. The guards weren't taking me toward the dining room. Instead of the straight corridor I expected, the one that passed the living rooms and the foyer I've seen earlier, the hallway curved toward the back of the house. Toward the glass doors, then the garden.
My steps faltered. Just slightly, but enough.
My stomach dipped.
I nearly stopped walking altogether. My heel catching on the floor as the truth settled cold and heavy in my chest.
"Move," the guard behind me barked, shoving me between my shoulder blades. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind me that I had no choice but to move.
I stumbled forward, breath catching as the glass doors loomed closer. My pulse spiked, thundering against my bruised wrists, each step slower than the last no matter how hard I tried to steady myself. There was just something about this that didn't sit right with me.
The doors whispered open with a soft hiss. The kind that felt too gentle for how violently my heart was pounding. A rush of cool night air swept over my skin, raising goosebumps once I've stepped outside.
Then I halted.
Because it wasn't darkness of punishment waiting for me. It was...unexpectedly beautiful.
The patio stretched out beneath the glow of soft, amber lights strung along the railings. Warm little halos floating against the night. Lanterns flickered on each corner, their flames dancing lazily. Beyond the stone terrace, the garden shimmered faintly. Trees whispered as the wind threaded through them, gentle and haunting all at once.
In the center of the patio, stood a table. Set for two.
White linen glowing pale under the lantern light. Crystal glassware catching tiny sparks of fire. A plate arranged neatly, steam curling into the cool air.
For a heartbeat, I didn't move.
The guards simply stepped aside, silent and stoic before they withdrew. Their footsteps faded behind me, followed by the soft click of the garden doors shutting. Leaving me alone.
My legs carried me forward, almost cautiously, until I reached the table. I touched the back of the chair, the wood cool under my fingers, the lowered myself into it as if the night itself might shatter from my sudden movement.
What is he playing at?
A shadow glided up beside me. A butler, dressed in immaculate black. He didn't even say a word. Simply uncorked a bottle with practiced ease and poured a ribbon of deep red wine into the glass at my right.
I wrapped my fingers around the stem, right when I felt a shift in the air. I didn't even hear footsteps. Just warmth brushing the back of my neck, a presence sliding into the edges of my awareness like a hand, curling around my spine.
Then his voice.
"I must say..." he murmured behind me, close enough that his breath grazed my shoulder, "...I thoroughly enjoyed the little show you put on."
My grip tightened on the wineglass.
He stepped closer, his shadow merging with mine. "The way you stormed around your room...throwing an expensive lamp, cursing at the camera, all defiant..." His chuckle was quiet, but dark. "Quiet a performance. I hadn't realized rage could look so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—enticing."
Heat crawled up at the back of my neck.