Victor had promised everyone would leave in the morning—and for once, he kept his word. By noon, the guests had packed up, their goodbyes hushed and formal. I thanked Anett, Villa, and Melissa as they departed, each one casting me a final, unreadable look. I couldn't tell if they pitied me, envied me, or feared me.
Victor was still smiling and shaking hands when I slipped away to the pool.
The ring on my finger felt heavier than it should. I twisted it absentmindedly, trying to shift the weight—not of the metal, but of what it meant.
The candles had all been extinguished. The only light came from the oval window overhead, casting a cold glow on the water below. I let myself sink into it, eyes closed, hoping to shut the world out. Hoping it wouldn't follow me under.
Victor found me eventually, slipping into the water with barely a sound.
"I've sent the servants away," he said. "They deserve a holiday, and we deserve privacy. In two days, we'll travel to Rome. You'll meet my sister, Ida. She's... complicated. Reserved. Protective of what's hers."
I floated further away. "What are we doing in Rome?"
"Ida will teach you ballet. I'll teach you French. After that—Meaux. Paris. There's so much of the world I still want to show you."
His voice was full of promise, the kind that once might've made my heart skip. Now it only made it sink. I wasn't afraid of travel—I was afraid of what waited in each new place. Who would be watching me. Judging me. Hunting me.
And Ida—what if she was worse than Victor? What if she looked at me and saw a threat? Or worse, prey?
The thoughts twisted until my eyes stung.
Victor noticed. Of course he did. He always did.
He swam closer and took my hands in his. "I promised you love and safety when I married you. I intend to keep that promise—if you'll meet me halfway." He kissed my fingertips, his mouth soft and cold.
I hated the flutter it sent through me.
"Whatever your heart desires, my lord."
He smiled, pleased. "It sounds new, hearing you say it like that."
Whoever he'd loved before, he still mourned her. Still chased her. If I was truly her reborn—Myra—then all of this had been orchestrated long before I ever drew breath. A life built from someone else's longing.
He kissed my hand and pulled me into a tight embrace. We swayed in the water. His voice hummed a strange melody into my ear, tuneless and old. His lips moved from my fingers to my shoulder… then to my neck.
Then he bit me.
The pain was sharp but brief, drowned by the greater horror of helplessness. I gasped, tried to push him away, but he held me fast. My limbs weakened. I felt my blood slipping out of me, warm ribbons into cold water.
When he finished, he held me still, humming that same haunting tune. I couldn't move until my vision cleared and strength crept back into my fingers.
"What… happened?" I whispered.
"You'll get used to it," he said gently. "Let's get you dry. I'll make tea."
He carried me from the water, still dripping, and wrapped me in a towel before settling us near the fire. While the tea brewed, he read aloud from Poe. His voice blurred at the edges, deep and soft, lulling me between sleep and wakefulness.
At some point, he paused mid-sentence. I opened my eyes.
He was staring at the doorway.
Then he smiled and kept reading.
Later, we dressed for tea and walked through the garden. Victor handed me a red satin box and gestured to a small, fresh hole in the soil beside us.
"It's tradition," he said. "A rose bush. To symbolize our marriage. Something that will grow with us."
He placed the bulb in my palm.
We planted it together. He patted down the soil with unnecessary tenderness, brushing a smear of dirt from my wrist.
"Ayana," he said softly, "we must be good to Belmore, if we want it to be good to us. This house has kept me fed. Fulfilled. It will do the same for you."
I nodded, glancing back at the looming manor. It no longer felt like a house. More like a mouth, waiting to close behind me.
Back inside, an old man waited near the door, surrounded by bags. Victor beamed.
"A surprise," he said. "John's family has painted my portraits for generations. Today, he paints you."
I managed a polite smile. John looked delicate, a whisper of a man, but his eyes were kind. He bowed his head and shook my hand with surprising steadiness.
Victor brushed my hair into place and had me sit in the study. He stood behind me with one hand resting on my shoulder, warm and possessive. John set up his easel and began, his brush barely making a sound.
Victor's fingers squeezed my shoulder from time to time. I'd glance up and catch him watching me, eyes glowing with satisfaction.
The session went quickly. When I looked at the canvas, I didn't recognize the girl staring back.
Her hair was white, curled into soft ringlets. Her cheeks were painted with delicate pink. But her eyes—her eyes were black. No light. No center. No soul.
Victor was ecstatic. "We'll hang it in the main hall," he said. "Where everyone can see how beautiful you've become."
John left. The sun dipped lower.
We sat on the lawn, drinking wine. I tried to enjoy the silence.
But the weight of absence pressed on me.
I still couldn't find my phone.
Victor had taken it. Or destroyed it.
I rested my head on his shoulder. Tried to think of Theo. I prayed he'd made it home. That he was safe. That he'd forgotten me.
Victor's hands crept into my thoughts again—his voice in my ear, soft and reverent, like I was a miracle. How many others had he whispered to like that? How many had died loving him?
After dinner, I took a bath. Victor joined me, filling the room with the scent of roses and lavender. The warmth wrapped around us like silk. He kissed my temple, then my cheek.
"You are so lovely, Mrs. Belmore."
His lips grazed the hollow of my neck, and a moan escaped me before I could swallow it.
We moved from water to bed. He made love to me slowly, savoring me.
"Tell me you love me," he murmured, pinning my wrists above my head.
I heard myself say it.
He smiled.
He wanted it to be real.
But how could I love him when I'd never had a choice?
Later, I sat in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket. Victor watched me from bed, a book open in his lap.
"Tomorrow evening we leave," he said. "But first—something for you."
He handed me my phone.
My heart nearly stopped.
"I believe we're moving in the right direction."
My fingers trembled as I took it. "Are you sure?"
"I trust you completely," he said.
But I saw it—that flicker of doubt behind his eyes. He was watching me. Measuring me.
I handed the phone back.
"Thank you. But I don't think I can. Everything's... different now."
He looked relieved. "If you're sure, we'll try again later. Your parents would love to hear from you."
I turned away. The thought of them made my throat tighten. They were probably sick with worry. Or worse—blaming themselves.
But I couldn't risk reaching out. As long as I stayed here, they were safe.
Victor was still watching me.
He liked seeing me untethered from my old life.
It proved I was his.
I wondered, not for the first time, where I would've ended up if things had been different. If I'd been someone else. Someone less beautiful.
But he would've found me anyway. He said so himself.
Unless I'd been born ugly.
Each day, I felt less like a person and more like a ghost.
Later, thinking he was asleep, I climbed into bed. He was still reading.
"Can't sleep?" I asked.
"Soon. Just a few more pages, and I'm all yours... again."
I groaned and buried my face in the pillow, laughing softly.
Before he finished the chapter, I fell asleep in his lap, his fingers gently threading through my hair.