9:05…9:06…9:07…Left balcony camera shuts off and restarts. Right balcony camera doesn’t pick up the slack for twenty-one seconds…
I move to the hallway and wait for fifteen minutes, writing down those camera patterns. The cameras above the winding staircase are too high for me to see, but I’m willing to bet that they’re on the same schedule as the ones in the main living room.
When I make it into the kitchen to check the cameras above the cabinets, I stop at the sight of Michael standing in front of the stove. Dressed in all-black, with the sleeves of his button-down shirt pushed up to the elbows, he’s staring intently into the skillet—looking sexy as fuck.
His shirt is clinging to his muscles in all the right places, his perfect, chiseled jawline is freshly shaved, and from here, I can smell a hint of his intoxicating cologne.
I notice that he has a new tattoo on his left hand—a grey spotted spider that’s far smaller than any of his other ones. He’s also wearing a new watch, a Patek Phillippe that costs what my entire inheritance is worth. It’s almost as if he’s making a statement.
Noticing me, he turns around and smiles, sending unwanted butterflies fluttering against my stomach. He stares at me for several seconds, looking me up and down—fucking me with his gorgeous green eyes.
Suddenly, images of late-night sex in my condo, kissing him in the back of a cab, and his daily flower delivery from before invade my mind. My heart swells at the memories, but the frames quickly dissolve and give way to the darker pictures of our story: Him stuffing me into a van after our honeymoon, him lying about loving me, and his insistence on keeping me here.
I hate to admit it to myself, but this man can still turn me on and wet my panties within seconds. Criminal kidnapper or not, he’s still the sexiest man on the planet, and he knows exactly how to look and what to say to get under my skin.
“Good morning, Meredith,” he says. “Did you sleep well last night? Have you completed the daily swimming laps that I now require you to do?”
I don’t answer. I head toward the breakfast bar and lean against the counter, looking at my phone. With any luck, the breakfast box that drops via drone every morning will be here soon, and I can return to my room.
“Anything interesting happening in the news lately?” he asks. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t access those things. If you’d like, I can update you on where the police are on your case.”
Don’t react to him, Meredith. Don’t react. I suck in a breath and open my Goodreads review to read more upset comments about my post.
“It’s such a shame,” he says. “Some of the people on social media are starting to think that your husband has something to do with your disappearance. They don’t seem to care that the cops have cleared me, and there’s evidence to the contrary.”
I grit my teeth and keep my eyes glued to the screen, as he steps closer to me. He gently grabs the phone from my hands, forcing me to look up at him, to stand up a bit straighter.
“I’m not sure I’m a fan of this extended silent treatment, Meredith,” he says, looking into my eyes. “It’s not really fair, given the circumstances and all I’ve done for you.”
I bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying, “You haven’t done shit for me,” but I can feel the words begging to be freed.
“We have to leave here in a few weeks,” he says, his voice low. “So, it’s in your best interest to—”
“Talk to you?” I cut him off, unable to hold in my emotions anymore. “You honestly expect me to talk to you and act like this shit is normal? Like I’m actually happy to be your wife?”
“You should be, but I’d probably use the word ‘lucky’ over ‘happy’, if I were you.”
“Bullshit, Michael.” I try to push him away, but he grabs my hands, holding me still. “You are a fucking criminal, and I don’t care how big of a ‘monster’ you think you can be, or how well you think you can torture me by holding me here in pain anymore.”
“You have no idea what real pain is, Meredith,” he says as a vein begins to swell in his neck. “You’ve lived a life where your biggest issue is overcoming your own fucking emotions.”
“I beg to differ.”
“You have no fucking idea what true captivity is.” He prevents me from pushing him away again. “You can roam freely in this house. You can eat whatever you want, do whatever you want—whenever you fucking want.”
“I can do everything except leave,” I hiss, feeling my chest heave up and down. “Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that you’ve now started forcing me to swim one hundred laps every evening, for no goddamn reason.”