Renata
The apartment is empty. At least, it looks that way. I glance around for something I can use as a weapon. Anything will do. I just don’t want to be empty-handed if I run into trouble.
There’s a spiky crystal ornament sitting on a table a few feet away from me. It’s beautiful, ornate, and clearly expensive. But most importantly, it’s sharp.
I heft the thing up and turn it over to find a good grip on it. One long crystal spike extends away from me. Perfect.
I continue down the hallway. Thankfully, I don’t have to concentrate too hard on my movements because the carpet swallows up sound. It’s pointless anyway. After a few moments, it’s clear that there’s no one around this part of the apartment.
I pass the living room. The New York skyline glistening beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows makes me pause for a moment.
“Whoa,” I breathe softly.
New York certainly is a beauty from this perspective. The height hides all of her little flaws and enhances all of her beauty. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of admiring it.
I move quietly forward—and then I freeze suddenly when I hear a sound off to the side. It’s coming from behind one of the closed doors. A bedroom, if I had to guess. I’m almost certain Kian’s inside.
I shudder, then keep hurrying through the apartment until I reach the rich foyer that leads to the private elevator. And that’s when it hits me.
The elevator. The fucking elevator.
It’s sealed off by a security code.
Kian’s words flash through my head. “Did you really think I’d bring you here if leaving was as simple as clicking the elevator button?”
Fuck. I move closer, eyeing the little box sitting innocently next to the silver double doors. LOCKED, it says in big, red letters.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My hopes of an easy escape deflate and a burgeoning sense of resignation swallows me up.
I turn on the spot and look at the wall directly in front of me. The one that holds the beautiful black-and-white landscape drawing I’d admired when I’d been carried through here. Dazed, I walk forward to take a closer look at the art. It’s even more impressive up close. The strokes are so damn detailed. Each one is deliberate and considered.
At first sight, it’s a simple landscape of a lush garden overlooking a lake. But as I look closer, I notice other things. Like the woman sitting in the garden looking out over the lake. Like the man standing down below by the lake’s edge. There’s a tiny, almost indiscernible cloud hanging over him, as though he’s smoking something. A cigarette, perhaps. I can see a pair of feline eyes staring out from the shrubbery and a pair of what looks like children’s shoes strung out along the garden as if they’ve been forgotten.
The details are what make the painting more special. It also makes me curious. There’s a story nestled in here somewhere, if I could just figure out where to look.
I don’t have time for that now, though. I snap myself out of my trance and retreat back into the bulk of the penthouse. Turning to the right, I walk into the living room.
An electric fireplace sits opposite the windows. It’s been built into the wall, recessed with rustic white brick. It feels a little misplaced somehow. Not quite right for this Manhattan penthouse. More the kind of thing you’d see somewhere in Europe, maybe. Maybe that’s why I like it.
But I forget about it completely when my eyes land on the picture leaning against the fireplace’s mantle. I slip forward, my eyes skirting quickly over the faces staring back at me.
I notice Kian first, of course. He’s standing to the far left in a white button-down shirt and that charming smile that already feels so familiar to me. He looks a few years younger here.
Next to him is woman with gorgeous red hair that seems to have a mind of its own. It curls and bends in waves that seem to defy logic. She’s dressed simply in jeans and a cashmere sweater. The man on her other side looks so much like Kian that I do a double take and squint hard at the picture. Only then do I realize that this man is older and blonder.
But he’s got the same smile. The same disarming charm that comes across, even through the photograph and the years since it was taken.
His brother. It must be.
Given the way his arm is wrapped around the beautiful redhead, I’m guessing the two of them are together.
Same as the couple occupying the righthand side of the picture. They’re both dark and beautiful. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not, but they both look a little tense. Guarding mysteries in their eyes. He also shares some of Kian’s features. Another brother, if I had to guess, with his wife or girlfriend clinging to him.
Seated at the front of the lineup is an older duo. The man has a stark expression and piercing eyes that are devoid of warmth. But the way he holds the little girl on his lap is loving through and through.
The woman next to him has the same austerity to her features. She is smiling, but I can tell she doesn’t make a habit of it. Clearly, they’re married. But she’s not touching her husband. She’s holding the hand of the little girl on her husband’s lap.