***
The light outside mywindow gives way to dusk, the key is turned in the lock. The security guard is back. His huge presence fills the doorway, then he enters the room. He’s not alone though. Following him in is the woman with the wild red curls. She carries a tray of food covered by a silver dish. Behind her is Parker. He slips into my bedroom like a snake into a henhouse.
“Get out!” I scream.
“Sit down,” the security guard says.
“Fuck you!”
“Camille, please.” Parker steeples his hands. He speaks and looks just like my father. “Please just listen.”
“He can’t keep me here.”
“This is the safest place for you right now.”
“Bullshit! I don’t know you! I don’t know any of you!”
“I know this is difficult, and I wish I could be here to help you remember, but with work the way it is, well . . .” He trails off and takes my hand. Instinctively, I pull away. Parker’s eyes fill with unshed tears, but I don’t feel one iota of compassion or love for this man. “When you’re better, you can come back to the apartment with me.”
I frown. “We have an apartment?”
“Well, technically your father has an apartment in downtown Manhattan. It’s right near the academy.”
“The academy,” I repeat, rolling the word around my tongue.
“Where you dance.” His brows crinkle. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”
Would I be here if I did?
“I want to see it. The place I used to dance.”
The placehetook me.
“Soon. For now, your father doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed, so we need you to stay here. No one is at the apartment all day until late. I can’t look after you there.”
“I don’t need looking after.”
“Camille, please. Just stay here for a few weeks. You have the staff to tend to your every need, and when you begin to remember things and start to heal, then you can come home, maybe get back to work.”
Work. Dancing. Ballet. I don’t remember anything about that life.
This room is covered in black-and-white portraits of me dancing. There’s a plush ballet pink duvet cover and a mountain of cushions with quirky puns like “Life without ballet would bepointeless” embroidered on them. Leotards and tutus hang in the closet, and there are more pointe shoes and trophies than I think is healthy for one individual to own.
I don’t know this world. I don’t know the girl in those pictures. I know this version of me—Pet, whose only job was to make her master happy. And I haven’t done that. I escaped, and he sent me away. I failed, and he’s probably already found another slave who will give him her heart and soul. A pet who does as she’s told and pleases her master. Not one who runs from him.
I sit down heavily in the plush velveteen seat. The woman with flames for hair curtsies in front of me. “Miss Camille, I’m Brigid. I know you don’t remember me, but I raised you from a wee lass, and I’m here to help with whatever you need.” Brigid speaks with a lilting twang. She’s Irish, maybe. Or Scottish perhaps. It would certainly explain the red hair and pale skin.
I stare at the woman. I see pity in her eyes, condemnation—it’s the same look everyone has bestowed upon me since I was found.Victim. I’m not a victim. I’m a slave who is lost. A sub who can’t find her master, alone and adrift in a sea of pretenders, of people who tell me they care, they’re here for me, but I don’t know them. I don’t want them. I wanthim. Only him.
“Right, then. I made your favorite chicken broth. I know you’re not supposed to eat carbs, but I figured you deserved a little treat, so I picked the smallest dinner roll from the bunch.”
“Thank you.” My tone is sharp. Too sharp, and a pang of guilt works its way through my chest at Brigid’s wide-eyed gaze.
“If you’re in need of nothing else, I’ll take my leave of you now, but if you desire anything at all, just ring the bell. Christian here will hear it and let me know. He’ll be right outside that door.”
I sneer at Christian. He sneers back. Apparently, money doesn’t buy everything, because for what my father must be paying, I’m surprised he couldn’t find a security guard with a better bedside manner.
Parker crouches down in front of me as Christian and Brigid exit the room. “I have to get back to the city, but I’ll come in the next few days to check on you.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. For a brief second, I close my eyes and imagine it’s Ares. But the scent is all wrong. Fear and excitement don’t twist my stomach like they do with my Sir.