His muted reaction isn't a show of strength, or a shield of power that he’s trained to use. It’s all him. Constrained. Expressionless. A true sovereign.
Somehow he had stayed hidden behind the mask he wears and easily traveled into the darkness he exists in. I am both impressed by his dauntless reaction and petrified by the cold display of fortitude––how utterly numb he must be inside.
There’s no way to win against a man like him.
I left the doctor to stitch him up and took the opportunity to shower alone with the ensuite door locked from the inside. A safety measure on my part, but pointless as no one came to find me.
Later that evening, a knock on the bedroom door is followed by a sing-song feminine voice. The housekeeper, maid, or whatever Marta’s role may be, left a tray on the floor outside, announcing a bowl of chicken soup that had to be eaten on Tomás’ order.
Out of spite, I considered leaving it uneaten, just to prove he couldn’t dictate my every move, but hunger got the better of me. It tasted amazing, even if my belly gurgled after every mouthful.
There’s something ironic about enjoying a bowlful of warm soup while wrapped in a cashmere soft blanket and huddled on the plush gray rug of a master suite owned by a powerful man.
His out of nowhere proposal was a hard slap to the face. A soulless proposition with a termination date and currency. He expects me to spend four days of my life with him, to accept his temporary ownership of me, and succumb to his wicked appetite. The devil asking me to sell my soul.
I should be appalled by such an immoral suggestion. Freaked out by the idea of spending more time with a lawless criminal. Enraged by his audacity. However, in a distant part of my brain, I’ve unearthed all the hurt I suffered. I remember being the outcast who wished her life away and dreamed of childish fantasies.
Whether I want to confess it or not, there’s a connection sizzling between Tomás and I. Something absurdly profound. For the first time in my life, a man wants me in his bed. He overlooks my imperfections without pity or disgust. It’s not that I’m grateful for his attention, or mindlessly taken by his sexual abilities. I’m simply intrigued and very attracted to him.
Anxious threads snake their way around each rib so the bones create an impassable cage for my troubled heart until I eventually fall asleep on his bed. Damp hair dried naturally, and a large t-shirt hides the bruises on my thighs.
My body jerks awake. I blink in the muted glow of a bedside lamp. Through the heavy glazed windows, I see the velvety sky of nightfall. I’m curled up in a massive bed with a thin sheet covering my legs. He didn't join me.
I press my palm to my racing heart, the reason for my sudden awakening. Panic pumps through my arteries, the sensation hammering in my chest.
My family.
Sal will go out of his mind if I don’t reply to his messages. I have to find a phone or a laptop and contact him. But what I need most of all is to escape this confusing nightmare—a perilous game, worse than fated death.
My destruction’s written all over it in blood and tears. I’m stuck in the belly of a beast who thrills me with his beautiful danger. And that realization spikes my survival instincts. I haven’t fought away the dark days to end up defenseless.
I hate myself with a despicable passion for wondering about him if he’s recovering somewhere in this glass house. It’s not normal for a woman to let compassion cloud her judgment of an insensitive man. But after our time together in the back seat of a chauffeur driven Escalade—with every hair follicle electrified, skin cell on fire, and piece of flesh reacting to his feral touch, I find my thoughts consumed by him.
I was finally living.
Moving on top of him, both of us vulnerable, was like dancing in a rainstorm on a thunderous afternoon––revivifying.
Yet the erratic pulse in my throat won’t let me settle in a life where I’m paid for sex at the mercy of a man who can so easily snuff out a heartbeat. That’s not how my future would play out or what my conscience deserves to juggle with for years after.
I rake shaky fingers through my thick, wavy hair and untangle the air-dried strands. Dropping off the bed, I pad to the doorway and sneak onto the landing, holding my breath to help me hear better.
There’s a ghostly stillness. An unnerving calmness blanketing high ceilings and sturdy hallway furniture that was designed to fit the space where they sit exactly. Several closed doors are dotted clockwise, and a few lanterns fixed to the freshly painted walls offer a subtle warm radiance.
I silently drop down onto each step of the coiled staircase, snaking lower. On my descent, I notice the couch is gone and Tomás is nowhere in sight.
Shadows move in the moonlight as I creep along the corridor to where I suspect his office is, at the very end, where I’d heard him once before. When I place my fingers on the handle, I blow out in annoyance as it depresses, and the door stays shut. Of course, he’d lock it. I bet there’s a trip wire attached to the handle or lasers ready to slice off an intruder's head—my head.
Not planning to give up, I backtrack and hurry to the sliding glass doors. Sliding one open with a sliver of space to squeeze through, I slip outside.
Cool air tingles over my thighs and goosebumps scurry the length of my spine. The high moon reflects on the glassy pool, appearing to drop off the hillside in an illusion of never-ending flow. If I didn't know better, I’d think his luxury bachelor pad’s a little piece of paradise.
But I’ve kneeled beside the fire pit on this grand terrace, bound and hooded, ready for his temper to ignite. It’s more like a beautifully disguised waiting room for Hell.
I shiver and hug my belly for comfort. He’s had plenty of opportunities to kill me. And yet, here I am—still alive, fighting, and trying to get away from the eye of a storm.
Flanking the brickwork, I keep low and lean into the towering wall. If I’m right, the office is on this side of the house. I’m getting desperate. The buzz charging my veins lets me know my covert sneaking is risky. But it’s worth it to reach out to my brother.
At the corner of the property, I cross over from flagstones to a stony pathway fringed with dense flower beds and tropical palm trees, and take a beat to steady my breathing. If he catches me out here and suspects I’m looking for an escape route, he’d lock me up and throw away the key. I cast my eyes along the gable’s end wall and check the windows. In that split second of contemplation, I’m interrupted.