Page 40 of Vows of Silence

The bed beneath me was unfamiliar. That was the first realisation to hit.

Then the smell. I could smell the stone and the damp. I could smell the mustiness from the rain seeping into the structure ofthe place. And then, most concerning of all, was the smell of something metallic lingering faintly beneath it all.

This was not the fluffy duvet in my bedroom. This smelled nothing like the scent I sprayed every night—sweet almond and macaroon.

This smelled of rot. And it felt even worse.

My eyes snapped open, pushing past the pain barrier, and immediately landed on a dark ceiling overhead. Panic surged through me so violently that I lurched upright before my body could properly catch up, only for agony to rip through my ribs hard enough to force a cry from my throat.

I collapsed back against the headboard, clutching my side.

Bit by bit, fragments of my memory were returning to me.

I had been on my way to my engagement party.

I looked down at my wrists. The bracelet was gone, and my skin had that familiar sheen that told me some sort of cream had been applied to the friction burn I had caused by rubbing the jewellery back and forth.

Who would abduct me and then care for my wounds? It made no sense.

Think, Isabelle. Stop focusing on the fucking cream!

I’d been in the car with Frank… and then…

Oh God. The car.

Frank shouting my name.

The violent impact.

Blood across the dashboard.

The silver mask.

A sob lodged painfully in my chest.

“No…” I whispered weakly.

My eyes darted frantically around the room as my breathing quickened. Stone walls surrounded me on all sides, dim lighting cast soft shadows across the concrete floor, and a heavy metal door stood on the far side of the room. A wardrobe occupied onecorner, a small table another, and beside the bed sat a bookshelf—although all the books had been removed.

I looked around at the rest of the walls, noticing that there were no windows, no clocks, no way for me to sense the time whatsoever.

I shoved the blanket off me and forced myself onto shaking legs, only for dizziness to hit instantly. Pain shot through my ankle and ribs at the same time, nearly dropping me straight back onto the mattress.

I caught myself against the wall instead, sucking in a sharp breath as nausea rolled through me.

I was still wearing the engagement dress—or what remained of it.

The white fabric hung torn down one side, stained with dirt and blood, one of the straps slipping uselessly down my shoulder. My hair hung over my shoulders, and I reached a hand up to my head, distinctly remembering that my hair had been tied in a high ponytail on my mother’s instruction.

The tiara was gone.

Good.

I never wanted to see the fucking thing again.

My trembling fingers brushed against my temple, wincing when they found dried blood tangled in my hairline.

I brought my hands back down and held them in front of me, noting the small scratches and dirt under my nails.