Page 101 of Captive Ruin

Twenty-Four

Amelia

The whir of the shutters opening wakes me, sunlight filling the room.

“Good morning,” Linda says, placing a tray on the table. She’s still wearing black pants and a white blouse. A uniform, perhaps?

“Hi.” I pull the sheet up to my chin.

The bed is empty where Van Wyk lay, and reaching across, it’s cold. Last night he was really glad I’m here; this morning he can’t wait to be elsewhere.

“Lukas had to leave early, I’m afraid.”

So not merely elsewhere then. Gone.

“When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure, Miss Anderson,” she replies, giving me an apologetic smile. “His movements are rather unpredictable.”

She’s not wrong. He breaks into my apartment whenever he wants.

“Would you please call me Amelia?” It’s too early in the morning for formalities.

“As you prefer.” She smiles at me, then gestures at the balcony doors. “There’s a table outside and a lovely view if you want to eat there. Clothes for you in the closet. When you come downstairs, I’ll introduce you to Jorge and Tony, your bodyguards.”

With that, she heads out, leaving me alone again.

Bodyguards? My jailers, more like. Would they open the gates if I asked them? Doubtful.

My sigh fills the room.

It’s tempting to laze around in bed, hiding from everyone, but that’s not my style. Besides, I need to call Lucy. Someone should know where I am, in case I’m never heard from again. Do I even trust Van Wyk, or know what the future holds?

I use his ridiculously large shower, wondering as I do if he has hidden cameras in this house, too.

But of course he does.

I can’t see them when I look, but I’m certain they’re there. As I towel off, I give a sarcastic little wave at the ceiling. It feels a little late to be modest.

I explore the walk-in closet, and at first I assume the clothes are Juliette’s. But when I examine them, they’re clearly new, and unlike in the romance stories I read, not a perfect fit. Instead, Van Wyk avoided that problem by buying three sets of everything in different sizes, and the shelves are brimming with options.

I choose a blouse and button it thoughtfully, biting my lip. Linda, last night, expecting my arrival. Bodyguards here. And now a closet full of clothing, clearly intended for me.

I’ve known the man two weeks, yet he’s planned for this.

Who fills a closet with clothes for someone they’ve only just fucking met?

Van Wyk does. It’s such a him thing to do.

Not freaked out. Not freaked out. Not freaked out.

I swallow hard, totally freaking out. My breathing is rapid, my vision tunneling. My legs tremble and I have to catch myself with a hand on a shelf, or I’d crumple into a ball.

He was always going to bring me here.

Could I ever have escaped him? All those times he told me I never would.

It’s a while before I’ve calmed enough to straighten my hunched shoulders. I’m stronger than this. I’m not going to let that bastard get to me or control my life.