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LIV

Sunlight warms my cheek. I stretch beneath the silk sheets, my limbs heavy, and pull the covers up to my chin. For a few seconds, I keep my eyes closed.

The pillow beside me smells of Jax’s sandalwood cologne. I turn toward it, breathing him in before I remember where I am.

My eyes open.

I slept through the night. No waking at every sound in the corridor. No lying rigid beneath the covers, waiting for the lock to turn. In a room I can’t leave, in a bed I didn’t choose, I slept without once reaching for the empty space beside me.

Disgust tightens my chest.

I push myself upright and look around the suite, adorned with antique mahogany furniture, thick cream rugs, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking lawns so carefully maintained that I’ve never seen a fallen branch left on the grass.

Beyond them, trees hide the estate’s boundary. I have no idea how far the grounds extend or what lies on the other side.

The glass is bulletproof. Jax told me that after he caught me trying to break it with a chair. The bedroom door locks from the outside, and nothing on this side can release it. During the first week, I tried the brass handle whenever I passed.

Now I can walk past without looking.

I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and sink my bare feet into the rug.

Eight weeks since the masquerade.

Aurora spent the first twelve days with me. Then Hunter got her out, and Jax took me away. Other doors were locked before this one. The cell. The cabin in Montana. The van I climbed into while one of his men dragged Ari across the clearing.

At first, I scratched a tally into the inside of the closet door with a broken hanger clip. I wanted a record. Something to show Aurora when she found me, so she would know exactly how long I’d waited.

I stopped last week.

I still know how many days have passed. I wish I didn’t.

I don’t know whether Ari counts them. When I ask to see him, Jax tells me he is alive. Sometimes he tells me he is being difficult.

Daddy has millions. Hunter Reed has money, connections, men who make problems disappear. Between them, they should have found one missing woman.

Ari didn’t stop trying. He found me, and Jax took him too. I know that much. Everything after the van belongs to Jax’s version of events, and I don’t know how much to believe it.

I have no way of knowing. No phone, no news, no one willing to answer when I ask. But every quiet morning makes it harder to imagine them still searching.

That thought used to make me cry into my pillow. Now, sometimes I feel almost relieved. I don’t have to face their questions or see what they think of me when they learn what’s happened here.

What I’ve allowed to happen.

I get up before I can follow that thought any further.

The bathroom door stands open. I step inside, flinch as my feet meet the cool marble, and close the door behind me.

This is the only room without a camera. At least, it’s the only one I haven’t found a camera in. I’ve checked the vents, the light fittings, the corners above the shower. Jax says this room gives me privacy.

I hate having to take his word for it.

I grip the vanity edge and look at myself.

My hazel eyes seem too large in my face. My hair falls over my shoulders in tangled blonde waves, a far cry from the polished curls I used to sit in a stylist’s chair to achieve.

I lift it away from my neck.