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I glance around the room at the candles that flicker beautifully around us, to the hundreds of books I'd love to lose myself in. "It's beautiful. You've got a wonderful collection."

"What would be your favourite to read?"

"I enjoy the classics, Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights…anything really."

"He's more myself than I am, whatever our souls are made of…" His voice soft as he pauses. Eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to finish his sentence.

"His and mine are the same."

His hands clap together. "Excellent taste. I'm honestly impressed. Literature these days is a thing of the past. It's all dark romance and Fifty Shades of Grey." His eyes darken, lips turning into a sinister smirk. "No one reads the true classics anymore. That reminds me, I have a gift for you."

With a click of his fingers, a maid appears through the double doors. Almost like she's been waiting for his signal, carrying a gift wrapped in midnight-blue paper. She hands it to him, ducking her head and retreating back through the doors without another word.

"For you," he says, the excitement in his voice sickening as he hands me the gift. I hesitate, running my fingers over the delicate satin bow tied in the middle. I tear open the paper, revealing a book cover I'd never seen before.

Beyond Good and Evil—Friedrich Nietzsche.

The corners of the book are worn, the pages bent in the corners and discoloured. This was used, maybe even his. "Thanks," I whisper. "I've never heard of this before."

"He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you." He says the words so calm and so clear. Like he's said them a million times. I keep my eyes on the book, opening inside and reading the inscription.

To my darling boy, all my love, Mother.

I snap the book shut, his words and hers mingling together. The shard still digging deep into my skin, and suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by everything that's happening in this room.

"Is that what happened to you?" I blurt out. "Did you gaze too long?"

He frowns, tilting his head. "That would depend on who you asked and who was asking." He takes the book from my hand, placing it beside us on the table and steps up out of his chair. The music changes to All I Need by Within Temptation, a song I know and loved, which makes things worse. He moves slowly, his hand finding mine as he tugs at me to stand.

I do, finding my feet. The room suddenly feels smaller, my heart beginning to race as we move into the middle of the library. He pulls me into him, his hand hovering just above my waist. My hand locks into his as we began to sway in time with the beautiful melody that plays through the air.

"I dreamed of this, Amora. All those nights outside of your flat. All those moments when I longed to take you. I dreamed of this very moment where you'd truly be mine," he whispers against my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "I thought you'd always fight, I thought you'd never let me in, but you did."

"I thought you enjoyed the chase. The force." I let myself speak a little freely. I don't know if its bravery or the way his hand feels like it belongs on my body, but either way, I let the words fall.

"Oh, I loved every second of breaking you, and in ways, I already miss it—but it doesn't make what I said any less true. You are mine. You always have been, and it pleases me that you've finally accepted it." His words drip with affection, which I know is fake. Another mask he hides his depravity behind. This isn't love, this is ownership wrapped in devotion. He spins me under his arm, my body crashing against his as he pulls me back into him. My hand presses flush against his chest, his eyes flicking to my mouth as he tried to close the distance.

I let him. I don't flinch the way I always have, because no matter how much he forces his mouth against mine, I know it'll be the last. His lips reach mine, gentle at first. His eyes close, whilst mine remain open. His tongue slides between my teeth, colliding with my tongue as he presses his body against mine. Kiss me, I think to myself. Enjoy it whilst you can, because it'll be the last time you ever do.

Silence descends into the room as the music stops. Everything stops, even the sound of my own heartbeat. I wait for him to turn me and force down my underwear. For him to bend me over the table and try and force his way inside like he's always done, but he doesn't.

I'm ready, my hand hovering over my hip. Ready to grab for the shard when he isn't expecting it. Ready to plunge it into whatever part of his body is available. I'm ready to end it all, but his hand laces around mine, his fingers slotting between my own. Disappointment hits hard and heavy, the momentum slowly fading, and I don't know if I'll get it back.

He begins to lead me from the library and out into the hall. "Where are we going?" I whisper.

"My cock can't take much more of this, Amora. I was ready to fuck you into oblivion in that library, but you wanted special, and I can give you special."

His words sink into my stomach as he leads me up a set of old, rusted spiral stairs into a place of the manor I've never been to before. The carpet is old and musty. The smell of damp and mould is strong. It isn't like any of the other places he's taken me to. It is forgotten, it feels almost forbidden. He slides a key from his pocket, unlocking the only door in the corridor. My eyes fall on the small serpents etched onto the wood, the hinges screaming as the door finally opens. He ushers me inside first, the smell of old books and candlewax stronger than in the library. My eyes wander around the room, stopping on all of the posters. The science posters, of the stars, the constellations, and the moon. The band posters that hang next to his window, My Chemical Romance and Nirvana. This isn't just another room—this was his room. His childhood.

"No one's allowed up here," he whispers behind me. There's something different in his voice, his usual confidence gone, and in its place a more child-like shyness.

"This was yours?" I ask, running my fingers along the dusty books that sit on his desk.

"Yeah, this is where I grew up. I don't come here very often, only when it gets too loud downstairs."

I almost bite back at his words, to ask what he meant by loud. Did he mean the violence that he creates or the screams of the women he kidnaps? But I don't get the chance—his phone begins to buzz in his pocket. I continue to nose around his room whilst he watches, ignoring every ring until finally he can't anymore.

"What?" I hear him snap behind me, his facade dropping immediately and back to the Vincent I know and hate. "I'll be down in a second. Do not do anything until I fucking get there."