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It’s his. The thought makes me get up without another complaint.

“This is his room,” I mutter.

“It is.”

My God. Why was I brought up here?

“Come. Follow me.” The woman gestures toward the door and proceeds.

I follow, my feet still bare.

I glance down at my torn dress and wonder what else happened to me last night. What else did that bastard do?

If he can drug me, then I’m sure he’d do just about anything.

Wasn’t he the one who brought up the idea of fucking me? And he said it as easily and as casually as if we were trying to decide between going for a walk in the park or food shopping.

And that whole thing about being his wife…

What the hell was that about?

Maybe I imagined that part. Maybe my mind had already gone and that came up because last night was my engagement party.

I was supposed to have woken up today with Danillo’s ring on my finger.

This is substantially worse.

When we get to the end of the landing, I realize we must be on the other side of the house. We’re nowhere near where I was last night. And we’re at least one floor higher.

We descend two flights of stairs, passing paintings and sculptures. He seems to like his art. It doesn’t suit him. Not even a little bit.

At first glance you’d think someone respectable and decent lived here. Not a madman.

We reach the ground floor and walk down a corridor. The woman stops by a wooden door that reminds me of the one on Papa’s office.

The door is ajar. The woman doesn’t knock; she just pushes the door open wider, and then I see him.

My captor. The devil.

He’s standing across the room with his back to us, gazing out the window at nothing in particular.

In the bright daylight he looks displaced. Like he belongs more to the night and the shadows.

He’s still dressed in full black, but the attire is more casual than last night’s clothes. A T-shirt and black slacks.

“Go.” The woman’s voice is gentler, but the change in tone isn’t for me. What I’m hearing is her being respectful. For him.

I walk into the office, and she closes the door behind me. I hate the soft click of the lock. Just like last night when I was locked in that room, my nerves stand on end and my heart beats faster.

I hate it even more that I’m in here with him. All alone.

Holding my breath, I stop by the sprawling mahogany desk not far from Lev. I’d prefer to be further away, but making any attempt to keep my distance would only show my fear. Fear which I’m sure he can smell.

He keeps his back turned to me and his face tilted just so. Enough to see the obstinate carve of his jawline. The world holds its breath with me while I wait for him to turn and do or say something.

When the seconds tick by and I’m still staring in silence at his broad back, it irritates the hell out of me. I might just tear my skin off my body.

What is it with this man? He seems to live and breathe asshole. There’s so much to talk about. And he’s the one who wanted to see me, but look at him acting like I don’t exist.