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“Please stop doing that, Miss.”
My head cranes to the monotonous voice of a man. He stands by the closed door, his bulk swallowing the frame. The palest blue eyes consider me with an apparent softness.
“Who are you?” I ask the first human being I’ve encountered since I came to this place. Aaron doesn’t count. He’s not human.
“My name is Kane.” Despite his neutral voice, nothing about it is threatening. “I’m here to take care of your needs per His Lordship’s orders.”
His Lordship? Am I really subjugated to an aristocrat?
One with no nobility whatsoever.
“That’s it, I’m doomed.”
“I beg your pardon?” he asks.
Looking into his welcoming features, I relax a little. “What’s Aaron’s exact title? An earl? A lord? Is his father a duke?”
“I cannot answer any of your questions, Miss. I’ll order your meal. Is there anything specific you want?”
“I want to get out of here,” I plead. “He kidnapped me, Kane. He snatched me from my loving family and friends. I’m losing myself little by little in this place. If you don’t help me, he’ll kill me.”
I don’t know why I’m telling a stranger all this. Maybe because of the sympathetic look in his gaze, but most likely it’s because the fact that he’s my only hope to regain my freedom.
His eyes ease further. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss. I’m only a servant.”
My shoulders sag, long breaths leave my lips. Another option out of the window. Kane seems too loyal to His psycho Lordship.
He turns to leave but stops at the door. “And miss, the men you called for help are His Lordship’s guards. When he finds out about this incident, it won’t please him. I suggest you don’t entice his anger.”
Oh. Great.
I just angered Aaron.
Chapter Thirteen
Aaron
The directors’ board meeting sucked my soul into a cycle of infuriating boredom.
I have an hour for lunch before the afternoon’s briefing with foreign partners. Spending my break with Tristan and Dylan is not an option. I’m already screwed to a whole day of signing papers and keeping the company’s image, adding their nonsense conversations to the pot is out of the question.
But that doesn’t excuse where I stand. This is the last place where I should be. Yet, here I am. Staring at Mae’s painting. In a public exhibition.
‘Get out of here,’ Mother’s trembling voice orders.
&nbs
p; Aunt chimes in to shut her out. ‘Are you out of your damn mind, Aaron?’
You tell me, demons. The last time I checked, you control that.
‘You are definitely losing it,’ Father says, ‘There’s little to control as of late.’
‘Do you think she painted you? Or us?’ Mother asks.
My gaze plunges into the black and white figure of a mythical creature of some sort. He’s faceless. There’s only a grey blur where his features are supposed to be. He stands tall, chaotic dark lines form a ball on his right hand. One black wing springs behind him in full glory while the other hangs loosely by his side. Broken. Scarred. Damaged.
The familiarity of what Mae’s hands created springs an unprecedented curiosity. What does it mean? What was going on in her head when she painted this?
