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“Marcello, let me out of here.” I balled my hand into a fist and banged on the door until pain shot up my arm. “You asshole, open this door.”
As expected, he greeted me with silence… and the sound of water splashing.
The bay.
I spun on my heels, my stomach growling as I flung open the French doors that led to the balcony. Salty air floated into the room, and I drank in the scent. This was Luca’s idea to lock me in my bedroom.
Message received, dickhead!
Furious, I turned away from the open doors and flipped Luca the middle finger. Right at the hidden camera.
Anger surged through me, heat rolling off my skin like flames. Those assholes dragged me back to this place, only to lock me up like Rapunzel in her fucking tower. Positive I had Luca’s attention, I grabbed an expensive glass vase from the table by the window. I raised it above my head, laughing as it smashed to pieces on the carpet.
Fuck Luca.
Fuck Marcello.
Fuck the Salvatores.
I went around the room, breaking everything but the lamps. It felt good to watch the glass shatter. Like those bastards had done to my heart repeatedly. Years of enduring those insufferable bullies had turned me into a lunatic.
With each valuable I destroyed, my heart stopped racing. My pulse returned to normal with each shard of glass and ceramic that littered the carpet like a really fucked up painting.
Like something I would paint.
I smiled at my handwork, proud of my latest creation.
You’re losing it again.
No, I’m not.
Maybe just a little.
Some people called me crazy. They said I was just like my mother and another disappointment to the Wellington name. So I had to prove them wrong, show all these rich assholes they had underestimated me.
After my second involuntary stay at the Haven Asylum, the doctors had diagnosed me with complex post-traumatic stress disorder. My PTSD wasn’t isolated to a single incident. It was the product of years of trying to escape locked closets, dark bedrooms, all of the emotional and mental abuse from my mother.
Then, I met the Salvatores.
Four broken boys who wanted to take out their pain and anger on me. They had tortured me throughout my final year at Astor Prep. Every single day I dreaded going to school. My twin brother tried to intervene. But my bullies had purposely aligned my classes with theirs so no one could help me.
I ignored the nagging throb at the base of my skull, a clear sign I was about to have an episode.
Not now.
No, I had to fight it and show the Salvatores that they couldn’t hurt me. My head pounded, hard and fast, forcing my eyes shut. I clutched the side of my head and groaned.
Fuck this.
I couldn’t let my kidnappers see me fall apart on camera. So I spun around and headed toward the balcony. It was beautifully decorated with a patio set that had navy blue-and-gold cushions. The Salvatore Estate sat at the center of Devil’s Creek, overlooking the bay. I had an unobstructed view of the coastal towns surrounding us.
On the other side of the bay, the lights from Wolf Hallow twinkled like stars in the dark blue sky. Beacon Bay was to my right, hidden by an overgrowth of trees.
Gripping the brick post, I closed my eyes and let the sea glide over my skin. In and out, I took deep calming breaths and tipped my nose up to drink in the saltiness.
My mind drifted to Aiden, and the last time I saw him. He looked tired, his blond curls longer than normal. Dark circles ringed his blue irises. I knew he was taking pills and had confronted him about it the night before. He promised he would stop.
Aiden.
