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Enough!I shake myself, lurching to my feet.
If Mischa is alive, I know the first conclusion he’d jump to: that I went back willingly. That I’m lying in Robert’s arms right now, laughing over the idiocy of the monster who deigned to show me a glimpse that he might be something more.
He’d be smug, Mischa, the bastard. He wouldn’t contemplate for a second that I would be pacing my gilded prison, aching to be anywhere. Dead. With him. Anywhere.
But my brain won’t let me take that cowardly outlook for too long. It keeps returning to him. I see his face, those flashing eyes. They offer a challenge:You want to prove me wrong, Rose?Then fucking run.
I rush to the door and test the knob. It’s locked.
Two windows, shrouded in scarlet curtains, are positioned on either side of the bed. I race toward one and draw the curtains back only to reveal the plywood nailed to it, obscuring any view. The second has been barred the same way.
Two additional doors lead to a closet and the bathroom. Apart from the bed, my only other piece of furniture is the wardrobe.
I’m trapped.
Tears well and escape before I can prevent their fall. I rub at them, but eventually, I wind up on my knees, against the wall, choking back sobs. They rip from me in dizzying waves, leaving my chest aching in the aftermath.
I barely hear the gentle murmur in between my gasping breaths.
“Shhh,” a woman urges. “Shhh, love. It’s all right. Shhhh. It’s all right.”
The words aren’t directed to me, but that voice…
“Briar?” I whisper, pressing my ear harder to the wall. It must be thin enough that she can hear me, whoever she is. But the voice falls silent.
“Please. Briar, is that you?”
In a room that potentially isn’t locked?
Desperate, I risk raising my voice. “Please answer me. Briar… Please.”
But no matter how many times I call, she never replies.
