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I am not his queen. Nor will Ieverbeg for him to touch me. But something has shifted inside of me. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. It has no right being there, and the need to flee suddenly suffocates me.
Without thought, I toss the box onto the floor because it makes me feel…dirty. The tiara rolls across the polished flooring, seeking refuge under the piano. It spins and comes to a stop, standing upright and regal, taunting me with what it represents.
But I will never be Alek’s plaything because that’s all I will ever be to him—his property. In light of his words, his actions will always speak louder, allowing me never to forget what he’s done.
Tomorrow is too far away. I need to leave. Now.
Consequences be damned. I race out into the hallway without looking back as I only have one place I need to be. Thankfully, Alek is nowhere to be found, but even if he was, it wouldn’t stop me. Better he kill me than feel this, this sympathy within.
The hatred I had for him is slowly ebbing away, and I am becoming what Saint, Zoey, what everyone predicted. He’s worming his way into my soul and making me feel…this, whatever this is. And I hate myself for it. I should want him dead, but I don’t. And something is very wrong with that fact.
My bare feet skid along the floor as I am focused on only one place, and that’s the kitchen. I’m getting the hell out of here. Tonight. If that means breaking open that trapdoor, then so be it.
There is no one inside, which allows me to frantically remove the carpet over the secret doorway and try the handle furiously. Of course, it’s locked. And no matter how hard I pull, it won’t budge.
“Come on!” I cry out in frustration, peering around the room for a key.
Springing up, I open every drawer and cupboard, tossing everything out of the way as I desperately try to find my way out. There is no key, which has me focusing on the razor-sharp knives sitting innocently on the magnetic holder above the blender.
The metal of the cleaver shimmers like an arrow pointing me home. Without hesitation, I yank it down and race back to the trapdoor where I drop to my knees. If I can’t open this door with a key, then I will break my way through it. I know Saint has a plan, but I can’t wait. I’m fearful for my soul if I do.
The old wood splinters as I raise my arm and bring it down, cutting into the sturdy material. I am running on pure adrenaline, unsure what I plan on doing once I get through. But none of that matters. I just want to be free.
I hack into it over and over as sweat drips from my brow and collects at the small of my back. The sharp knife hardly makes a dent in the thick and durable wood. But I don’t allow that to deter me. Each strike brings me one step closer to fleeing this betrayal within.
“Willow! Stop it!”
Sara’s rattled voice cuts through my panic. However, I can’t stop, even when she latches onto my arm to halt my motion. I am suddenly possessed, blinded by my self-loathing.
“I can’t!” I shrug her off me and continue swinging the cleaver, each strike claiming back a small piece of my integrity. “I need to get out of here.”
“You’ll wake the house. Please. Stop.” Her whispered pleas are filled with so much fear, alerting me to how selfish I am being.
I’m not just endangering myself. If Alek found the journal, if he knew Sara had been helping me, he would punish her and ensure Saint was found and dealt with in the most painful way possible.
Tears of anger stream down my cheeks because I am furious for being so fucking weak. “I don’t hate him, and I should,” I mumble in a jumble of hysterical words. “Saint wants to kill him, but the thought of him d-dead…it doesn’t sit right with me. What’s the matter with m-me?”
The cleaver tumbles to the floor with a defeated thud as I wrap my arms around my middle and curl in on myself, ashamed. I don’t deserve Sara’s comfort, but she gives it to me anyway.
“Shh, nothing is wrong with you,” she whispers into my ear, drawing me into her arms. “Alek has a way of making you question everything. That’s what a master manipulator does. It’s just one more night. Saint is coming tomorrow.”
This human contact, one most would take for granted, centers me, and my heart rate begins to slow.
“You will be rid of this place soon enough. It’ll be okay.”
I stay cocooned in Sara’s arms, allowing her to comfort me even though I don’t deserve it. “How can I feel…sorry for him?” I whisper, needing someone to tell me I’m not crazy.
“Because you’re not a monster,” she replies softly, rubbing my back.
“But after everything he’s done, how can I feel any kind of empathy toward him?” I don’t understand any of this, and the only person who can explain it to me is god knows where, trying to set me free.
“I wish I could answer that question, but I don’t know. But if it makes you feel any better, I understand.” Wiping away my tears, I gently pull from her embrace so I can look at her.
She timidly brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “After everything he’s done to me and Hans, I still can’t hate him.”
“Why? What power does he have over us?” I don’t understand.
“Because when you have so little, something small means so much, and in our case, that something small is kindness. Like a starving dog, waiting under the table to get thrown a scrap, we are thankful when we are shown any kind of mercy.
