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DAPHNE
Oh.
My god.
That was good.
It was so good.
I feel like I’m in a dream, somewhere warm and floating. It’s hard to concentrate on anything right now. I’m aware of Emerson moving around the room. Doing something at one of the alcoves. He stops by one of my paintings, a glass glinting in his hand. He does the same to another painting. I’m just another one of his paintings.
This must be the end of the game.
He’ll take me out of the gallery soon.
Honestly, I hope he doesn’t. It’s so unbearably hot that I can’t get out of the frame.
I love this game.
I was being a fool when I said I didn’t like them. I like the ones he plays with me. He’s right. He’s right for me, even if he is broken and terrible and criminal.
Even if he is dangerous.
If my family ever finds him…
Well. No use thinking about that now. I feel too good. I’m even glad for the ropes. They’re the only reason I’m still upright. I would have fallen without them.
The doorbell rings, sounding far away. Emerson turns his head away from my painting and goes out of the gallery.
A delivery, probably. Maybe his cleaning service. He’ll send whoever it is away and come back. I pick up my chin from my chest and try to collect myself. Most of the paintings he’s bought for me are here. Including the one I did for the charity auction. Blood in the Water. I painted that in the feverish burst after I walked in on Leo and Haley. It took hours and hours to come to terms with learning his secret. Afterward, I didn’t know what else to do with the painting. Destroying it seemed wrong, but so did keeping it in Leo’s house. So I sent it to be auctioned.
I didn’t know Emerson was the one who bought it.
I should have known, though.
I really should have.
Emerson left the gallery door open, but he wouldn’t let anyone interrupt us right now. Not when I need a nap.
A minute goes by. Maybe two.
It also feels shamefully good to be tied up. I can admit that now. I thought it wouldn’t. I thought it would be terrifying, but it’s only terrifying if you don’t trust the person who’s binding your wrists. Plus, I let him do it. I wanted to try. And what he said to me—
If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.
The gallery door opens wider, and Emerson comes back in.
He’s not alone.
My heart stops.
Sinclair is with him. He doesn’t have his coat on. Emerson must have hung it up at the door. Sin hesitates for a fraction of a second at the door—one blink—and then he keeps following Emerson into the room. His face doesn’t change.
Mine is burning up. I’m frozen, but there’s no point in freezing. It won’t hide me.
And I’m still tied up.
Jesus Christ.
