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“Have you already forgotten what I walked in on at the hotel, Alize?” Alexander says, hands akimbo. “I want to protect you.”
Notthisagain.
If he wants to talk about the past, we can.
“Have you forgotten that you told me how little I meant to you then fucked my life up because Irightlybroke up with you?”
Alexander only wants to protect me because of the power trip it gives him. My subjugation is all that matters to him, and he doesn’t care how he gets it.
I will never give it to him, not again.
He falls silent. We’re standing a few paces from each other, and he seems so different—when we first met, there was this swagger to his every movement that made me hate him, yet drew me in like a moth to a flame.
Either his aura has changed, or I’ve become immune to the effect of it.
I’m hoping it’s the latter.
Alexander stomps out of the room and into the hallway. Seconds later, a door slams shut. I smother my guilt about treating him so harshly, and wheel my suitcase to my room.
Once I’m inside, I slam the door so hard the door frame rattles.
Two can play at that game.
The room is huge—much bigger than the one I shared with Tara. There’s a colossal four poster bed in the center of the wooden parquet floor, clothed in white satin sheets with drawers built into the bedframe. The poles on each corner go nearly up to the ceiling and are decorated with silver metal hoops of varying sizes. Thick drapes the color of dragon fruit hang from the floor-to-ceiling windows. We’re on the third floor with a view of the manicured lawn.
There’s expensive glossy wood, gilded tapestry, and ancient paintings of landscapes and seascapes everywhere. It’s a room fit for a queen. In the center of the bed is a small gift bag. Curious, I look inside and find two things—a jar of organic coconut oil and a silky pink and white bonnet.
I’m ashamed that my first reaction is to feel touched that he’s given me such a thoughtful, helpful gift. After all, where the fuck did he get this little welcome bag if he wasn’t expecting me in the first place? More proof that he orchestrated this whole thing.
Scoffing, I toss the bag aside and plop my suitcase on the bed.
Unpacking my clothes takes my mind off things for a bit. At least, that’s what I hoped. It’s when a tear falls on the pair of acid-washed jeans I’m folding that I realize I’m crying.
This is so fucked up.
It’s all so much worse than I could have imagined. A few months ago, I was on the cusp of a brand new life and now…now I am trapped in another gilded cage. This is just like when I was trapped on the estate, away from everything.
My sniveling sobs echo in the cavernous room.
I take the knife from the holster on my thigh. Twisting it in my palms, I watch as the gems glisten in the sunlight. It’s a beautiful knife, a piece of art.
The person who made this wasn’t just thinking about functionality, they cared about how it would look. How bewitching it would be, even while slicing someone’s throat open.
If this knife was a woman, she would be a succubus or a siren.
I’m going to be like this knife.
If I have to live here against my will, I’m going to make it count. He might think he’s won—after all, he’s got all that he wanted—but I’m going to find his weakness.
He will suffer for forcing me into this fucked up engagement. We’ve never shared space like this before, so I’ll get to observe him. Our relationship—well, the thing Ithoughtwas a relationship—was fleeting and short-lived. I didn’t learn much about him during that time.
I have that opportunity now.
We’ll be sharing this apartment for the rest of the semester, so I will have a chance to learn what makes him tick. When I do, I’ll use it to tear him apart from the inside out.
I ghost the inside of my thumb against the blade, drawing a tiny sliver of blood. The slight, stinging pain stops the tears leaking from my eyes.
I will not break.
