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This was my last shot. My last chance to get back at Harlow for being better than me.
And Pia would help me get my revenge.
Epilogue
Rose
You are going to dance for me,” he’d told me that morning.
I was sitting on the window seat. The one my friend, the raven-haired, beautiful nude girl used to occupy. I hadn’t seen her in a long, long time and I often wondered what happened to her, but I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want him to know I needed anything from him. It would be a sign of defeat.
I didn’t respond to his words. Just stared out at the beach where I still hadn’t been.
“I know you practice every day,” he went on, his fingers going to the nape of my neck, gently stroking my skin.
I hated the way my body responded to his touch. I arched my back instantly, desperate for him to go on. The attraction between us was incredible. Indescribable. I still didn’t understand why my body was so desperate for his, but I’d stopped resisting it. He hadn’t fucked me yet, but I was desperate for him to do it. To sink his cock between my legs and finally relieve me of the ache I felt every second he was close to me, and even when he wasn’t, yearning for him to come back.
“I’d like to watch you dance,” he added. “I know you haven’t done it in a long time…”
His fingers twirled in my hair, his touch rough as if he was physically holding back and making himself go gentle on me. I wanted to hate him – the same feeling I had struggled with since he’d killed Ellis. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There was the attraction between us, blinding and crazy and fucking impossible to ignore. I decided at the very least I could hate him for that. For igniting feelings inside my body that had no business there. I’d decided a long time ago to dedicate my life to dancing, and he was taking it away from me.
“Will you dance for me, Harlow?” His words were soft, his voice demanding, and I crumbled at what it did to my body.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want to…”
He reached for me, his fingers wrapping around my chin and making me look up at him. I shut my eyes tightly, not wanting him to see the pain in my eyes, but he stared at me so intently I had to open up, and a single tear rolled down my cheek.
He still hadn’t explained everything. Hadn’t told me why I was a victim, a prisoner. Why he’d decided to steal me when he had so many women willing to kneel for him, take everything he gave them while begging for more. What made me so special? There were women in the mansion who were more beautiful, more special. Yet he had chosen me. And I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me.
“You don’t want to?” he asked softly, and I shook my head no. His expression hardened. “But you will.”
I opened my mouth to argue but he closed it for me, gently forcing my chin upward.
“Tonight,” he went on. “I want to see if you’re as good as I remember.”
He left with those words, leaving me wondering.
He’d seen me dance before, after all…
That evening, some clothes were delivered to my room, and I nearly wept at the sight of them.
They were ballet clothes, things I was familiar with, but hadn’t seen in months. He’d sent over a black body stocking that was tight and fitted. I didn’t wear a bra under it, and my nipples poked through the fabric. There were also white tights and a pink tutu that looked more like an accessory than a part of a dancer’s wardrobe. I was still grateful though, surprised at the effort he’d gone to. But the real surprise was waiting in a gorgeous white box. I unwrapped the pink tissue paper, and when I saw what was inside, a sob escaped my lips.
It was my ballet shoes, the ones I’d had in London. They were just as ruined and stained as they were when I last wore them. They were perfect.
They still fit me, and I slipped them on and fought back the tears that threatened to slide down my cheeks. I’d often wondered what had happened to my flat in London, to my things. I now knew he’d taken them, just like he’d taken everything else that was part of me. I should have known before.
I pulled my hair up into a bun, the motions familiar yet forgotten. I hadn’t done it in a long time. Pia had told me to wear my hair down.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, with carefully applied makeup and the clothes he’d gotten for me, I felt like the old me. The sight was almost unbearable, and I turned away from my own reflection.
