Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I shook my head and pointed at the door. “Out, cat,” I demanded in my firmest tone.
The last thing I needed was for my captor to think I cared about this animal. That would reveal one of my weaknesses, and it could be used to control me. Stefano might allow this cat to live in his penthouse for some bizarre reason, but that didn’t mean that the sociopathic criminal was capable of actually having a deep attachment to his pet. He might hurt the small animal to punish me.
I wouldn’t live through that again.
The cat blinked slowly and yawned before doing an adorable roll onto his back, exposing his belly for cuddles.
“I’m not falling into that scratch trap,” I muttered to the obstinate creature. Three soft strokes, and then my hand would be captured by sharp claws and viciously bitten. In the past, I would have fallen for it every time, unable to resist the allure for belly rubs.
“Out!” I barked, loud enough to startle him into fleeing the room. The cute, furry little fucker needed to stay the hell away from me for his own good.
Completely unaffected by my outburst, he wiggled on his back, tempting me to pet him.
An exasperated groan left my chest. My feet were killing me already, and I didn’t think I could manage to cross to the bed, pick up the cat, dump his ass outside the room, shut the door, and make it back to the bed.
“Fine,” I growled at him. “But we are not cuddling. I’m not your friend.”
I limped back to the bed. There was no point trying to shut the door to cover up the fact that I’d dared to open it; Furball’s presence would give me away. The only way he could have gotten into the bedroom was if I’d opened the door.
I dropped down on the mattress with a sigh. “I’d better not get in trouble because of you,” I warned him.
He mewed at me, stretched out, and closed his eyes. How could such a small cat take up so much space on the bed? He was really stretching to maximum capacity. Surely Stefano didn’t allow the animal to sleep in the bed with him at night?
No. The very notion was inconceivable. Stefano was infamous for his emotional capriciousness; he often joked and laughed with his “friends” before killing them in cold blood. But a sociopath like that didn’t actually have emotional attachments to pets. Maybe the cat was part of his unhinged mind games. Maybe he liked to dote on his pet to juxtapose his sporadic violence, further unnerving the people around him.
Yes, that must be it.
A grim smile curved my lips. The longer I remained in Stefano’s private space, the more intel I could gather on him. Within days, I would have a full understanding of how he operated, knowing exactly which buttons to push and which weaknesses to exploit.
Imprisoning me here was a huge mistake on his part. Stefano wasn’t as clever as he liked to think.
I laid back on the bed, keeping close to the edge of the mattress so that I didn’t make any contact with the cat. I didn’t want him to get any ideas about us being cuddle buddies. For good measure, I tucked myself under the covers, so he couldn’t touch me at all.
I looked around, wondering what the fuck I was going to do to pass the time. After a thorough study of the room that was visible through the open door—an elegant lounge in shades of cream and ivory, punctuated by rich leather furnishings—I returned my attention to the bedroom.
My eyes caught on a book that rested on the nightstand.
What the fuck?
The Secret Garden had been one of my favorite books when I was young. The parental neglect and loneliness suffered by the child protagonist had resonated with me, and I yearned for the loving, happy ending that the fictional characters attained.
But my love for the story had been a foolish indulgence that I allowed myself for far too long into adulthood. I hadn’t touched the book since I’d escaped Miguel and accepted the ugly truth of the real world.
Bizarrely—and somewhat unnervingly—this copy lay on the nightstand, as though Stefano had placed it there for me.
How could he know? My stomach did a funny flip, a distinctly discomfiting sensation.
How much did my captor already know about me? I might not be as much of an enigma to him as I’d thought.
My hand shook slightly as I picked up the copy. It was well-worn, the spine cracked and the paperback cover ragged around the edges. This wasn’t a new book that Stefano had purchased for me.
Surely, he hadn’t already owned this. He couldn’t possibly have been reading it himself and happened to leave it on the nightstand before I arrived. I didn’t believe for one second that this setup was a coincidence.