Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Evil's whore.
Kidnapped. Abducted.
I’ve been taken away to a private island that’s home to the rich and elite.
Something sinister and perverse lurks just beneath the opulence.
It watches every breath I take and notes each move I make, ensuring that the purpose in which I’m here is never forgotten.
There’s a hierarchy amongst the natives and I am now the exclusive possession of ‘Diabolus’, a gorgeous man that is esteemed as the devil.
His wishes are simple to understand, but obediently giving in to his demands goes against every ounce of human decency and morality I possess.
As we spiral down a path of depravity that leads to the darkest depths of hell, I must decide how I want this to end.
Captor and captive.
Life or death.
Do I become what he needs, or do I risk it all just to die by his hand?
Author Note:
Stygian Isles is a romantic horror series that contains various dark themes. Reader discretion is highly advised. A CW can be found on the author's website as well as the author's note inside. Each book following the main duology is a standalone with a different couple.
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CHAPTER ONE
There are moments in life we pass off as insignificant that later become crucial pieces of a catalytic chain. The kind of moments we look back on and only then begin to realize all the warning signs that were ignored.
Some would call this hindsight.
I had a different name for it.
Misfortune.
But before we get to that part of my story, it’s best to start from the beginning.
Everything changed the morning I walked through Millennium Resort’s arched glass doors.
I’d never seen it in such upheaval. The upscale establishment prided itself on running smoothly and efficiently. Regardless of any fires that may have needed putting out behind the scenes, the lavish resort maintained a solid front, so seeing my colleagues rushing this way and that had me momentarily taken aback.
I would have asked what was going on, but that meant stopping someone in the middle of what they were doing, and I loathed it when anyone did that to me.
I didn’t see Anya anywhere to ask her either. She was probably still in the bathroom. She’d practically sprinted inside while holding her stomach before I was fully parked. I’d told her not to eat the leftover take-out for breakfast, but she hadn’t listened and had added an entire cup of coffee on top of it. She was in for a rough morning.
Not wanting to be in anyone’s way, I focused on my own job, quickly discerning that the chaos was happening away from the guests. The upper levels were relatively quiet, to the extent that as I settled into my usual workflow, I forgot all about what was happening below.
I did one last sweep of the room I’d just finished refreshing to make sure it was postcard worthy and then went back into the hall. I got to my cleaning trolley just as Anya stepped out from her refresher a few doors down, having made it onto the clock after her rendezvous in the bathroom.
Her dark hair was still coiled in a tidy bun while mine was fighting to escape the ponytail I’d pulled it into earlier. I reasoned that was because hers was pencil straight and mine a thick mass of waves.
“Anything new?” I asked.
“No, same as usual. Unmade beds. Used towels and washcloths tossed all over the place, wet ones at that. It’s disgusting.”
“That’s why we have gloves.”
“We need hazmat suits. I think you should seriously consider attending the next staff meeting and request they put neon signs above the hampers. They’re obviously too hard to see.”
“Why do I have to be the one to do it?”
“Because you’re more responsible and well-spoken, duh.”
I breathed a laugh and slipped off my latex gloves, tossing them into my mini trash bin before scooping up the tablet I was provided to mark down my daily progress. I noted how full the resort was. More than half the room blocks were lit red, indicating they were occupied.
There must have been a conference or something. That didn’t explain the chaotic scene in the lobby, though.
Even when booked for a reception or gala, things weren’t so hectic. I quickly checked off the rooms I’d finished and then dimmed my screen.
“You know most of these people probably don’t know what a hamper is.”
Anya made a sound of annoyance as she retrieved her tablet and did the same. “Are you ready for break? I’ve been ready since we clocked in.”
“Sure.” I took hold of my cart, steering it in the direction of the staff elevators.
It was an official rule that we didn’t use the ones meant for guests. Upon reaching them, Anya waved her employee badge in front of the card reader to bring one up, allowing me to get in first. I eased my cleaning trolley all the way over, careful not to brush against the mirror that made up the sidewall. Anya backed inside, leaving a small gap between the two of us.
She jabbed the button for the floor we needed. “I still can’t believe this is what our lives have come to. Cleaning up after rich people.”
“This is way better than our last job. I still can’t look at raw chicken without wanting to vomit.” I nearly shuddered just thinking about it. “Plus, we could be making less and cleaning up after the poor.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’d just be cleaning up after ourselves?”
“Yeah, but at least then we’d know who the wet washcloths belonged to,” I pointed out as the glossy elevator doors slid shut.
We had multiple variations of this conversation at least once a week. I knew she wanted more from life. That was only natural. I did too. It wasn’t like I woke up ecstatic to go to work and toil with a bunch of strangers’ dirty linens. And I had plenty of opinions about the occasional sneer or upturned nose directed my way.