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)
I didn’t want to move.
On top of feeling bloated, my inner thigh burned as if it had been lit on fire each time I so much as shifted. My throat felt scratchy and raw from screaming for half the night—and morning. Whatever Alexander had forced me to swallow down after he finished with me had worn off.
I couldn’t very well lie around all day, though. I forced my body into a sitting position, catching sight of fresh flowers on the bedside table—night-blooming jasmines, their petals a ghostly white. It was an eerie sight. A notecard accompanied them, bearing elegant handwriting that could only have come from one person. I reached out and lifted it up.
His words instructed me how to dress for the day, where to go, and acknowledged that these were my favorite flowers.
The domestic gesture gave me a confounding mix of pleasure and nagging sense of manipulation. This too was something he’d learned from essentially stalking me and doing an extensive deep dive about my entire life.
There was little I could do about it, and since I was determined not to let myself get lost in a new labyrinth of questions that had no answers, I slowly rose from the bed and made my way to the bathroom.
I entered the compact space housing the toilet—a sleek, shiny black porcelain fixture adorned with an array of digital buttons, their functions a mystery to me. Like the rest of the house, it was spotlessly clean, and that’s all I cared about. Settling onto the heated seat, I briefly entertained the thought of staying there indefinitely.
I cradled my head in my hands, drawing in deep, deliberate breaths in an attempt to manage a cascade of emotions and playback of memories. The reality of my situation was getting harder to compartmentalize.
The abduction, the events that had transpired since, loomed large in my mind. Alexander. He was a contradiction of epic proportions. His care was as confounding as it was comforting, his control both unsettling and oddly reassuring.
I felt an inexplicable draw towards him offset by a deep-rooted repulsion. I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what had happened to me, but it was impossible to ignore. His sigil was on my back, his name carved into my thigh. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been trying to brand the inside of me too.
I desperately wished for a deeper, more intense hatred towards him. It should’ve come easily.
The hate was somehow muted, watered down. Was there something wrong with me? There had to be. And whatever it was had discord stirring within my chest.
I may have grown up in the system, but I often thought of myself as one of the fortunate ones. I didn't carry the weight of a traumatic past that could easily explain or justify an attraction to someone as inherently twisted as Alexander.
I pondered my feelings, the term 'Stockholm Syndrome' briefly flitting across my mind. Just as quickly, I dismissed it. Did I really fit into that psychological puzzle? Surely, Stockholm Syndrome involved some level of dependency or bonding as a survival strategy, neither of which I felt applied to me. Or did they? The truth was, I didn't have a clear answer. I was doing my best to not bond with my captor.
If I were to fully explore that line of thinking, I feared what it might reveal about me.
After handling my bladder and gently dabbing at myself, I washed my hands and went through the motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face, the simple tasks offering a brief respite. When I was finished, I took a moment to look out the window beyond the tub. The view was no less stunning than it’d been the day before.
The expanse of water served as a natural prison, but it also ignited a determination within me and resolidified my resolve. I needed to hold onto my morality and sense of self—use it as an anchor to ground me and a lifesaver when this place threatened to drown me. I couldn’t ever let it go. Not until I figured out a way to free Anya, and hopefully myself.
I wandered into the closet, thinking of the note he’d left as I perused the array of dresses.
My fingers brushed over the rich fabrics as I searched, settling on a simple floral dress with capped sleeves. After I was dressed, I ran a brush through my hair, leaving it loose. I made my way downstairs, the aroma of food guiding my steps. The large kitchen was alive with activity. Esther and Nicolette were engrossed in culinary endeavors, their easy camaraderie evident as they moved around with practiced efficiency.
There was no one else with them, and I hadn’t spotted anyone on the way down. That meant the usual staff wasn’t back on yet. With their hairstyles and light-colored dresses, they reminded me of two sugar plum fairies. There was a sense of familiarity between them, a dynamic that spoke of shared experiences.