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I mean, he looked wrecked when I found him earlier. It was more than obvious that he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. He needs this desperately. But still, I’m shocked that it happened so fast when both he and Alex have told me just how much he struggles to rest.

Carefully and painfully slowly, I turn myself over so I can see him.

“You are good enough, Nikolas,” I whisper. “I just wish you weren’t so scared to show me just how incredible you really are.”

I drop a kiss on the tip of his nose, my anger and frustration from earlier melting away as I take in his peaceful, relaxed face.

He looks so much more like Alex when he’s sleeping. It’s a weird kind of head-fuck. When they’re awake, despite looking practically identical, it’s easy to tell them apart. Their auras are totally different, for a start. But when their eyes are closed and everything is calm, all of that melts away.

I lie there beside him for the longest time, studying his features and silently telling him all the things I think he needs to hear but equally isn’t ready for.

He’s been beaten down all his life. I’ve heard some of it, but I have no doubt that it was worse behind closed doors.

Yes, he might have been born the weaker, smaller twin. But in the grand scheme of things, that means nothing.

The person lying before me is a man. A beautiful, complex, dark, incredible man who’s overcome more than I think he’s probably even aware of.

He’s defied everything his father and grandfather expected of him. It might have been fuelled by their cruel words and disappointment, and I might wish he would open up a little more. But I also understand that after a lifetime of trying to be someone you’re not, trying to hide the broken parts, how hard it must be to trust someone with the parts everyone else has deemed unworthy.

I get it, I really do. But I’m also desperate to smash down those walls and really get to find out who the boy hiding behind the façade is.

Eventually, my hunger pangs get so bad that I start to feel light-headed and weird, and I have little choice but to slide out from beneath his arm and do something about it.

The kitchen is tidy once again when I step inside. The evidence of the breakfast Daemon started cooking and then massacred when I basically demanded he eat me instead has been disposed of, the lingering smell of burned bacon the only clue it ever happened.

Pulling the fridge open, my eyes widen when I find it fully stocked with everything we could need and then some. It seems someone has intentions of us being here a while. My heart races at the thought of being stuck here with Daemon. Things could certainly be worse. I grab some butter and cheese and set about making a sandwich. I’m not much of a cook. Jocelyn has tried to teach me over the past couple of years, but it’s just really not my thing. Not like I think it might be Daemon’s. My mouth waters as I think about that breakfast he made for me in his flat.

I pause with the bread halfway to the board.

How exactly did I go from being locked in his flat, to locked up… here?

And why was my first thought filling my belly with him passed out in bed and not escaping?

Because there isn’t actually anywhere else you’d rather be right now than with him.

I focus on the task at hand, my body acting on autopilot as I fill my plate and carry it out of the room with the intention of finding out a little more about where we are.

I might have only been in the bedroom that seems to have been allocated to me and the kitchen, but both of those alone have been enough to clue me in to the fact that we’re somewhere fancy. And as I step into a huge living room with floor-to-ceiling views of what seems to be the private beach beyond, that’s only confirmed.

“Wow,” I breathe. The view from my bedroom seems that much more breathtaking from here.

I don’t bother walking toward the doors that lead out to the decking and the sand beyond. I already know they’ll be locked. Instead, I head toward the huge white sofa and curl my legs beneath me and start eating.

My plate is empty in an embarrassingly short amount of time, yet my stomach still growls for more as I abandon it on the cushion beside me.

Finding a clock sitting on one of the shelves, I find that it’s almost lunchtime.

I’ll have been gone twenty-four hours soon. Are they out looking for me? What do they think has happened? Or don’t they even know?

Daemon said that Dad knows. Has he covered it all up? Does he trust Daemon to keep me here? How long is all of this going to be necessary for?

A million and one questions float around in my head as I sit staring at the waves crashing against the shore.

I lose myself in my thoughts for hours, and it’s not until my third visit to the kitchen that an idea hits me.

I stand before the white curtains tucked into the corners of the room. The thought of closing them and hiding that view seems like a crime, but I can’t deny that the rope ties around the middle don’t inspire me.

Walking over, I run my fingertips over the soft fabric as images of them being used in another way fill my mind.