Page 41

OPHELIA

H ow dare he.

How.

Dare.

He.

I slam a drawer in the guest bathroom’s vanity for what seems like the millionth time today.

“Nothing. Nothing useful in any of these fucking rooms,” I scream into the void. Into the empty house. I always thought that high ceilings were gorgeous. Not anymore. Not when my despair bounces off them. “Nothing!”

Clean, plush towels are neatly stacked on the shelves attached to the wall. There are shampoos, conditioners, and soaps for both men and women in the fancy shower. First-aid kit, ointments, and creams are in the drawer I just closed.

No bobby pins. No pins at all.

Same goes for the kitchen. For the end tables and vases around the living room. Everything is so freaking clean. So spotless.

Back when Sage and I were roommates, a bobby pin would magically appear anywhere around our apartment. She even used it as a bookmark once.

Here, there are none.

James lives alone, and, surprise, surprise, he doesn’t use bobby pins. It’s as if he doesn’t live here at all.

There are no pens scattered around the place. Nothing I can break and turn into a makeshift key.

“Wait…” Over the hours I’ve been alone in here, I’ve become way too comfortable talking to myself.

Which doesn’t matter. I have an idea where to look, at last.

The staff might have dropped something valuable around here. The men keep their hair short, but there are plenty of women.

Yes, they haven’t been here in over a week. Also, yes, they live in the staff quarters, outside of the mansion.

The chances one of them lost or left a bobby pin lying around here are slim to none.

“Argh!” Another scream at the mirror. At myself for being stupid and trusting him.

He promised I’d enjoy it.

There’s nothing enjoyable about losing my mind. About this loneliness. This frustration.

My reflection mocks me, telling me what a liar I am.

I am enjoying this.

I’m enjoying my stay here, period.

I don’t have black circles under my eyes. I look healthy. Rejuvenated. Slightly unhinged with my eyebrows knitted and my lips pinched, but I look good.

I’m the most refreshed that I’ve felt in years.

And I love being surrounded by him, even when he’s not here. Even when he fucking shackled me.

The shirt I’m wearing—I raise the collar to my nose, moaning at the delicious scent of his cologne. It’s a reminder of his harsh touch. Of his arms around me.

I close my eyes and imagine the mark he branded on my back. The barbaric, wonderful mark has been healing nicely beneath the bandages that he changes twice a day.

Just the thought of it has my lips curving up.

“No,” I scold myself. “Wipe that smile off your face. He betrayed you. You share his bed. He shouldn’t have chained you.”

The me in the mirror nods.

Hmm.

I wonder how much of my sanity I’ve lost here. If I’m ever going to get it back.

Strangely, the idea doesn’t bother me as much as it ought to. Being possessed and owned by a man who sings to my soul isn’t terrifying. It isn’t awful.

He’s my everything.

Dark and mysterious. Someone who’s willing to burn the world for me. Do the craziest things just so I can be his.

He paid thirty million dollars to have me here.

He can be controlling, cruel, and detached. He can pretend he doesn’t mind disposing of me as if I were a chair or an old shirt.

Doesn’t change the fact that he’s mine. That I’m his.

That he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Not because of the branding, the cell, this goddamn chain. Not because of the power that reverberates from him like nothing and no one else I’ve ever met.

Because of him.

Half-defeated, half-madly in love, I stroll back to the living room. The chain drags behind me, clattering on the floor with my every step.

My eyes roam around the house as I remember the things I like—no, love —about James. His hugs late at night. His lips on my forehead. His scruff grazing my skin. His groans and my name on his lips when he comes.

He calls me property, pet, Sonnet, and Ophelia. Slut and whore and mine .

His eyes light up differently throughout the hours of the day. Depending on his mood. On how conflicted he is by me. By what I do to his heart.

Every time I look at him, I peel off another layer of this multifaceted man.

My sigh is loud in the otherwise quiet house.

James puts so much work into pretending he’s a bad man. In a way, he is.

He can lock his emotions down faster than I can snap my fingers sometimes. Murderers, rapists, filthy fucking human beings—he defends them for a living.

And yet.

He’s not the awful man he makes himself out to be.

I’m the living proof. The other girls are too.

I reach the end of the living room, about to take a step into the hallway that leads to the rest of the mansion, and?—

I’m stopped.

“Motherfucker.” The metal cuff digs into my skin, reminding me why I have every right to be mad at James.

Leaving me here is one thing. I understand that he has to go to work to maintain appearances. I haven’t forgotten that he has three other people ruling this rotten empire alongside him. He explained it to me last night in bed.

“They’re obligated to kill me if I step out of line.

” His fingers brushed my cheek. The fingers on his inked hand.

The one that spanked me into an orgasm a few minutes ago.

“I’m allowed to end their lives as well.

For any sign of treason. Our families have allowed many transgressions. Betrayal isn’t one of them.”

“Was anyone actually murdered?” I shivered. We lay under the sheets, naked, but it wasn’t cold. I could never be cold when I was cocooned against his body. “Other than your father and Oliver’s?”

Rain pattered on the window of our bedroom.

“No.” His hand slid down my cheek, cupping it.

“You could be the third one.” My shivers intensified. A life without James wasn’t a life I wanted to live.

“No.” James flipped me so I had my back to him and pressed me to his chest. His hand splayed over my stomach, fingers digging into my skin, answering me with his body as well as his mouth. “No one will kill me. I’m putting an end to this.”

I heard every word he wasn’t saying. That he would end anyone he perceived as a threat.

“Topher could kill you.” The underlying meaning of my words was that he wouldn’t kill his own son.

Did I want him to do it? I didn’t think so. Topher had been a jerk. I’d come across plenty of jerks in my life that I had no urge to kill.

But if it came down to Topher or me…

I had to know.

“Ophelia.” James gripped my chin, twisting me to him. His icy-blue eyes clashed into mine, flashing in the dark. “No one will hurt you. You’re mine. No matter what happens, I’ll protect you.”

That was all he said to me.

That was also the most emotion I’ve ever seen in that man. It was a beautiful thing. I woke up floating.

“Then you had to come and ruin everything.” I kick my shackled foot in the air. The chain rises from the floor. Drops.

I’m being dramatic. I’m lying.

Because I don’t really hate this game.

I don’t hate being owned by him.

The sun begins to set in the sky. The day isn’t over yet. I can still learn more about him.

How?

Look. I have to look elsewhere. There has to be a bobby pin here somewhere. I remember seeing them in Maisie’s, Clara’s, and Poppy’s hair that day of the auction.

I drop to my hands and knees and crawl around the living room. If James has cameras in here, I bet he’s having a field day.

The thought makes me stop. I rise to my knees, kissing my middle finger before flipping him off.

That is, if there are cameras at all. If, instead of working, he’s stalking me.

Heat rushes through my body. My cheeks are on fire. My pussy and ass are bare.

He could be looking at me while he’s in the office. Fuck, that’s filthy.

Okay. Stop. Back to searching.

No luck finding anything on the carpet. Same when I peek beneath the coffee table. End tables. First armchair. Second armchair.

The last place I try is one of the couches.

Bingo.

I blink a couple of times at the sight of the black bobby pin lying beneath it.

Waiting for me to come get it.

A sense of victory washes over me. I couldn’t care less about breaking free.

It’s the winning that matters. That’s how I’ll impress him.

By unlocking the cuff before he gets here. Before he has a chance to stop me.

Even if he’s watching, it’s a long drive from the city back here.

I have at least an hour to bathe in my victory and collect information by snooping around here.

Twisting the bobby pin is the easy part. Fitting into the lock is where it gets tricky. One of the kids in my last foster home taught me how to do that. He had awful foster parents years before we met. They’d lock him up. He had to find ways to break free.

And I was lucky enough to meet him.

Click , click , click . My tongue darts out, caught between my teeth. It helps me focus on my task. I swear it does.

The feel of the lock giving in has my pulse spiking. James could punish me for this. He could bend me over and belt me again.

Is it sick that I wish he would?

It is.

Yet here I am, praying for the belt.

I don’t care about anything now after that final click .

“Ha!” Another scream to the void. It’s been a whole day of those.

First thing I do is rub my ankle. I’m fine; James wouldn’t harm me, but after hours of being shackled by it and dragging the chain around, my poor ankle could definitely use some love.

Ten seconds of it. Then I’m up and out of the living room.

This sense of accomplishment, of victory, of imagining James’s lips quirk up when he sees me like this…

That part gives me a rush that could only compare to actually being fucked by him.

The need to run around just to feel how free I am is intense.

So I do.

“Ahhhh!” My arms flail in the air as I run across the mansion, my feet hitting the floor. “Ahhhh!”

Screaming is so underrated. I’m going to make a habit out of it.

“Ahhhh!” The skies are dark, no light coming in from the windows. I must’ve been searching for the bobby pin longer than I thought.