Page 48

OPHELIA

“ B e a good girl and wait here for me. Chained to the kitchen island. And no, don’t even try picking the lock. You don’t want to upset me.”

James has been saying the same thing every morning for the last week, before he leaves for work.

Except today, he didn’t say that when it was just the two of us. When I was half naked.

His staff was back, and I was dressed in a pair of charcoal-gray leggings and a black T-shirt that he had chosen for me.

He shackled me to the kitchen island, regardless.

As his property— his girlfriend , I insisted, yet he ignored me—he had the right to lead me down the stairs. Snap the metal shackle on my ankle in front of the entire staff.

And I let him.

Hours later, I still haven’t tried to pick the lock. I’m still here.

So is everyone else. Everyone but James.

“Clara, the bedrooms are clean. Poppy went over the bathrooms,” Maisie whispers. Her blue eyes are fixed on the older woman, avoiding me as if her life depended on it. “What’s next?”

“Well,” Clara starts, returning Maisie’s gaze while she wipes the kitchen island. Same as she’s done for the last ten minutes.

No detail has been overlooked.

Everything’s been taken care of.

Everything. But. Me.

It’s not just the two of them.

Throughout the entire day, no one’s said a word to me. The sun is already setting in the sky, so I know it’s late, and yet they keep pretending I don’t exist.

As per his orders. They would never go against him.

My screams didn’t stop anyone from going about their business. They’ve been turning their back on me. Slipping out of my grip whenever I launched for their chignons that were twisted low on their napes.

It didn’t escape me that they pinned their hair into a twist using hair elastics.

Not a single bobby pin in sight.

Again, as per his orders.

“Hair elastics?” I spun toward James this morning, hands on my hips.

“Part of the new dress code.” The bastard shrugged, gorgeous in his dark blue suit and perfect hair. His knuckles brushed my jaw, and my traitorous face leaned into him. “They won’t talk to you, either. I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

“Why?” I growled, despite finding comfort in his touch. Then whispered, “It’s humiliating.”

“That’s a problem because?”

“Well—”

“Be honest, Ophelia.” He lowered his mouth to my ear, talking in a hushed voice meant only for me. “How wet are you for this? I bet you’re soaked. You must be ruining your lace panties as we speak. You’re such a slut for being my property, aren’t you?”

I was. I bit the inside of my cheek, flexing my thighs so I wouldn’t clench them in front of him.

“I’m going to escape. I hope you realize that.

” The lapel of his jacket crumpled in my fist. My face burned.

The need to kill him and the need to fuck him were equally powerful.

“I’ll pick this stupid lock and slip outside.

Someone will leave one of the doors open, and I’ll be gone.

Fuck you and fuck your training and fuck this. ”

His hand clasped on my hip, and he yanked me closer. Our foreheads pressed. His icy-blue eyes were as cold as ever.

“Don’t underestimate my obsession with you.

The things I’d do for you. The lengths I’d go to have you.

” He stole my breath away with a few words.

My throat locked. “Own you. Keep you. You can run from me. You might die trying. But know this: I’d shove my hand past the gates of heaven and drag you back here myself. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll be.”

He straightened, slipping the button of his suit jacket into the loop. His face betrayed nothing. My insides were melting.

“Be a good girl and wait here.” His manly cologne made me even hotter for him, damn it. “Chained to the kitchen island. And no, don’t even try picking the lock. You don’t want to upset me.”

Waiting for him, accepting my situation, reminds me of the time in the cell, but in a good way.

I have more freedom here. The chain is long enough for me to reach the guest bathroom and the living room. The dining room. I can stroll around the kitchen.

The staff prepares the meals in the larger kitchen on the other side of the mansion, and despite their silent treatment, they serve me breakfast and lunch. Coffee and other drinks.

They placed three water bottles on the kitchen island, along with an assortment of fresh fruit for me. The fridge here is stocked. I have everything they do in the other, larger kitchen where the chef cooks.

Even being ignored isn’t as horrible as I thought it would be.

James was right.

I am turned on. Not by them. I’m a slut for waiting for him. Longing for him. Missing him.

While I’m chained and humiliated.

It’s a pressure on my ribs. A constant fluttering in my belly. An insistent humming, tugging, craving in the back of my head.

A need to please him. To be owned by him.

I…

I…

I love him.

Fuck. I love him.

His dark aura. His constant, undivided attention once he’s home.

The lessons he’s been giving me.

Some are spent in his den, where he goes through his old cases with me and reads me from other law textbooks.

The others are brutal. He teaches me how to fight, and the man doesn’t cut corners.

James chokes me, thrusts me against walls, pins me to the floor when I manage to escape.

He praises me whenever I find random objects around the house and use them as makeshift weapons. When I hit and cut through his clothes. His skin.

When we’re alone at night, after his lessons are done, I get my rewards. He fucks me. He bites me. Leaves marks on my breasts. His fingers are imprinted on my inner thighs.

The things he tells me only fuel my obsession with him. He wants to breed me. Tells me I’ll be swollen with his babies any day now.

I love him so much that it’s impossible to remember what life was like before him.

And the best part?

He loves me back. I’m sure he does.

“Mr. Hawthorne will be home soon.” Clara’s voice snaps me out of my daydreams. Clara, mentioning my man. Talking about him with someone else. I shoot her a glare she doesn’t return. “Go tell the chef he can start working on their dinner.”

“No.” That’s where I draw the line. They won’t make me disposable to him. It’s old school as fuck. It shouldn’t mean so much to me. It does. He’s mine. “I’ll fix his dinner.”

James has been in charge of our meals for the past two weeks. The man moves effortlessly around the kitchen, baking, cooking, or sautéing stuff. His Eggs Benedict are out of this world.

Most I can do is put the takeover leftovers in the oven or microwave.

Still.

He’s mine. I’ll be damned if he’ll eat someone else’s food.

“We had fresh filet mignon delivered this afternoon,” Clara continues addressing Maisie, though her shoulders are hunched. She’s on high alert, turning her body completely away from me. “Mr. Hawthorne hasn’t had that in over two weeks.”

Since the night he and Topher threw me in the cell.

The temperature of my body rises. Up, up, up. My fingers clench on the kitchen island. I’m not upset at the memory.

Wish I was.

It’s her. She has no right.

“Clara, so help me?—”

“Off you go.” She snaps her fingers to Poppy and Maisie.

They turn, ready to take off.

I grab a plate, smashing it against the island’s counter. The sliced strawberries on it fly off.

Gasps and “oh my God” echo in the kitchen.

The chaos works to my advantage. I’m quick to grab Clara by her chignon, pressing the broken shard of the plate to her throat.

James would be proud.

My mouth presses to her ear, eyes glued to the other two women.

“Now.” I press my weapon closer to Clara’s throat. I hear her heart beating. “Who’s making James’s dinner? Tell me. Better yet, tell them .”

She gulps.

A drop of blood trickles to the neckline of her black uniform dress.

The other two women stare at me, their eyes bulging out.

Poppy gasps.

Maisie isn’t as composed. Her lips twist, and I see the moment she’s going to snap. That she’s going to scream.

“Make a sound, and I’ll murder the three of you,” I hiss at Poppy. She rushes to her brunette friend, clasping her hand over her mouth in shock. “Good. Look, ladies, I’m not mad about the auction. I’ve forgiven you for playing along.”

“Mr. Hawthorne,” Clara breathes. “This isn’t his fault. Don’t poison his food.”

“Your loyalty is admirable. Defending him when your life is on the line.” It truly is. I’m mildly shocked. “When he has men and women everywhere to keep him safe.”

When he’s the strongest, most imposing man I’ve ever met.

“Please.” I have no intention of killing her. James would be upset if I did. I’d hate to upset him. “He’s a good man. Deep down. The best one.”

She’s talking about the girls he’s saved. She probably knows about Topher’s mom, at least. I think. I think she’s already guessed it, the observant woman she is.

“You think I don’t know my owner?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” It’s important to her that I repeat these words.

She needs to make sure that I’ll never hurt him.

“My owner.” I won’t tell her I love him before I tell him.

That’s where I draw the line. “He’s mine as much as I’m his.

I won’t murder the man I’m planning to spend the rest of my life with. ”

Something’s come over me. A kind of possessiveness I’ve never felt before. The kind that makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs that I’m his. That he’ll forever be mine.

The two other girls stare at me. Their shock is still present, written all over their faces.

I also hear the gardeners talking outside. They’re close. They might try to stop me.

And James could be watching.

Which, I really need to ask him that. If he has cameras here. Too bad that it turns me on, this guessing game.

I’ll think about. Later. Now, I have to hurry.

He could be on his way, fully intending to discipline me. He could stop me from doing this one act of kindness for him.

No. No, no, no.

“Topher?” she asks. Not the young Mr. Hawthorne.

A satisfied hum rumbles in my chest. This sign of disrespect was the final proof I needed to tell me where her loyalties lie.

“I was going to break up with him.”

“Miss Monroe.” This is Poppy, her voice quivering. I’ve always loved my family’s last name. The last memory of my parents. Today, the sound of it rankles me. I belong to James. “Please. Let her go. No one has to get hurt.”

“No one will if you just fucking listen to me.”

“It’s the chef’s job.” Clara stays very still. I look at her hands, pleased that they clutch her apron instead of reaching for the kitchen island for her own broken shard. She won’t hurt me. “You can rest. Read a book. Please.”

James biting into the food the chef prepared.

James saying, delicious, don’t you think?

James enjoying anything that doesn’t involve me.

Like hell.

“Here’s how it’s going to go.” The power I hold in my hands changes me.

It’s inappropriate to smile at a moment like this.

Laughing is even worse. Yet here I am. Chuckling.

“You three go back to your quarters. Tell the chef to go to his. By the way, there’s no need to get me anything from the other kitchen.

I was here when they stocked the fridge. ”

“I—Okay, okay.” Clara’s pulse isn’t as fast as it was two minutes ago. She’s settled, deciding she should trust me. She points to the landline phone on the kitchen counter, the one that’s connecting the mansion to the staff’s quarters. “Dial nine if you need anything.”

The adrenaline that swarmed through my veins has simmered. The urge to sink my teeth into something—or someone—slowly drifts away. I’m a functioning member of society again. Sort of.

“I won’t be needing you.”

I release her, jerking my chin toward Poppy. She understands, letting go of Maisie’s mouth. The three women are silent, seemingly shocked.

It’s my turn to ignore them, to do what I have to. I grab a cloth from the counter and start dabbing the bleeding nick on Clara’s throat.

“I’m sorry, Clara.”

“No harm done.” Snapping out of it, she raises her chin, squaring her shoulders as if nothing happened here. “We’ll be getting out of your hair. No one will come in here; you have my word.”

“Good.” I jab a finger just below her collarbone. She flinches.

I look down at my other hand. At the plate I haven’t let go of.

Oops.

“Was there something else?” she asks.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “If I so much as smell a whiff of food coming from the other kitchen, I’ll murder the chef and everyone else here. It’s a promise.”

Of course I won’t. Now that I’m not seeing red anymore, I understand how wrong it is.

They don’t have to know that.

“Certainly.” She smooths the skirt of her dress. A small smile plays on her lips. Hmm, curious. The water here must be poisoned, making people act a little crazy. “He’ll be home in less than an hour.”

I throw the broken plate behind me, nodding as if I know how long it takes to prepare any sort of meal.

They leave me alone, and I…

I pray.