Page 7

Scarlett

T he room spins in a dizzying waltz, the colossal chandelier above a blur of light and crystal.

My heart races, keeping time with a melody that becomes more and more haunting as it continues on.

The laughter of the guests swells around me, a cacophony of mirth that feels somehow malicious, as if each chuckle and guffaw is a knife aimed at my heart.

I take a step, my heels unsteady on the polished marble floor.

The world tilts and I reach out, my fingers grazing the cool surface of a wall to steady myself.

The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the musky undertones of too many bodies pressed together in the name of celebration.

And then the room is empty. Emptier. The beautiful women in their beautiful dresses are gone. The crowd has dispersed. It’s just me. Alone.

With them.

A glass, delicate and filled to the brim with red wine, topples from my grasp. It falls in slow motion, liquid arcing through the air like a spray of blood before it shatters against the floor.

The room grows darker, the edges of my vision dimming until all I can see is a pinprick of light, like a star flickering in the vast expanse of a night sky.

“Alex,” I whisper, though I don’t know why his name is the one on my lips.

And then he’s there, his hand encircling my wrist, his grip firm but not painful as he guides me away to the side room. His face swims into view, handsome and cold, his eyes reflecting the light of the chandelier above.

“Scarlett,” he says, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the noise in my head. “You’re making a scene.”

But I’m not. At least, I’m sure I’m not.

I try to speak, to ask him for help but my tongue is heavy, my thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

I don’t understand what this is, why I feel so out of control.

I’m vaguely aware of being led through a maze of corridors that seem to stretch on forever.

Are we lost? Are we playing some sort of game? What is this?

We emerge into a room I don’t recognize, the decor more subdued than the opulence of the ballroom. Vincent is there, his silver hair gleaming under the soft glow of a desk lamp. He looks up as we enter, his expression unreadable.

His bow tie is undone. His shirt open.

He leans over me, his eyes searching mine for something I can’t quite grasp. Whatever words he says are lost on me. Forgotten before I can even take them in. Behind him stand two other men, men I know, men my family know.

They’re all here. All the people who orchestrated my family’s downfall. My family’s demise.

And then the hands.

Hands on me. Touching. Tugging. Pulling.

Fear erupts into a sharp panicked scream that no one can hear over the music that is suddenly blasting out, before that haze turns to nothing.

To darkness.

To memory.

I blink against the brightness of the morning.

My mouth is dry, as if I’ve been screaming for hours.

I’m safely tucked in my bed, but I don’t remember the walk back. I don’t remember anything beyond Rafe finding me in some sort of cellar, and then everything goes hazy after.

Christ, how am I meant to fight whatever the hell this is when I can’t even remember what happened only yesterday?

My head is pounding with the remnants of last night’s confusion as well as some awful dream that felt more like a vision than just my imagination.

The party, the music, the feeling of being watched, the hands, the glass shattering... Alex and Vincent.

Had it been a dream? A nightmare brought on simply by stress? Or had something happened, something I was meant to forget? Is that the cause of all my confusion, the accident my husband alluded to that left me here, in this house?

The uncertainty gnaws at me, a relentless hunger that refuses to be sated. But as I glance around the room, and at the luxury that surrounds me, a sense of dread settles in my bones.

I force myself up, ignoring how heavy my body feels. How my joints protest.

I’m dressed in a nightgown I don’t remember putting on, and for a moment, I wonder if someone undressed me, watched over me as I slept and then…

the thought sends a shiver down my spine.

I’m still sore there , not just from the stick incident but from Alex’s brutal fucking afterwards.

If someone had done something last night, I doubt I could physically tell much difference right now.

No, better not to dwell on it. Better not to consider it.

Nothing happened. I bumped into Rafe, he was a jerk, and then I came back to bed and slept with no further drama.

Padding across the room, I make my way to the ensuite bathroom. The mirror reflects a stranger—dark circles under dull eyes, skin pale and drawn. I trace the contours of my face, the features that once felt familiar now seem foreign.

Who am I becoming in this house?

A knock at the door startles me. “Scarlett? Are you decent?” Alex’s voice, smooth and controlled, filters through the wood. Like he actually cares if I’m dressed or not. Like he hasn’t seen me naked enough times to know every inch of my body, every scar, every freckle, all of it.

“Yes, come in,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

He enters, the picture of concern with his neatly pressed suit and perfectly coiffed hair, looking more irresistible than ever. “You had a rough night. I was worried.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. I did have a rough night, I just apparently know nothing about what actually occurred.

He approaches, cupping my face in his hands, and I see genuine affection in his eyes.

“I’ve arranged for breakfast in the conservatory. The fresh air will do you good,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead before leaving the room.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I need to find answers, to understand the fragments of memories that haunt me. To know whether this is just my head going wild, or whether there really is something insidious going on.

And if I keep waking up like this, remembering nothing – it’s not going to get me out of this situation. It’s not going to provide information.

I have to be smart. I have to be tactical.

If my own mind can’t be trusted, then I need to keep a record somewhere that will work as a guide, an aid. It will hold my memories for me until I can recall them.

I know the perfect place. Somewhere I haven’t forgotten.

I just have to play nice and eat my breakfast like a good girl, and then perhaps I will have my chance.

A wave of confidence flushes through me as I bite my lip, steadying my nerves and quickly throw on something appropriate. I don’t have time to do my makeup. I don’t have time to do my hair beyond flattening it.

And as I exit the room, Alex is there, waiting to guide me through this house to where the rest of his family is no doubt waiting.

The conservatory is awash with sunlight, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers to the point that it overpowers everything. Irene likes to have this part of the house looking like something out of a design magazine. There’s enough foliage here to deck out a wedding.

Vincent is seated at the head of the table, his laptop open in front of him. He looks up as I enter, a smile playing on his lips. “You look better today, Scarlett. The colour has returned to your cheeks.”

It sounds like a taunt.

Like he knows something I don’t, but I’m not stupid enough to rise to the bait.

So I smile back, meek and obedient, just as expected, before taking my designated seat.

There’s a spread of fruit, yoghurts, and pastries all piled up decadently like we’re expecting to feed an entire city, but the thought of food turns my stomach.

Alex sits across from me. He reaches over, grabs some toast and starts digging in before clicking his fingers for one of the wait-staff.

“Coffee.” He says, like they don’t know. He holds his mug out, not actually looking at them and then jerks his head for them to step back.

I know I’m not allowed caffeine, that apparently it reacts with my meds, so instead I reach across and grab the water jug.

“Scarlett.” Irene chastises quickly, before ordering a girl to take over. “You shouldn’t be lifting things in your condition.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes. It’s hard not to laugh. They want to act like they care, like I’m some precious, broken little thing, but I can see it on all their faces that they don’t actually give a fuck.

I just wish I understood why Alex brought me here.

Why couldn’t we have stayed in the penthouse? We were happy there. We were good.

What the hell happened for us to end up here?

An image flashes in my head. Of the bar, of the early days, when we weren’t even technically dating. He was there, languishing over the polished marble, making me laugh with his jokes while my heart thumped in my chest that it was real, he was real.

And he was interested in me of all people.

Where did we go wrong? When did all that fun and humour become this?

My eyes meet my husband’s and behind the concern, I can see a hard, cold fury. Is he pissed that I’ve ‘done something wrong’ again? My shoulders slump as I dig my nails into my palms, and I mumble my apologies, hoping that if I’m contrite enough in this moment, then that will be it.

That there won’t be greater repercussions.

“What do you have planned for today?” Alex asks almost nonchalantly, but doesn’t quite hit the mark.

I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t trust him.

“I want to go for a walk.” I say somewhat reluctantly. I don’t want Vincent to hear, I don’t want him to know because what if he follows me? What if he does that again? “Down to the beach. Then I want to try and draw.”

His smile fades slightly, his gaze sharpening. “I see. Don’t you think the beach is a little far?”

I shrug, reaching for my drink as I avoid his gaze.

“Perhaps.” I reply before taking a sip, buying myself a moment to think, “But I need to do something to get my strength up. Besides, you said fresh air would do me good, and I can’t spend my days wallowing in my sickness and languishing in this house like Lady Muck. ”

A sharp intake of breath from Irene reminds me once again how uncouth I am. How my manners are not nearly good enough for her standards or her precious son.

“I meant no offense.” I say quickly and though she smiles back, I know there’s no forgiveness there.

“A walk will do her good.” Vincent says loudly. “Maybe it’ll help her appetite too. The girl is wasting away. She needs fattening up.”

His words make me feel like I’m some sort of farm animal, some pig needing to be primed and prepped, and taken to market.

Alex exchanges a look that I can’t quite make out and then he relents, giving way to his father’s apparently better judgement.

“Be careful then. Don’t push yourself.” Alex instructs, as if I’m the sort of person to be reckless. To go off gallivanting on adventures.

As if this island isn’t surrounded, controlled, completely cut off from the mainland for twenty-three hours a day.

I murmur back that I will while chastising the feeling that I should feel grateful for this tiny piece of freedom that’s being offered to me.

It’s not a gift. It’s not something to feel good about. I have as much right to walk where I want as any one of them does.

And it’s not like there is anything else for me to do in this house.

He made sure of that. He brought me here, he isolated me from my friends and my family, and…

wait, I don’t have any family, not anymore.

I know my mother is dead and was buried years ago.

I know she died when I was six and then our aunt brought me and my brother up as her own.

Only, it hits me suddenly that Sebastian, Sebastian is gone too, though I have no idea how it happened. No idea when it happened.

I blink back furious tears. I can’t cry. I can’t afford to fuck this up now.

What the hell happened to Sebastian?

Thankfully no one here notices my sudden change.

The conversation has moved on from the fragile, sickly daughter-in- law to matters of far greater importance.

Vincent and Alex are now deep into some debate about licensing for some commercial activity I don’t even try to understand.

Irene is sat, prim and proper, listening in because she must be a part of it, must have a say, though I wonder if she has anything useful to actually add.

I make my excuses to un-listening ears, getting up from the table and move to slip away. It’s a good time while they’re distracted, but as I reach the door I freeze.

“Where are you going?” Alex’s voice is cold.

I turn, gritting my teeth, playing that docile little wife he seems like so well.

“You looked busy. I didn’t want to disturb you all further.

” I cast my eyes out to the window, to where the hint of cliffs is only just visible.

“While the weather is nice I thought it best to go. I don’t want to get wet if it rains. ”

He tilts his head, crooking his finger, beckoning me back the way one would a pet completely under their control.

Every step I take seems to echo.

The staff watch me as if they too have a right to judge me.

I come to a stop before Alex and he grasps my elbow, pulling me down to his level.

“I’ll be watching from the house.” He says before planting a kiss on my forehead like a silent reminder of his ownership. As if those words of warning weren’t enough.

I give a meek smile back, and it takes all I have to walk calmly back out and not flee for my life.