Page 98 of Sage Haven

But I was wrong.

I hadn't escaped it.

I had run headfirst into its arms again.

And this time, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to crawl back out.

My pulse slowed, but not by much. Slowly, I pushed myself upright, every muscle in my body stiff and protesting. It was like surfacing from a nightmare, only to find the nightmare hadn’t ended. The room around me was painfully beautiful, a deliberate softness designed to lure me into lowering my guard. Clean lines softened by floral patterns, rich dark woods warmed by amber light fixtures, walls that belonged in a magazine spread. Everything about the space whispered comfort.

Someone who didn’t know better might have believed it.

But I didn’t.

I knew better.

Comfort was a weapon here.

A deception.

I slid my legs off the bed, feeling the expensive fabric of the comforter fall away from my skin, and planted my bare feet on the cold wood floor. Even the sting of it felt orchestrated—like Reich wanted me to feel the balance of luxury and captivity at once.

I rose on shaky legs and moved toward the bathroom, even though something inside me begged to stay in the bed’s embrace. To burrow deep and lose myself in its warmth. It was the best bed I’d ever laid in. Even better than the one I’d had at my apartment, but unfortunately, that wasn’t home anymore.

Nothing was.

I passed through a doorless threshold, my reflection catching in the full-length mirror that lined one wall. I looked like a ghost of myself. Hollow eyes, pale skin stretched too tight over sharp cheekbones. My lips were chapped and split from dehydration, my hair tangled from sleep or stress or both.

This was who I had become.

A broken woman in a gilded cage.

And I didn’t even know why.

I was kidnapped but treated like an unwilling guest rather than a hostage. And yet, that was exactly what I was.

So why hadn’t he hurt me?

He’d had so many chances. So many moments to make me pay for trespassing on his land, for disobeying his orders, for defying him with words and glances.

If he wanted pain, he could have broken me by now.

If he wanted submission, he could have taken it.

But he hadn’t.

So why?

What information did they want from me and what was this job he mentioned about?

What did he really want from me?

Inside the bathroom, I reached for the sink and froze as my gaze swept over the counter.

My breath hitched.

My things were here.

My toothbrush. My hairbrush. My perfume.