Page 57 of Sweet Surrender

As if I needed to be reminded that the man I could easily startfawning over had taken away my freedom, a ray of sunlight caught on the diamonds in my wedding band.

Urgh, why did this have to be so complicated?

No.

Itwasn’tcomplicated. I wasn’t going to let myself grow attracted toNash. I had a game plan, and I was sticking to it.

With a newfound determination, I fired off a bland‘thank you’toNash before climbing out of bed. There were two doors in the room, and taking a chance that one might lead to a bathroom, I opened it, relieved to find it was indeed the bathroom.

Taking care of business, followed by the mostincredibleshower I’dever enjoyed, I spent the best part of an hour raiding the wardrobe.

Nash wasn’t lying when he said there were new clothes for me, andas I went through all the different designer dresses, tops, skirts, jeans, shoes, bags, jumpers, and coats, I tried to estimate how much Nash had spent.

I gave up after I reached two million, and I hadn’t gotten through halfof it.

Growing up, I’d spent years following designers, dreaming of the daythat one day I’d get to wear their clothes, or I’d feature my own clothes in fashion shows with my favorite designers, so it was fair to say that thanks to Nash, I was in my element.

Damn him.

The best thing about rummaging through the wardrobe though wasthat for the first time in months, new ideas about clothes I wanted to design sprang to mind. The more I rummaged, the more my hand twitched with the need to grab my pencils and sketchbook so I could start jotting down some designs.

Now that inspiration had struck, I jumped to my feet, only stoppingwhen I remembered I had no clue where Nash had put my belongings. He’d said that mypersonal effectswould be waiting when we got home, so where were they?

Grabbing my phone and pulling up the message thread, Itapped out a text to Nash.

Hey, where are my sketchbooks?

His response was instant.

Safe for now.

Please can I have them?

No.

What the hell was his problem?

A surge of anger coursed through me. He was being a controllingasshole again, something that was wearing thin very quickly.

Why can’t I have them?

Because I said so.

Motherfucker!

Resisting the urge to throw the phone against the wall, Ishoved all the clothes back into the wardrobe, muttering curses aimed solely at my asshole husband before putting on a pair of leggings and a sweater, determined to go on the hunt for my stuff.

If Nash wouldn’t tell me where my things were, I’d find them myself.

Much like the bedroom, the rest of the house had a similar decor,with ivory and terracotta colors making the place feel bright and warm.

Going from room to room, I tried my best to not fall in love with theplace, but it was impossible. Whoever had designed the interior had done a damn good job, and there wasn’t one part of it I would change.

With the exception of knowing where my sketchbooks were of course.

Admittedly, I didn’t do the best job in searching for them. As I enteredeach room intent on tearing it apart to find what I was looking for, I couldn’t bring myself to snoop. It felt wrong, especially with how tidy each room was.

When I reached one door, finding it locked, something in my gut told me that was where I would find my sketchbooks.