0017 ~ Elodie ~ If there was a title more wretched, more vile than the devil himself, that title belonged exclusively to Vincent Lockwood.
I stood paralyzed near the library shelves, my hands trembling as the horrific scene from upstairs replayed in my mind.
It was completely unbelievable.
Vincent had been perfectly willing to stand by and watch his own flesh and blood, a deeply broken and heavily medicated man, plunge a blade into his own throat.
What sort of human being possessed that kind of twisted mind?
What dark, warped logic governed his every thought?
The moment the reality of what he was doing had set in, my chest had tightened so fiercely I could barely breathe.
I didn’t possess the stomach for that kind of cruelty.
I had marched out of that bedroom, deliberately ignoring Vincent’s parting comment about feeling free to leave the room.
“Absolute bastard,” I muttered under my breath, my voice shaking with a potent mix of rage and disgust as I moved further away from the west wing.
The Lockwood mansion was an immense, sprawling labyrinth of cold stone, vaulted ceilings, and gothic architecture.
I was entirely unfamiliar with its layout, feeling like an intruder in a strange, menacing fortress.
Driven by a desperate need to distract my racing thoughts from Vincent’s malice, I began testing the handles of the numerous heavy wooden doors lining the grand corridor, opening one after another.
When I turned the brass handle of the very last door at the end of the hall, I froze.
The room opened up into an enormous, double-height space.
Towering, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined every single wall, accessible by rolling mahogany ladders.
A massive arched window dominated the far end, flooding the space with pale morning light.
It was a private library, grander than anything I had ever seen.
“Woah,” I breathed softly to myself, the sheer scale of the room momentarily driven the horror from my mind.
Slowly, I began to wander through the quiet aisles, my fingers tracing the leather-bound spines.
The collection was staggered.
There were classic novels, volumes of poetry, historical archives, and scientific journals.
I passed an entire section dedicated exclusively to the works of William Shakespeare, followed immediately by another filled with Charles Dickens.
It felt as though I had stepped through a portal into another century.
The faint, muffled sound of a roaring engine suddenly echoed from below.
I hurried over to the massive window, peering down into the expansive front courtyard.
Far below, Vincent was walking briskly toward his sleek, dark Rolls-Royce.
His driver held the door open, and within seconds, the luxury vehicle tore down the private drive, disappearing past the iron gates.
“Thank God he’s finally gone,” I whispered, a wave of relief washing over my shoulders.
But the relief was bitter; I knew my fragile peace would be incredibly short-lived the exact moment he decided to return.
“Mrs.
Lockwood?
Are you in here, ma’am?” Anne’s voice echoed softly through the quiet room, breaking the silence.
I pulled myself away from the window glass, clearing my throat as I forced myself to face the door.
“Yes?” I called back, the forced title sending a sharp sting through my chest.
It was a reality I desperately wanted to deny, yet it was the label I was now forced to carry.
Anne stepped into the library, carrying a large silver tray covered by a polished dome.
A warm, gentle smile touched her face.
“You weren’t present in the dining hall when breakfast was served, ma’am, so I took the liberty of bringing a tray up here for you.” “How did you even know I would be in here?” I asked, walking forward to meet her in the center of the room.
“Gareth observed you entering this wing a short while ago,” she replied kindly, walking over to a small circular table nestled between two massive bookshelves.
She set the heavy tray down with practiced ease.
“And I know you must be absolutely starving.” The moment she uttered the word *starving*, my stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl, echoing clearly in the quiet space.
A flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks, but I couldn’t deny the physical reality.
My body was empty.
Before Vincent and I had departed from the Pemberton estate, Margaret had offered a beautiful breakfast spread, but Vincent had flatly refused, announcing he was in a massive hurry to drop me off before his ten o’clock meeting.
“I guess I am,” I admitted, placing a hand over my flat stomach as it continued to protest.
Anne let out a soft, maternal chuckle, lifting the polished metal cover from the plate.
Instantly, a rich, sweet aroma filled the air, making my mouth water.
“I truly hope you enjoy Belgian waffles glazed with pure maple syrup,” she said, gesturing to the beautifully arranged plate.
“And don’t worry, you are going to love them.
I use a special secret recipe for the batter.” I looked down at the food, my defenses crumbling against the sheer hunger.
“It looks absolutely incredible, Anne.” “Please, sit down and dig in,” she urged warmly.
I slipped into the cushioned chair and picked up the fork, cutting off a small piece of the golden waffle.
The moment it touched my tongue, I closed my eyes.
“Wow.
This is delicious.” “See?
I told you,” she smiled proudly, picking up a crystal carafe to pour a bright liquid into a glass.
“Help yourself to some orange juice as well.
It was freshly squeezed just an hour ago.” “Thank you so much,” I told her, taking a long sip of the cool, tart juice before setting the glass down.
Anne didn’t leave the room.
Instead, she took a step back, clasping her hands neatly in front of her apron and adopting a rigid, professional stance near the edge of the table.
I paused, my fork hovering in the air as I looked up at her.
“What are you doing?” “Oh, I am simply remaining here until you finish your meal, ma’am,” she replied smoothly.
“It is standard procedure so that you may call on me immediately in case you require anything else.” “I don’t think I need a single thing, Anne, and there is absolutely no reason for you to stand there waiting on me,” I told her gently, feeling entirely uncomfortable with the display of servitude.
“Mrs.
Lockwood, I must insist,” she countered politely.
“This is exactly how I have operated since the very day I was hired as the head housekeeper for the Lockwood family.” “Well, I think I am going to have to be the one to break that particular rule,” I said, offering a small, apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t sit well with me at all.” Anne paused, a flash of surprise crossing her features before she let out a soft, genuine laugh.
“Very well, Mrs.
Lockwood.
I suppose it is simply because you are entirely unaccustomed to the lifestyle and traditions of this household.” “You can definitely say that again,” I murmured, my appetite suddenly wanning as the gravity of my situation returned.
“Don’t worry, I won’t disrupt your peace,” she added gently.
“Just try to pretend that I am not even in the room.” “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” I said plainly.
“Trust me, ma’am, in time you will,” she replied with another soft chuckle, causing me to let out a quiet sigh.
When I finally finished the meal, Anne stepped forward to clear the dishes.
Before she could lift the silver tray, I reached out, my fingers lightly touching the edge of the metal to stop her.
“Wait, Anne.
Hold on a moment,” I called out quietly.
She paused, turning her gaze back to me.
“Yes, ma’am?” “Are you…are you fully aware of what is happening with Logan?” I asked, the words catching in my throat as I hesitated over the next part.
“My…my husband.” The word felt entirely wrong on my tongue, an alien concept.
The man who was supposed to be my husband, the man I actually loved, was Tom.
Instead, I was legally bound to a complete stranger whom I didn’t know at all.
“You are referring to the state of his health, ma’am?” she asked, her demeanor shifting into something more somber.
“Yes,” I nodded, leaning forward.
“It is a deeply complicated history,” Anne sighed softly, her eyes dropping to the tray.
“But what I can tell you is that Mr.
Logan has lived an incredibly lonely life here.
So entirely isolated.
I believe that profound loneliness is a significant reason why his mind and body fell so ill, and why Mr.
Vincent became so desperate to secure a companion for him.
He simply wanted to ensure his brother wouldn’t feel so abandoned anymore.” I looked down at the polished wood of the table, trying to process her words.
A companion.
Vincent hadn’t sought a companion out of mercy; he had stolen a prisoner to act as a distraction.
I nodded absentmindedly, my mind spinning.
“What do you think caused him to become that isolated in the first place?” I asked, desperate for any piece of information that could help me understand this family.
“It is because—” “Anne, the fresh seafood order you requested for the afternoon menus has just arrived in the kitchen corridors,” Gareth interrupted, his deep voice cutting through the quiet as he stepped into the library.
“Oh, marvelous,” Anne turned toward him, looking visibly relieved by the interruption.
“Did the delivery include the rare blue lobster?” “Yes, though the suppliers noted it was exceptionally scarce to find this morning,” Gareth confirmed with a brief nod.
“Thank goodness it arrived,” Anne sighed, turning back to face me with a polite nod.
“I must head downstairs to supervise the luncheon preparations, Mrs.
Lockwood.
If you require absolutely anything, please do not hesitate to come down to the kitchens, or Gareth here will be more than happy to attend to your needs.” “Alright,” I said quietly, offering a small nod as I watched her lift the heavy silver tray.
*Is this truly what my life is going to be from now on?
Caged inside this massive stone mansion like a common prisoner?* Anne gave me a final, reassuring smile before turning on her heel and walking out of the room.
Gareth remained standing near the entryway, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Would you care for a formal tour of the estate grounds this morning, Mrs.
Lockwood?” “Perhaps another time, Gareth, though thank you very much for the offer,” I replied, my voice sounding entirely exhausted.
“I think it would be much better if I simply stay here and try to find a book to read.” “Very well, ma’am,” he nodded respectfully.
As he turned to leave, the image of Logan holding that gleaming blade against his neck flashed vividly behind my eyelids.
I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“Um…Gareth?
Is Logan…is he going to be okay?” “He is stable, ma’am.
I actually checked in on his quarters only a short while ago,” Gareth answered smoothly.
“The latest sedative has taken effect, and he is resting peacefully.
Do you wish to visit your husband’s bedside, Mrs.
Lockwood?” “Oh, no!
No, that’s perfectly fine,” I replied quickly, my heart skipping a beat at the prospect.
“I was…I was simply concerned about his immediate well-being.” At the very least, it was a relief to know he hadn’t succeeded in ending his life, despite the immense, monstrous pressure Vincent had placed on him to do so.
A deep scowl touched my lips at the mere thought of Vincent’s cruel dare.
“Understood, ma’am.
Will there be anything else you require?” Gareth asked.
“No, that will be all.
Thank you,” I told him.
“If you need my assistance for any reason, I shall be stationed downstairs in the main foyer,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
The moment the heavy library door clicked shut and his footsteps faded down the hall, the absolute silence of the room rushed back in.
A second later, the sharp, distinct vibration of my phone broke the quiet.
I pulled the device from my pocket, my chest tightening as I saw a fresh notification flashing across the glass screen.
It was an incoming text message.
I unlocked the screen, my breath catching in my throat as I read the harsh, capitalized letters sent directly from my boss Margot Clarke: IF YOU DO NOT SHOW UP WORK BY TOMORROW MORNING LATEST, THEN YOU CAN KISS THIS JOB GOODBYE PERMANENTLY!!
I stared at the screen, my eyes widening in absolute horror as a cold weight dropped into the pit of my stomach.
My heart did a violent, terrifying backflip against my ribs.
I desperately needed to get back to my life, to my job, to the only scrap of sanity I had left.
But a suffocating realization washed over me: how on earth was I supposed to show up when Vincent held the keys to my cage, and he had absolutely no intention of letting me go?