0020 ~ Elodie ~ I remained tucked away in the shadows of the grand library until the pale morning light dissolved into a deep, suffocating dusk.
When the isolation became too deafening to bear, I finally forced myself to move, slipping down the quiet corridors to seek refuge in a long, hot soak.
Technically, I was expected to utilize the luxurious en-suite facilities connected to the master bedroom—the space I was supposed to be sharing with Logan.
But the mere thought of stepping back into that room after the horrific display he had pulled this afternoon made my chest tighten with anxiety.
Instead, I opted for the grand guest bathroom down the hall.
Like every other square inch of the Lockwood fortress, the space was an opulent testament to wealth, blending modern luxury with a brooding, gothic aesthetic.
I turned the brass handles, watching the steaming water rush into the clawfoot tub, and poured in a generous amount of scented oils until thick, white bubbles blanketed the surface.
Stepping into the scalpel-hot water, I sank down until it reached my chin.
I rested the back of my head against the smooth porcelain lip, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as the silence of the mansion pressed down on me.
My mind immediately began to spin, drifting through the tangled mess my life had become.
Ever since I had been ripped away from the familiar rhythms of the real world, Tom hadn’t made a single attempt to locate me.
Not a phone call, not a text message, nothing.
A bitter ache settled in my throat as a terrible question took root: did he even miss me at all?
Or was I just a chapter he was glad to close?
Then, the image of Tom faded, replaced by the face of my little sister, Vicky.
We had only spoken once since my abduction, a frantic, rushed conversation that had been brutally cut short before I could truly hear her voice.
I needed to see her.
The longing to ensure she was safe was a physical pain in my chest.
In this house, I was a captive, plain and simple.
Vincent Lockwood was the ruthless warden holding the keys, and his broken brother Logan was my assigned cellmate.
How long was this psychological torment supposed to last?
How many months or years would I be forced to pay the price for a debt that wasn’t even mine?
A wave of exhaustion washed over me.
I wanted my old routine back.
I wanted my independence.
With a frustrated sigh, I pinched my nose and plunged my entire head beneath the soapy water, desperate to drown out the chaotic swarm of unanswerable questions racing through my brain.
When my skin began to prune, I reluctantly climbed out of the tub and pulled the drain plug.
Ripping a thick, white terry-cloth bathrobe from the heated rack, I wrapped it tightly around myself and stepped up to the massive mirror hanging above the bowl-shaped marble sink.
I used the side of my hand to wipe away the thick layer of condensation, staring directly at my reflection.
I looked completely hollow.
Deep, violet shadows hung beneath my eyes—bruises of exhaustion that hadn’t been there a mere forty-eight hours ago.
My world had fractured in the blink of an eye.
*Is he ever going to let me go?* I wondered, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter.
*Does a monster like Vincent Lockwood even understand the concept of mercy?* And it was all because of Vicky’s reckless choices.
A sudden surge of hot, unadulterated rage flared in my veins.
Without thinking, I slammed my balled fist down onto the hard marble surface of the counter.
A sharp, stinging pain radiated up my wrist, causing me to gasp.
I stared down at my red knuckles, trembling as I forced myself to take several deep, stabilizing breaths.
I brushed a few wet, stray strands of hair away from my forehead, tightened the sash of my robe, and unlocked the bathroom door.
The moment I stepped out into the dim hallway, I collided violently with a rigid, unyielding wall of muscle.
The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and I stumbled backward, my wet feet slipping slightly on the polished floorboards.
Before I could fall, a pair of large, firm hands clamped down on my shoulders, steadying my weight instantly.
I snapped my head up, my gaze locking onto the familiar, sharp jawline of the man who haunted my every waking hour.
Vincent.
“Can’t you look where you’re going for once?” I snapped, a defensive scowl warping my features as I twisted out of his iron grip.
“I should be asking you that exact question,” Vincent replied, his deep, resonant voice cutting through the quiet hallway and vibrating right through my skin.
I hated how easily his presence could command a room, how quickly my senses noted the sheer, masculine gravity of his tone.
*Get a grip, Elodie,* I scolded myself internally, pulling my robe tighter around my collar.
“Furthermore,” Vincent continued, his dark eyes sweeping over my wet hair and the oversized bathrobe.
“Why exactly are you using the guest facilities when the master suite features its own dedicated bath?” I shifted my gaze to the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my vulnerability.
The truth was, I was utterly terrified to face Logan after his breakdown.
Anne’s words in the library had sparked a genuine sense of sympathy in my heart, but sympathy didn’t magically grant me the knowledge of how to comfort a deeply disturbed stranger, let alone act as his wife.
“You need to learn to mind your own business regarding my personal choices,” I muttered, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.
A ghost of a smirk touched Vincent’s lips as he took half a step closer, invading my personal space.
“Darling, let me make something entirely clear to you.
Every single breath you take, every choice you make as long as you reside under this roof, is automatically my business.” He tilted his head down, his voice dropping into a low, commanding rumble.
“The next time you require a bath, you will use the designated master suite.
Am I making myself clear?” A traitorous spark of heat flared in my stomach at the sheer authority in his delivery.
I hated myself for it.
I hated that my body was reacting to the dangerous allure he projected.
I shook my head vigorously to clear the intrusive thoughts, forcing my chin up.
“And what if I choose to ignore your directive?” I challenged, my voice laced with false bravery.
Vincent’s smirk widened, turning into something distinctly predatory.
He leaned down further, his lips stopping a mere inch away from my ear.
“Then I promise you, Elodie, you will not survive the consequences of what I will do to you.” The warmth spread rapidly across my cheeks, a brilliant, telltale crimson flush that was impossible to hide in the dim light of the corridor.
Vincent pulled back just enough to look at my face, a low chuckle escaping his throat as he shook his head.
“A few simple words, and you are already blushing like a schoolgirl?” Embarrassed and furious, I clamped my hands over my hot cheeks and tried to push past him down the hall.
“Have you eaten your evening meal yet?” his voice called out, causing my boots to freeze against the floor.
I paused, keeping my back turned toward him for several seconds before looking over my shoulder.
He hadn’t turned around; he was standing with his hands casually slid into his trouser pockets, his tall frame cutting a menacing silhouette against the wall.
“No,” I answered reluctantly.
“Be downstairs at the formal dining table in exactly five minutes,” he commanded flatly, initiating his walk toward the stairs.
“I never agreed to come downstairs for dinner,” I called out, my anger finally overriding my caution.
The hallway was completely deserted, leaving only the two of us to clash in the quiet.
“And besides, I am completely without an appetite.” Vincent stopped dead in his tracks.
He pivoted slowly on his heel, turning his full, undivided attention back toward me, his expression unreadable.
“What did you just say to me?” he asked, his strides slow and deliberate as he closed the distance between us once more.
“I…I said I’m not hungry,” I repeated, desperately trying to keep my voice from cracking as he approached.
Before the final syllable could leave my lips, Vincent moved with terrifying, fluid speed.
His hand shot out, catching my shoulder and pinning me firmly against the hardwood paneling of the wall.
“Whether you possess an appetite or not, Elodie, your presence is required at that table.
That is a direct order,” he hissed, leaning in so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, completely obliterating any sense of privacy.
“And if a plate of food is set before you, you will consume every single bite of it, regardless of how full you claim to be.
That is also an order.” I stared up at him, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as the pent-up fury of the entire week crystallized into a sharp, burning hatred.
“I absolutely despise you,” I whispered fiercely.
“Your affection was never a requirement for this arrangement,” Vincent replied smoothly, completely unfazed by my venom as he released his grip and stepped away.
“Go get changed into proper attire and meet me downstairs in five minutes.” With that, he turned and disappeared down the grand staircase without another word.
The moment he was out of sight, a choked, frustrated scream escaped my throat.
Blinded by absolute rage, I swung my arm and punched the solid wood wall beside me, the violent friction scraping the skin right off my knuckles.
“Eat your dinner yourself, you miserable bastard,” I hissed under my breath, cradling my throbbing hand against my chest.
I had absolutely no intention of showing up at that dining table.
Let him throw his tantrums.
Let him threaten me.
“You’ll have to drag my corpse down those stairs before I sit at a table with you,” I muttered to the empty hallway, turning on my heel and marching back toward my room, determined to defy him.