0007 ~ Elodie ~ I was still recovering from the kiss when Luca ushered me out of the courthouse.
My lips were still tingling, the sensation refusing to fade.
My heart was doing something strange in my chest, something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
When Vincent had pulled me against him, when his mouth had pressed against mine with that unexpected intensity… No.
Stop.
He is the devil, threatened me into doing something this outrageous.
God, I still can’t believe this is happening to me.
Tom had been calling me endlessly.
The notifications kept lighting up my phone — seventeen missed calls, countless text messages stacking up one after another.
Each one was a reminder of the stable, normal life I’d just destroyed.
Sweet Tom who’d never hurt anyone, who’d never raised his voice, and who was probably sitting at home right now, staring at his phone, wondering where I was and why I wouldn’t answer.
Tom, who I’d just betrayed in the worst possible way.
Vincent was the devil.
I needed to remember that.
Had to keep reminding myself of that fundamental truth.
The man who’d shot Vicky without hesitation.
Who’d forced me into this nightmare with threats and violence.
The kiss didn’t change anything.
It couldn’t change anything.
It was probably just another manipulation, another way to keep me off balance.
But it was Logan I should be worried about right now.
He looked so sick and broken and genuinely oblivious to everything happening around him.
Whatever was wrong with him, it was serious.
Really serious.
The drive back to the estate passed in a blur of silence.
Logan sat beside me in the back seat, quiet, his breathing steady now but his eyes unfocused.
When we arrived at the mansion, two people in medical scrubs were waiting by the entrance.
They moved toward Logan immediately, like they’d been expecting him.
“Time for your medication, Mr.
Lockwood,” the woman said gently.
Logan didn’t resist, he just let them guide him inside like he’d done this a thousand times before, like his body knew the routine even if his mind didn’t.
I followed behind, feeling utterly out of place.
Not knowing where to go, was I even supposed to follow?
Anne appeared from somewhere, her expression carefully neutral, professionally blank.
“Mrs.
Lockwood,” she said, and the name made my stomach clench.
“I’ll show you to your room.” “Their room,” Luca corrected firmly from behind us.
“The master suite.
Boss’s orders.” Anne’s eyes widened slightly before she caught herself.
“Of course.
This way, please.” She led us up the grand staircase to the second floor, then down a long hallway that seemed to stretch forever.
Oil paintings of stern-faced Lockwoods lined the walls, all of them seeming to stare down at me with judgment.
Finally, Anne stopped in front of an ornate door at the very end.
“The master suite,” she said quietly, pushing it open.
The room was enormous.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the center, draped in dark silk.
It was beautiful in that cold, untouchable way that made you afraid to disturb anything.
Logan was already inside, being guided to sit on the edge of the bed by the medical staff.
One of them was opening a small kit, pulling out a syringe filled with clear liquid.
I watched from the doorway as they prepared his arm, tying a tourniquet, swabbing the skin.
Logan didn’t react at all.
Just sat there, staring at nothing, while they injected whatever drug they’d prepared.
“He’ll rest now,” the nurse said to me, not even looking at Logan.
“A few hours, most likely.
It’s normal.” Nothing about this was normal.
Then they left, filing out past me without another word.
I heard the door close behind them with a soft click.
And then another sound.
The unmistakable sound of a lock engaging.
I rushed to the door and tried the handle.
It didn’t move.
I tried again, pulling harder.
Nothing.
They’d locked us in.
I stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.
Staring at the locked door, at Logan already lying back on the bed with his eyes closing, at the reality of my situation.
I was locked in a bedroom with a stranger.
With my husband — sort of.
With the man I was supposed to have married, except his brother had stood in his place at the altar.
My phone buzzed in my purse.
I pulled it out and saw Vicky’s name flashing on the screen.
I answered without thinking.
“Vicky.” “Elodie!
Oh my God!
Are you okay?
Did you really do it?” I looked at Logan, now completely unconscious on the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.
“It was…
it happened,” I said quietly, my voice barely steady.
“Did you really marry him?
The brother?” “I…” How did I even explain this?
How did I put into words what had happened in that courthouse?
“Yes.
Sort of.
It’s complicated, Vicky.” “Oh God Elodie…” A knock on the door interrupted her mid-sentence.
“Mrs.
Lockwood?” A woman’s voice, older, formal.
“I have fresh linens and some clothes for you.
Please prepare for a bath.” Mrs.
Lockwood.
The name hit me like cold water, making it real in a way it hadn’t been before.
On the bed, Logan stirred.
His eyes opened slowly, unfocused and confused.
He pushed himself up with obvious effort, one hand pressed to his head like it hurt.
“Vicky, I have to go,” I said quickly, my heart starting to race.
“Wait, Elodie…” I hung up before she could finish.
Logan was sitting up now, looking around the room like he was seeing it for the first time.
Like he didn’t recognize where he was.
Then his eyes found me standing by the door, and his brow furrowed.
“What are you doing in my room?” His voice was hoarse, rough from sleep or drugs or both.
I opened my mouth but no words came out.
What was I supposed to say?
“Who are you?” he asked, squinting at me like he was trying to bring me into focus.
Another knock on the door, this one firmer.
“Mrs.
Lockwood, I’m sorry to disturb but I think there are fresh linens in the wardrobe for you to change into” Logan’s head snapped toward the door, then back to me.
“Mrs.
Lockwood?” he repeated slowly, carefully, like he was testing the words.
“Why are you called Mrs.
Lockwood?” My throat felt tight, like someone was squeezing it.
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice.
“Yes,” I managed finally.
“I’m…
my name is Elodie.
Elodie Stonewall.” I paused, took a breath, forced the words out.
“I’m your wife.”