Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
I listen to her slow retreat, the sound of her bare feet on the marble stairs, and then the soft click of the guest bedroom door closing. I'm left alone, the silence pressing in on me as I walk over to the bar and pour myself another drink.
Then, I take it outside, and hurl the tumbler of scotch as far as I can and watch it arc through the air gracefully, silently, before crashing into rocks and shattering into a million glass shards.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, and start to look up flights.
6
ELENA
Once alone inside the guest room, where I'd spent my first night here at the villa, I let myself go. Throwing myself on the bed, I cry until I can barely breathe, my face buried in the pillow.
Nothing makes sense. Adrian says he didn't hurt Charles, but I have no proof. He swears that he would have killed my father to have me, but I know my father is still alive. He tells me that he doesn't want to own me, but keeps me locked inside a lonely bubble of his own creation.
And despite all that, I care for him so deeply that it shakes me to my core. I may even love him, blood and gunpowder and all. But if I stay with him, will I just be another possession, just for a different man this time? Adrian brought me to paradise, showed me what it was to feel cherished, but what did any of that matter if I was just another shiny thing to claim?
I'm suddenly homesick, longing for the only home I've ever known. A cage, sure, but at least it didn't break my heart to live inside of it.
I cry until there's nothing left, and fall into an exhausted, heartbroken sleep, not even bothering to take my shoes off.
I don't know how long I sleep, but it's a few hours at least. If someone hadn't knocked on the door, I likely would have slept until the next morning, but I wasn't that lucky. There was no escaping the situation I found myself in, at least not for long.
I expect to see Maria, the housekeeper, when I open the door, but instead, I find a silver platter sitting on the floor at my feet, covered with a matching lid. I can smell the rich food, but I’m distracted by the other items on the plate–a cream-colored envelope with a black smartphone sitting on top.
A phone. The first real connection with the outside world I’ve been allowed to have, and he’s just giving it to me with no strings attached?
Sitting the tray on the bed, I open the envelope first, my mouth dry. Inside is something that’s almost more shocking than the phone, a plane ticket back to NYC. First class on a commercial airline. Alongside it is a note, written in Adrian’s heavy script,
Elena,
The choice is yours. The driver will be here to take you to the airport in the morning, and the phone is unlocked. I suggest you look up Charles Beaumont before you make your decision.
-Adrian.
A choice? The idea of flying back into my old life feels impossible after the last week. Not ready to decide, I power on the phone, opening the browser as soon as it boots. I almost don’t want to look up Charles, afraid that his body will have been found, but I do it anyway.
The first result is a news article from just an hour ago. The headline makes my breath catch in my throat. "Beaumont Heir Found Safe in Dubai After 'Bizarre Disappearance'."
I skim the article so fast I have to go over it twice to really understand what I’m reading.
"...reappeared at a luxury resort in Dubai late Tuesday evening, seemingly unharmed. When asked about his captors, Beaumont claimed, "I was treated well, but I have no idea who I was being held by. I'd like to leave it in the past and get on with my life."
I scroll down, my eyes wide. There's a picture of Charles surrounded by law enforcement and hotel staff. Other than appearing confused, he looks healthy and whole. Uninjured. My first thought is a rush of pure, clear relief. He's alive. Adrian didn't kill him.
The article is timestamped. An hour ago. Adrian must have released him right after our fight. He’s showing me that he can bend if he wants to…if I want him to.
Torn, I take a few bites of food, not even tasting it. The decision should be easy. I should go home, back to NYC, back to a life that I understand.
But…what if I don’t want to? What if, for once in my life, I do the dangerous thing? The impulsive thing?
The selfish thing?
Feeling both defiant and terrified, I tuck the ticket into the pocket of my jeans and leave the room, heading for the terrace where I know I will find Adrian. It’s where he always goes when he needs to think.