10. Ava
AVA
I lingered too long in the shower, my forehead pressed against the cool, marble wall as the hot water cascaded over my shoulders. I tried to let the heat soothe me, but it barely touched the ache in my chest, the gnawing feeling of dread that was tearing me from the inside out.
What had I done, agreeing to his twisted therapy?
The very idea of it was a nightmare, a cruel invention that no sane person would even consider—let alone devise, let alone enforce.
Who kidnaps someone, holds her captive, and forces her into reliving her worst memories as a form of healing?
A shiver crept through me at the sheer madness behind it.
Ty—Scáth— had gone mad.
I could only hope that he’d break before me. That the pain it caused me to relive my abuse would change his mind, would bring Scáth back to the surface .
After what felt like hours, I forced myself out, the loss of heat from the shower sending a chill over my skin.
Wrapping myself in a soft fluffy robe, I stepped into the bedroom, my stomach giving a hollow growl.
My eyes locked on the emerald gown shimmering as it hung on the closet door.
It hadn’t been there when I went for my shower.
He must have left it while I was in there.
A shiver traced its way down my spine, and I glanced back toward the bathroom door. I’d left it open. Had he seen me naked, showering? Had he been watching?
My gaze flickered to the one-way mirror, that silent, sinister presence.
He was always watching.
A shiver traced my spine, caught somewhere between unease and… something darker, something I couldn’t name but felt deep in my bones.
Pinned to the hanger was a note, neatly folded and concise in his familiar hand.
Get ready.
I noticed the ornate antique jewelry box sitting on the dresser, its dark mahogany wood polished to a warm sheen and intricate mother-of-pearl inlays that caught the light in glimmers.
That had just appeared, too.
The tiny drawers beneath opened with a soft creak, lined with faded crimson velvet that still held a faint scent of peony perfume, whispering of secrets and memories locked away.
My fingers grazed over the brand-new Chanel makeup—all suited to my coloring.
I knew it was silly, stupid even, to get made up for my kidnapper, but I did it anyway.
I brushed a hint of shimmer on my cheeks, a coat of mascara on my lashes, and a swipe of gloss on my lips.
The gown felt weightless as I lifted it, the delicate, silky material slipping through my fingers, cool against my skin as I held it against myself.
I didn’t even care that wearing this dress was yet another command; it was too gorgeous.
I couldn’t help the small thrill that ran down my spine as I slipped it on, letting the fabric cascade over me, smoothing it over my hips.
I stared at myself in the mirror and gasped, a blush coming to my face.
Was that really me?
The gown was exquisite, a deep, shimmering emerald that caught the light in a way that made it seem almost alive. It hugged my torso snugly, tailored to fit every curve with flawless precision, flowing down to the floor in a cascade of silk.
The bodice was cut just across the top of my breasts, exposing my collarbones and the slight rise of my shoulders, tiny emerald gemstones scattered across the bodice, adding a subtle, sparkling texture that mirrored stars as I moved.
At the back, the gown dipped into a deep V that swept down my spine, revealing just enough skin to feel scandalous yet somehow restrained, ending just above the base of my back.
The silk felt cool and smooth against my skin, as if the fabric itself was some kind of second skin—luxurious, delicate, and eerily intimate.
It felt almost too grand, too regal.
The gown felt weighty, not from its actual fabric, but from the significance it seemed to carry. As if by slipping into it, I’d agreed to something wordless and binding.
As I smoothed the gown over my hips, a disquieting realization crept into my mind: this wasn’t an off-the-rack dress.
It was couture, tailored to fit my body like a second skin. Every inch, every seam, every contour was perfectly aligned to me.
Ty must have given the dressmaker my exact measurements.
My head spun as I wondered just how he could have gotten them.
Had he measured my body himself, while I was asleep, his hands tracing over every line and curve? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts unsettling and… something else.
Or had he simply studied me for so long, observing each detail, that he’d known exactly how to craft a dress that would fit me so flawlessly—by sight alone?
I didn’t know whether to feel exposed, violated, or… seen.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that this dress was as much an invitation as it was a trap .
Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of the three locks sliding open.
I hated the way my heart tripped over itself as I instinctively moved toward the door, then paused, chastising myself for being eager to see my kidnapper and tormentor.
The door swung inward, and Ty appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim hall light, making my breath catch.
He was dressed in all black, from his tailored suit to the slim tie that lay flat against his firm chest, his dark hair slicked back, revealing the strong lines of his face.
He looked… devastating.
His gaze came to rest on me standing in the middle of the room, clasping my hands in front of me because I didn’t know what to do with them.
His eyes widened, his lips parting in something that almost looked like shock.
“Wow, A-Ava…” He cleared his throat, his voice catching slightly.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my kidnapper was nervous.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was a date.
But I knew better. Right?
Ty stepped toward me, each step deliberate, his eyes tracing over me like he was memorizing every detail. “Perfect fit.”
When he circled behind me, his presence sent a shiver down my spine, the heat of him somehow burning through the space between us.
His breath brushed against my ear. “Hold still.”
He lifted a length of smooth fabric over my eyes .
“What are you doing?” I protested, jerking my head back, but his grip was gentle yet unyielding as he tied the blindfold.
“It’s a surprise,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Do you trust me?”
“No.” A scoff escaped my lips.
He sighed as if he expected that answer. “No blindfold, no surprise.”
I clenched my jaw, silently cursing my relentless curiosity. Maybe that’s why journalism had always called to me—an insatiable drive to uncover what lay hidden, even when I wished I didn’t care.
“ Fine .” The word slipped out before I could stop myself.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his words striking a chord deep within me.
He finished tying the fabric, snug but not uncomfortable, blocking out the dim light of the room.
A shiver traveled through me as his fingers brushed the length of my hair off my shoulders.
With his hand burning into the small of my back, he guided me forward.
With my sight taken from me, every other sense sharpened, stretching thin with anticipation and an edge of fear.
Every sound seemed magnified: the creak of floorboards, the soft brush of the skirt against my legs, his steady breathing close to my ear. Slivers of light from the wall sconces threaded past the slip under my blindfold as he led me through the hallway.
Ty’s grip was firm and unyielding, his hand warm around my elbow, steady, as if he knew every step by heart.
Underfoot, I could feel the cool, polished floor shifting as we turned left, and a faint draft told me we’d passed into a different wing, the air carrying an almost forgotten hint of roses and old wood.
Somewhere in the depths of the mansion, a clock ticked faintly, an almost hypnotic beat against the eerie silence around us.
My pulse quickened, nerves crackling, a thousand questions crowding my mind. Was this truly a surprise or something else? Part of me wanted to tug away, to break the blindfold and run, but curiosity held me just as firmly as his hand.
If this was a trick, why bother with the gown? Why soften the experience with elegance only to bring fear? Why dress me up if this was just another game?
But then, this was a twisted stranger in the body of the man I knew as Ty, and everything with him was tangled, leaving me unable to separate threat from thrill.
My heart thudded heavily in my chest, the unknown stretching out before me, both terrifying and tantalizing. Each step took me closer, but to what?
“Careful of the stairs,” he warned, his hand moving to my elbow and slowing me down.
I stepped cautiously, but the fabric of my gown caught underfoot, and I stumbled forward.
Ty’s arms caught me, pulling me firmly against his chest. His heart beat strong beneath the soft material of his suit, and for a moment, his hands lingered at my waist, holding me steady. My cheeks warmed, though I couldn’t see his face.
He picked me up in his arms and I let out a yelp, my arms instinctively going around his neck .
“I can walk,” I muttered, squirming slightly, feeling my pulse race.
“Obviously not without tripping,” he replied, the hint of amusement in his voice.
“Who blindfolded me in the first place?” I shot back.
But I couldn’t help but soften in his arms, the feeling too familiar… too safe.
My blindfold had shifted just enough for a narrow view of the dark curling staircase, the main stairs I remembered. And there, at the bottom of the sweeping staircase, was the front door.
The door to freedom.
When we reached the base of the stairs, he set me down gently, my bare feet landing on the cool marble floor.
His hand slid into mine, firm and steady, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull away. The warmth of his grasp seeped through me, traveling up my arm in an unsettling current.
My mind buzzed as I counted each step, each twist and corner, my silent rebellion, until he stopped and released my hand.
His fingers brushed over my cheek as he pulled the blindfold away.
Blinking against the sudden candlelight, I gasped, the familiarity of this place hitting me in the solar plexus.
Before me was the Blackthorn dining hall, rich red and black drapery cascading down the walls, accented by deep shadows that only intensified the glow of hundreds of candles scattered across the grand dining table and lining the walls.
The tall arched windows—newly barred, I noted— shimmered with moonlight, casting silver glints across the dark wood floors, while the candlelight danced in a warm, inviting glow that contrasted the dark, brooding colors.
A luxurious table for two sat draped in black velvet. Gleaming silverware and platters awaited; the teasing smells of roasted meat and garlic made my stomach grumble.
The heavy black candelabras on either end of the table seemed to belong to another time, their wax dripping in elegant rivulets, adding to the decadent, almost forbidden allure of the room.
I turned to Ty, my breath catching. “You did all this?”
He pulled out a chair for me with a modest shrug, but a gleam of pride flickered in his eyes, almost boyish beneath the intensity of his gaze.
Ty served me before serving himself, carefully adding each dish to my plate, a freshly baked bread roll, some roasted vegetables, slices of roast chicken, and a portion of rich, creamy mash.
But it was the gleaming silver knife that caught my attention, tucked just beside my plate.
A real weapon.
I knew I shouldn’t stare, but my eyes kept flicking back to it, waiting for the right moment when he was distracted enough.
He finished piling food on his own plate and took his seat, his eyes flickering to me.
“So,” he began, voice smooth, attempting a pleasant tone, “tell me how college is going?”
I raised an eyebrow, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, just great. If you don’t count the part where I couldn’t do exams because I was kidnapped by some psycho.”
Ty’s lips twitched, clearly amused. “No exams? Some might say I’m doing you a favor.”
I snorted. “Some might prefer freedom over an excuse for missing exams.”
He tore a piece off his steaming bread roll and popped it into his mouth. “There’s freedom in submission, hummingbird.”
I hated the way he lowered his voice like he was speaking to a lover not his captive.
“Why do you call me that?”
He didn’t answer, he merely continued with his meal, his gaze firmly on me.
If I wanted a chance to steal the knife, I’d have to create a distraction.
I spotted the decanter of red wine on the sideboard, glinting temptingly in the candlelight.
Perfect.
“Could I have a glass?” I asked, keeping my voice even, casual.
Ty’s eyes narrowed with that familiar, calculating look.
After a beat, he stood, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he walked over to the sideboard. He glanced over his shoulder once, making me tense, before he picked up the decanter and poured two glasses.
The second he turned his back, I seized the knife and slipped it into my lap, pressing it beneath the folds of my gown.
My heart pounded, fingers tingling with adrenaline .
When he turned around, glasses in hand, I froze, my body tense.
But he didn’t react; he just returned to the table and handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine as I accepted it.
My hand tightened on the wineglass, and I took a sip—only to make a face. “That’s not wine.”
“No,” he said, casually eating a forkful of vegetables. “It’s grape juice.”
I huffed, annoyed. “I’m old enough to drink, you know.”
He just smirked as he pointed his fork at me. “You should thank me for not letting you SUI.”
“SUI?”
“Yes.” He let out a quiet chuckle, clearly amused with himself. “Stabbing under the influence.”
My blood ran cold. Did he know I’d stolen the knife?
I forced myself to stay composed, hoping the guilt wasn’t written all over my face.
I watched him as he cut up his food, eating as if I were no threat, as if I couldn’t possibly have it in me to attack him.
The knife weighed heavily in my lap, my fingers itching to show him just how much of a threat I could be.
I’ll show you .
I seized the knife from my lap and lunged, aiming for his arm.
But he was faster.
His hand shot out, catching my wrist mid-swing. He twisted my wrist just enough to disarm me and I yelped at the flash of pain. The knife slipped from my fingers and clattered to the table .
With his grip loosening, I wrenched myself free and bolted, running for the door, hoping to retrace the twists and turns of the mansion.
Front door, front door, I repeated in my head, feeling the thrill of escape tightening in my chest.
I didn’t even make it out of the dining room.
A powerful hand clamped on my shoulder, spinning me around and shoving me against the wall.
Ty’s body pressed close, pinning me there with his hand wrapped around my throat like an iron clamp.
“ Really , Ava?” he murmured, his voice low and deadly, his hand firm on my neck, locking me in place, as his eyes—dark and challenging—scanned my face. “We were having such a nice time.”