Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

35. Ava

AVA

I n the library after dinner, the damp of my freshly washed hair chilled me more than usual despite the warm summer breeze that blew through the crack in the barred bay windows.

The Blackthorn library was one of my favorite rooms, the only place it seemed I could mentally escape my prison.

The towering bookshelves stretched up to the vaulted ceiling, their dark wood softened by the low golden light of the iron chandeliers. Dust floated lazily in the beams filtering through the tall arched windows, casting the entire room in a soft, mysterious haze.

The spiral staircase wound its way up to the mezzanine level and sliding ladders rose up to the higher shelves, inviting me to lose myself in the stories waiting in the shadows.

My fingertips shook as I turned a page of a book that I hadn’t read a single word of. My cheeks burned feverishly because I was sure Ty knew that I planned to betray him .

He sat on the other end of the large cushioned window box with my bare feet in his lap.

I didn’t dare glance over to check, but I was sure that he was watching me over the top of his book.

He’d caught me biting nervously at my lip. He’d noticed the quickness of my breath stirring the delicate lace of my slip. He’d guessed at the reason for my marble-cold skin.

He knew.

“Did I tell you you’re in Croatia now?” Ty spoke casually, softly, innocently, but still I flinched.

For a second I was confused until I remembered that he was faking my “summer sailing vacation.”

I gripped my book tighter.

The silence between us was stretching too thin and I feared what would happen when it snapped.

With tension aching in every little muscle of my jaw, I said, “I must be enjoying the sunshine.”

I fixed my gaze on the page, even as the words blurred in front of me. My heart pounded as I waited for Ty’s reply.

My pulse throbbed against the full vial, which was tucked between my palm and the leather-bound cover of the book.

I nearly screamed when Ty’s hand wrapped around my foot.

“You seem… tense.” His thumb massaged small circles into the balls of my feet.

The tender gesture made another flood of guilt wash through me.

But I shook it off. No. I’d made up my mind. I’d chosen my path. My path led me back to Ciaran. I would not be swayed by guilt .

No matter how kind Ty was being, he was still my kidnapper, my captor, my tormenter.

And I would escape him.

I shrugged. “No more than usual.”

Ty let out a small hum but I forced my focus back to the book in my lap.

The hidden vial felt like it was searing a hole into my skin. Every word on the page blurred together, unreadable through the tension winding tight in my stomach.

“Interesting book?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“Riveting,” I muttered through clenched teeth, my fingers clinging to the book as if it could shield me from his attention.

“It’s upside down.”

I startled, fumbling with the book, almost dropping both it and the vial hidden within its pages. My heart lurched.

I glanced down, but the words were right side up—he was trying to trick me. Trying to goad me into giving away my plan to betray him.

I shot my gaze back up, prepared to fire a glare his way, but he was already watching me, a small crooked smile tugging at his lips, a hint of mischief in his gaze. That smile—just the faintest quirk—sent my pulse into chaos.

Damn him. Even now, even with everything, his smile was breathtaking.

For a second, I felt something unsteady under my anger, some dangerous part of me that wanted to smile back.

And then it hit me—he was joking .

Tynan Roderick Donahue, the cold, unflinching warden who held me captive, was making a joke .

It was like a crack in his otherwise impenetrable armor, and for a moment, it made him seem almost… human.

It left me speechless.

“More wine?” he said, nodding at the empty wineglass sitting on the small table at my elbow. I’d gulped the whole glass down earlier to try to calm my nerves.

I cleared my throat. “You… you never let me have a second glass.”

He stood, slipping out from beneath my feet, and walked toward me.

I snapped the book closed around the vial and pulled it into my chest. If he took the book from me, the vial would fall out. I’d be caught. I’d be so fucked.

I remembered the way he’d “punished” me on the floor of the greenhouse for trying to escape the last time and repressed a shiver.

For a moment he just stood there, staring down at me, my heart in my throat.

Then he reached out and grabbed my glass, shrugging. “Maybe you’ve been a good girl lately. Maybe you deserve a second glass.”

Guilt clenched around my chest, sharp and suffocating, while a bitter wave of disappointment surged through me. I wanted to be good. I didn’t want to let him down, didn’t want to see that flash of disappointment shadow his beautiful face when he realized I’d betrayed him.

But you won’t see it, Ava , I reminded myself fiercely. You’ll be gone by then, far away from this prison, free from your cruel warden.

Ty turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing all the way up around the beautiful, towering ceiling as he walked over to the small ornate silver bar cart, his back to me.

The flood of adrenaline and relief in my blood made me want to throw up.

I clutched the book and vial to my stomach as torment tugged violently at my chest. I believed Ty was onto me, but if I wanted to take my chance, this was it. I had to move.

I leaned forward toward Ty’s own glass, still half-full of rich burgundy wine, perched on the small ledge wedged between the window box cushions and the window, the vial of paralytic gripped in my palm feeling like a burning coal.

From where Ty stood with his back to me, the stopper on the red wine popped and glass clinked as he refilled my glass, making a soft melodic murmuring sound—was that Ty humming? —under his breath.

When I realized he was humming Ava’s Lullaby, a song he wrote for me while he’d been in prison, it momentarily broke my heart.

No. I couldn’t go through with it.

I shook this crack in my armor off. No, I had to do it.

Fuck Ty. Fuck his therapy and fuck this Stockholm Syndrome shite.

I had to return to Darkmoor. To Ciaran. To the missing girls and the vile society that preyed on them. I was the only one who could help them. The only one who would fight for them.

I had to betray Ty. Even if… even if a part of me didn’t want to. Even if a part of me craved Ty and his darkness like a captive craves his captor.

I poured the contents of the vial into Ty’s glass of wine.