Chapter Eight
Savannah
I march back to the guest room, my fists clenched at my sides. Noreen’s words still swirl in my head, but they don’t make me any less angry. Loyal? Protecting me? Rylan hasn’t even told me why I’m here, let alone why I should trust him.
The solid oak door slams shut with more force than I intended,the sound reverberates through the hallway as it rattles in its frame. My entire body feels like a coiled spring, every muscle taut, braced as though expecting a fight to erupt at any moment. My pulse pounds in my ears, so loud and frantic I wouldn’t be surprised if Noreen could hear it from wherever she is.
Gritting my teeth, I press my palms hard against my temples, the pressure sharp but grounding as I struggle to steady my breathing. I need to calm down, to get control of the storm brewing inside me. Letting this anger consume me won’t solve anything.
I inhale deeply, the air feeling too thin, too sharp, and make my decision. Staying here isn’t an option.
I need to leave. Now.
I scan the room, looking for anything that might help me get out of this ridiculous situation. My options are limited—no phone, no car, no clue where I even am. The mansion might as well be a fortress, and the thought makes my chest tighten.
The sharp knock on the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. Before I can say anything, Rylan steps in, his expression hard and unreadable.
“You can’t just walk in here,” I snap, my frustration boiling over.
“I don’t need permission to walk into my own house,” he replies, shutting the door behind him.
The audacity of this man.
“This isn’t a house; it’s a prison,” I spit, crossing my arms. “And you’re the warden.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t take the bait. “It’s for your safety, Savannah. You need to understand that.”
“What I need,” I say, stepping closer, “is to know what the hell is going on. Why am I here? Why won’t you let me leave? And what are you so afraid of?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says, practically growing at me.
“Try me,” I challenge, holding his gaze.
He takes a step closer, and I immediately regret my bravado. There’s something about the way he moves—calm, deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.
“You’re safer here,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Out there, you’re a target.”
“A target?” I repeat, my heart pounding. “Why? Because some creep tried to assault me? That’s not exactly unique, Rylan.”
His eyes darken, and he’s suddenly much too close. His nearness is as intimidating as it is comforting. “It’s not just about him. There are people who would hurt you to get to me.”
“Why?” I demand, but my voice wavers. His intensity suffocates me, his proximity electric.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze drops to my lips before snapping back up to meet my eyes. The air between us shifts, charged with something I don’t want to acknowledge. My pulse quickens, and I hate that he can probably hear it.
“You’re staying here,” he says finally, his voice like steel. “And that’s the end of it.”
My anger flares, cutting through the tension. “You don’t get to decide that. I didn’t ask for your protection, and I sure as hell didn’t ask to be kidnapped and held hostage in your stupid mansion.”
He steps back, his jaw tight. “Fine. Think what you want. But you’re not leaving.”
“Watch me,” I say, pushing past him toward the door.
Before I can reach it, his hand catches my arm. It’s not rough, but it’s firm enough to stop me. I spin to face him with a glare.
“Let go of me,” I hiss.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. “Savannah,” he begs, his voice softer now. Almost pleading. “Please. Just trust me.”
Something in his tone gives me pause. It’s not just commanding; it’s desperate. Vulnerable. I don’t know what to make of it, and that scares me almost as much as his intensity.
He lets go and steps back, his expression shuttered. “Stay in this room. I’ll come back when I can explain everything.”
“Don’t bother,” I snap, turning away.
The door closes behind him, and I’m left alone, my anger and confusion swirling in equal measure.
I don’t know what Rylan’s deal is, but one thing is clear: I can’t stay here. Not with him. Not like this.