Chapter 13
I wake up feeling something ridiculously soft beneath me. My head is throbbing, a dull, rhythmic ache that makes me want to punch a wall, and I blink repeatedly, trying to clear the fog from my vision. As I sit up, the dizziness hits me in a wave, and I have to steady myself.
I look down. The bedsheets are a crisp, expensive cream color—completely different from the dark, moody fabrics I’m used to at the Menagerie.
The mattress is too firm, the air smells of a different kind of expensive cologne and old money, and the room is...
well, it's a fucking palace. High ceilings with ornate crown molding, heavy velvet curtains that block out most of the light, and antique furniture that looks like it belongs in a museum rather than a bedroom.
Then it hits me. The shop. The men in black. The sweet, cloying smell of that handkerchief.
I snap upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. I scan the room frantically until my eyes land on a man seated on a plush velvet couch, casually reading a hardcover book as if he’s spending a lazy Sunday afternoon.
I gasp, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He doesn't even look up from his page.
"Good to see you're finally up, Snowdrop," he says, his voice smooth, arrogant, and irritatingly calm.
"Who the fuck are you?" I snap, immediately scrambling to the other side of the bed, putting as much distance between us as possible. I stand there, trembling but furious. "Why the hell did you bring me here?"
He slowly closes the book, marking his page with a slender finger, and finally looks me in the eye.
Those grey eyes are cold, but there's a glimmer of something—amusement, maybe—dancing in them.
He stands up and begins to stroll toward me, his movements fluid and predatory.
He stops at the edge of the bed, opposite to where I'm standing.
"The name is Lucien Ashcroft," he says, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.
My eyes go wide. My stomach drops. I take a reflexive step back, my heel catching on the carpet. Lucien’s grin widens, looking absolutely delighted by my reaction.
"Ah, so you've heard of me," he purrs. "Wonderful. That saves me the tedious trouble of listing all the terrifying threats I was going to utter to keep you from trying to bolt. I hate repeating myself; it's just so draining."
"What do you want with me?" I hiss, my voice shaking. "Are you going to kill me?"
Lucien lets out a short, genuine laugh, shaking his head as if I've just told the funniest joke in the world. "Kill you? Good heavens, no. You're far too valuable to damage, Ophelia. I'm not a barbarian."
"Why?" I demand.
"Because," he says, his voice dropping an octave, "you are the perfect piece of leverage against Rhys. A little bird in a gilded cage to make the great Rhys Castellan dance to my tune."
He begins to circle the bed, moving slowly, like a shark circling its prey. I back away, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps, until my shoulder blades hit the cold, hard surface of the wall. I'm trapped.
"You won't get away with this," I spit at him, trying to find my courage. "Rhys will fucking kill you. He'll tear you apart limb from limb."
Lucien stops, looking completely unfazed. In fact, he looks bored. "Oh, I'm sure he'll try. He's always been so... passionate. But by the time he finds the front door, I'll have exactly what I want. So, don't look so frightened, Snowdrop."
"Why the fuck are you calling me that?" I snap.
"Because of the skin, obviously," he gestures vaguely toward my face. "Pale as a drift of fresh snow, and those blue eyes... you look like a little winter spirit. It's quite charming, really."
I just stare at him. The nickname sounds gentle, almost sweet, but coming from a man who just kidnapped me, it's fucking unsettling. It's the kind of gentleness that precedes a knife to the throat.
Suddenly, a surge of desperation hits me. I don't think; I just act. I leap onto the bed, rolling across the mattress with a frantic energy, and dive off the other side, hitting the floor with a thud. I scramble to my feet and bolt for the door, my heart screaming in my chest.
I barely make it to the center of the room before a hand clamps onto my arm like a vice, yanking me backward. I'm slammed against his chest, his grip iron-tight.
"Now, now, let's calm down," Lucien says, sounding more like a disappointed teacher than a kidnapper. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just need you to stay put until Rhys gives me what I want. No need for the gymnastics."
"I am not your prisoner!" I yell, twisting in his grip, clawing at his hand. "Get your fucking hands off me!"
"You are my prisoner," he corrects me with a cheeky wink. "Though I'm happy to negotiate the terms of your residency if you stop trying to tackle me."
"I'm not afraid of you, you arrogant prick!" I scream, kicking at his shins.
"Clearly," he sighs, sounding exhausted by my outburst. "Your lack of fear is almost adorable. Truly."
Then, quite suddenly, he lets go. He just... opens his hand.
I don't hesitate. I sprint for the door, rip it open, and prepare to make a run for it. But I stop dead.
Standing directly on the other side is a man the size of a fucking mountain. He's hulking, his face a mask of indifference, and in his hand, he's casually balancing a knife that looks more like a short sword.
I freeze. My breath hitches. Slowly, very slowly, I close the door and turn back to Lucien without saying a word.
Lucien is leaning against the bedpost, looking smug as hell.
"As I was saying, Snowdrop, leaving here is practically impossible.
Even if you managed to slip past me—which, let's be honest, you didn't—and somehow got through that door, you wouldn't make it past the main gate without being caught and brought back. My security is quite... thorough."
I slump against the door, feeling defeated. "Why? Why the fuck would you even kidnap me?"
"Because," Lucien says, his tone shifting to something more serious, though the arrogance remains.
"After years of nothing—absolute, boring nothing—Rhys finally has someone he actually gives a toss about.
I wasn't about to waste that opportunity.
I've been following you for days, Ophelia.
I had men stationed by the Midnight Menagerie gates every single night, just waiting for a moment when you were alone.
But Rhys... he's like a fucking shadow. Always lurking. Until today. Today, he got careless."
He begins to peel off his expensive charcoal coat, tossing it carelessly onto the bed. "Anyway, enough of the melodrama. Make yourself at home. What do you like to eat? I'll have the staff whip something up for you."
He reaches up and starts undoing his tie, pulling it from his collar with a flourish. "Fish and chips? A proper Sunday roast? Shepherd's pie? Bangers and mash? Steak and kidney?"
I stay silent, staring at him in disbelief.
"Nothing?" He raises an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take extra good care of you, because depending on how quickly Rhys meets my demands, you might be here for a while.
And don't worry, I'm not going to tie you up or anything.
That's so... cliché. However, I will be keeping you in my bedroom.
I can't trust the other staff to keep an eye on you. "
He gives me a playful, knowing look. "I mean, look at you.
You're gorgeous. You'd probably distract a guard with one look, lock him in a closet before he even realized what was happening, steal some staff clothes, cover your face, and vanish into the night.
I simply can't risk the embarrassment of losing my prize. "
As he talks, he begins unbuttoning his shirt. He doesn't stop, sliding the fabric off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.
My mouth drops open. I immediately spin around, facing the wall. "What the fuck are you doing?!"
"Changing into something more comfortable," he replies casually.
"In front of me?!" I yell, my face heating up.
"Is there a problem?" I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Have you never seen a man's chest before? I mean, surely you've seen Rhys's... or do you two have some sort of weird kink where you only fuck with your clothes on?"
I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to scream or lunge at him. "That's different! He's the man I love! I can watch him change. I don't want to watch some random, arrogant stranger strip in front of me!"
"Too bad," Lucien chuckles. "You're missing out on quite a view, Snowdrop. Truly, a tragedy."
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. "Are you always this much of an arrogant prick, or is today a special occasion?"
"Darling, this is me on a bad day," he replies. "On a good day, I'm positively insufferable."
I don't give him a response. Not that I can think of one anyway. Until he finally sighs. "Alright, alright. I'm done. You can look now."
I wait a beat, then slowly turn around. He's swapped the suit for a simple grey t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looks less like a villain and more like a gym rat, but the arrogance is still there, etched into every line of his face.
"Do you want to change into something more comfortable?" he asks. "I can have some things brought in for you."
Suddenly, I remember. The halo.
"I... I need to use the bathroom," I say quickly.
Lucien eyes me for a moment, his grey eyes searching mine. "Very well. The bathroom has no windows and no secret tunnels, so feel free. Go ahead."
He points to a door across the room. I don't wait for a second invitation; I rush inside and slam the door shut, locking it with a click.
My heart is racing. I reach up to my head and carefully retrieve the black halo. It worked last time. It has to work this time.
I grip the cold metal in my hands, closing my eyes tight. I push every image of Rhys into my mind—his obsessive eyes, his possessive touch, the way he looks when he's completely unhinged.
Find me, Rhys, I plead silently. Please, fucking find me.