Chapter 12
Twelve
Wynter
The click of the lock echoes in the silent room, a stark reminder of my imprisonment. He’s gone. Again. Leaving me alone with the lingering scent of his presence and the unsettling memory of his lips on my foot. My skin still prickles, a mixture of revulsion and a shameful, undeniable thrill.
I walk to the wall of windows, my gaze sweeping over the endless, pristine wilderness. It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s also a vast, impenetrable barrier. My escape route is nonexistent. I am truly trapped.
The clothes he provided are soft, almost too soft.
The cashmere feels like a second skin, a luxurious cocoon.
But the comfort is a lie. It’s another layer of the cage, designed to make me forget the bars.
I run my hands over the smooth fabric, a strange mix of gratitude and resentment warring within me.
A soft knock on the door makes me jump. My heart leaps into my throat. Is it him? My breath catches.
“Dinner, Miss Blanc,” a muffled voice says from outside. It’s not his.
“Come in,” I call out, my voice a little shaky.
The door opens, and a young woman in a simple, neat uniform enters. She pushes a trolley laden with food. The aroma is intoxicating, rich, savory, utterly unlike anything I’ve smelled in years. My stomach growls in protest, betraying my earlier defiance.
She sets a small, elegant table near the fireplace. Crisp white linen, gleaming silverware, crystal glasses. It’s a setting fit for a queen, not a captive. She works efficiently, her movements quiet and respectful, her eyes never quite meeting mine. She seems almost afraid.
“Will that be all, Miss Blanc?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yes, thank you,” I reply, my voice feeling strangely formal in this surreal situation.
She bows her head slightly and retreats, closing the door behind her. I’m alone again, but this time, the room feels different. It’s filled with the promise of a meal, a temporary reprieve from the gnawing fear.
I approach the table slowly, almost reverently.
A single lily sits in a delicate vase. The plate before me holds a perfectly cooked steak, glistening with juices, alongside bright green asparagus.
A glass of deep red wine sits beside a crystal goblet of water.
And then, a small, individual chocolate lava cake, its center promising a molten delight.
My eyes sting. It’s been years since I’ve seen food like this. Evilin’s dinners were always a performance, a display for her guests, while my plate was often meager, my appetite constantly scrutinized. Here, there is abundance. Unquestioning indulgence.
I sit down, my hands trembling slightly as I pick up the heavy silverware. The first bite of steak melts in my mouth, rich and flavorful. Each mouthful is a revelation, a sensory explosion that makes me realize just how starved I’ve been, not just for food, but for simple, unadulterated pleasure.
The wine is smooth, warming my throat as it goes down. It loosens the tight knot of fear in my chest, replacing it with a hazy, dangerous calm. I eat slowly, savoring each bite, acutely aware that this is a gift from my captor. A calculated kindness.
He wants me to be comfortable. He wants me to be strong. He wants me to be… grateful.
The thought is chilling, even as I spoon the warm, gooey chocolate from the lava cake into my mouth. He is not just feeding my body; he is feeding my mind, subtly eroding my resistance with every luxurious bite.
I finish the meal, feeling sated, almost drowsy. The wine has made my limbs heavy, my thoughts hazy. I push the plate away, a profound weariness settling over me. The fight has been long, and I am tired.
The door opens again, and he steps in. Kaden. He’s changed into dark, tailored pants and a black silk shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of hard, muscled chest. He looks less like a monster and more like a dangerous, impossibly attractive man.
“You ate,” he observes, his eyes sweeping over the empty plates. A hint of satisfaction plays on his lips.
I nod, unable to speak. The wine has stolen my defiance.
He walks to the table, picking up the rose from the vase. He twirls it between his fingers, his gaze intense. “Stargazer lilies are your favorite, I believe?”
My breath hitches. How does he know that?
No one knows that. It was a secret I shared only with my mother, a fleeting memory from a happier time.
The knowledge that he has delved so deeply into my past, into the most private corners of my memory, is a profound violation.
It’s terrifying. And yet… the fact that he remembered, that he even knew, sends a strange warmth through me.
He sees the shock on my face. His smile widens, a slow, predatory curve. He knows he has struck a chord. He knows he has chipped away another piece of my armor.
He walks toward me, the lily still clutched in his hand. He stops directly in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. His touch is light, almost tender. He tucks the lily behind my ear. The delicate petals brush against my skin, a soft, intoxicating caress.
“You look beautiful, Wynter,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr that vibrates through my bones.
My eyes are wide, locked with his. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I am a deer caught in the headlights, mesmerized by the approaching danger.
He leans in, his scent enveloping me—woodsmoke, leather, and something else, something uniquely Kaden. His lips brush my ear, sending a shiver through me.
“Sleep now,” he whispers, his voice a hypnotic command. “You’re safe. You’re mine.”
And then, a strange, heavy darkness descends. My eyelids grow impossibly heavy. My body sags. I don’t fight it. I can’t. The last thing I feel is his hand gently stroking my hair, and the last thought that flickers through my wine-addled brain is a terrifying, undeniable truth:
He is right. I am his.