Chapter 10 The White Swan
Chapter Ten
The White Swan
The doctor wasn’t examining her.
He was previewing her.
“I’m one of the hunters…” Dr. Tannh?user’s parting words echoed in the hollow chamber of her chest.
Every clinical touch, every lingering glance, every question designed to probe…
It might have been disguised as a health screening, but he was sampling the menu before the feast. The realization settled into Daisy’s bones like ice water as she sat rigid in the back of yet another sleek, unmarked town car, watching the unfamiliar landscape blur past the tinted windows.
She shivered, wishing she could wash the entire experience from her mind as much as she wanted to scrub away the sensation of his touch from her body. Tomorrow night, he would be among those chasing her through whatever playground they were taking her to.
He took pictures…
Were there hidden cameras too? Records? Daisy pressed a hand against her stomach, willing the nausea to subside.
The injection site on her arm still burned with a dull, chemical ache. Marked. Property for the next two days. Tagged, like some sort of offering for an auction. She had never been more aware of her fragility as a human while also feeling utterly dehumanized.
The driver, another silent stranger in a pressed black suit, had refused to answer even her simplest questions. His eyes never left the road, his leather-gloved hands stayed firmly on the wheel. She might as well have been cargo.
She needed to keep her wits. From this moment forward, she would trust no one but herself. Not the doctors. Not the drivers. Not the hosts. Not whoever JT was. No one.
Survival depended on her. The goal was getting to the finish line unscathed.
Kind of difficult when she had absolutely no idea what the terrain looked like or who she would be up against. In a place where opponents looked like helpers, and predators disguised trespasses as protocol, she needed to question everyone and trust no one.
Everyone was now a suspect.
Steel took shape beneath her ribs. Not courage, exactly, but something adjacent to it.
Calculation.
Strategy.
The cold arithmetic of survival that poverty had instilled in her long ago.
She was doing this for the money. For a chance at a life where breathing didn’t feel like drowning.
Her first priority, and her best chance at making it through this in one, sane piece, was to evade the hunters. Then she could take her million and run. Disappear into some quiet corner of the world where no one knew her name or what she’d done to escape poverty.
Two days. That was all she had to survive.
Her plan was simple. Trust no one. Keep quiet. Evade. Survive. Don’t get caught.
She would become small. Invisible. Show no vulnerability.
Daisy’s hand rose instinctively to clutch the locket as it pressed warm against her collarbone. Closing her eyes, she sent out a silent prayer. If guardian angels existed, she hoped her mother would watch over her.
Dr. Tannh?user’s warning surfaced unbidden. “If I were you, I’d put that locket in a safe place—if it’s important to you...”
It pained her to remove it, but until she knew she was safe, she needed to keep it hidden. Her fingers found the clasp, the tiny click too loud in the quiet car.
Cupping the chain lovingly in her palm, she opened the engraved gold oval. Inside, her mother’s tired eyes smiled back at her from behind the scratched glass. A younger image of herself, skinny and gap-toothed, pressed against her.
God, she missed those hugs, that feeling of sanctuary only a mother’s embrace could deliver.
Even back then, her mother had been dying by degrees. Lungs slowly filling with chemical fog that would eventually steal her last breath. It was why Daisy couldn’t stay at the laundry for much longer.
I’m trying, Mum. I’m trying to make it better.
Bringing the locket to her lips, she pressed a soft kiss to the warm metal. She couldn’t lose it. Glancing at the driver’s rearview mirror, confirming his attention remained fixed on the road, she tucked it carefully into the small front pocket of her jeans, perfectly sized for secrets.
The inconsequential weight settled against her hip like a hidden heartbeat. Still with her.
After this was over, she would finally have some closure. Daisy longed to give her mother the burial she deserved. Something beautiful. Something permanent. A garden with a headstone. A place where pink blossoms might fall in spring.
Her mother’s ashes still sat in that plain box from the council’s crematorium, tucked on the mantle beside her secondhand books. No headstone. No proper resting place. Just a peeling sticker with a name and two dates that encompassed an entire life reduced to powder.
When the car crested a hill, Daisy’s breath caught. A building rose from the landscape, flanked in towers of white marble and glittering with glass against the darkening sky. Crystalline cathedrals pierced the clouds like something from Oz, only instead of emerald it was a city of ivory.
High above them, a sign announced the building’s name in letters that flowed and curved like the necks of swans, rendered in gold leaf—THE WHITE SWAN.
The car glided to a stop beneath a portico supported by columns carved to resemble bundled, blooming lilies. Daisy didn’t move. She felt like a creature from another world, some burrowing animal that had accidentally tunneled into a realm of light and impossible beauty.
A uniformed man opened her door and stood at attention, his livery as pristine and white as the building behind him. “Welcome to The White Swan. We’ve been expecting you.” His voice was cultured, neutral, neither warm nor cold.
She blinked at the usher, her manners escaping her.
“May I?” He held out a white-gloved hand.
Daisy glanced at the driver, who met her gaze in the rearview mirror. He gave a slight nod, silently instructing her to go.
With a swoop of nerves rushing from the pit of her belly, she let the usher guide her onto a pathway of white stone that glowed faintly in the diminishing light.
Two men appeared with a gold trolley. “Your belongings will be brought to your suite.”
“Oh, I can carry—”
“No, no.” He ushered her toward the entrance before she could retrieve her lone bag. “We insist. The Steward will see that your personal belongings are delivered to your suite as soon as we complete the registry.”
“The Steward?”
“Our resident concierge.”
The air of the foyer was the freshest she’d ever breathed, softly perfumed by fresh flowers exploding from vases standing taller than most men.
The hushed lobby stretched vast and white, its marble floors veined with pale gold and ceiling painted with soft, drifting clouds.
Massive panels of etched glass depicting swans in various poses covered every wall.
Soft music chimed delicately through the atmosphere like petals falling to a still pond.
At the reception area, another uniformed gentleman slid a white tablet across the marble countertop.
“Your name, please.”
“Dais—”
“No, no. You only need to type it. From here on, your anonymity is protected.”
“Oh.” She awkwardly entered her name.
“Room nineteen twenty-two.” The clerk set a key in the usher’s gloved hand.
1922?
That number was starting to follow her like a shadow.
“This way, miss.” The usher led her to a lift paneled in mirrors and mother-of-pearl. Classical music softly followed, stirring visions of golden harps. They rose in silence and, for a moment, Daisy wondered if this was heaven.
The doors opened onto a corridor of soft white carpet. Paintings of swans adorned the walls, divided by glossy, white doors distinguished only by numbers etched in gold.
“Here we are, Nineteen Twenty-Two.” He pressed the key against the digital box, and the lock clicked.
Her bag, as promised, waited on a small ivory table by the door.
“The Steward will be with you shortly.” He dipped forward in a slight bow, then he was gone, leaving Daisy standing alone in what was easily the nicest room she’d ever stood in.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered in awe of her surroundings.
The suite was a temple to elegance. Ivory walls, marble furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows draped in pristine sheer curtains that drifted in some artificial breeze. The sitting area alone was larger than her entire flat, furnished with sofas upholstered in velvet shades of pearl.
A white granite fireplace created a stunning centerpiece on the far wall. She half-expected someone to come rushing in, declaring some mistake had been made, and escort her out the back door away from this real-life palace.
She never felt so out of place in her life. A stain on silk.
A soft knock at the door made her flinch. The door opened before she said a word.
“Good evening,” came the woman’s soft, musical greeting as a stunning woman draped in cashmere crossed the threshold. Her long strawberry blonde hair flowed over her shoulders like ripples under a golden sunset. “I’m Aunt Vanessa.”
She was so striking, her age was difficult to discern, maybe thirty-five or perhaps forty. Her voice carried a trace of an accent. Armenian, possibly. Immaculate, aside from one contrasting scar on her lip, a single flaw on an otherwise flawless canvas—proof she was actually human.
“Most of the girls call me Aunt V.” She smiled, the expression only enhancing her radiance. “May I come in?”
She was already inside the suite, but Daisy didn’t mind. Her unguarded attitude put her at ease. So natural, like a flower that had every right to grow wherever it wanted in a field.
She glided with a kind of confidence that took years to master. Graceful without theatrics. Imperious and somehow comforting.
“What do you say we take a seat and get acquainted?”
Daisy nodded and followed her to the ivory seating area.
“I know this is overwhelming.” Aunt V gently said, settling onto one of the pearl sofas. She patted the cushion beside her. “Please. Sit. Let me explain what comes next.”