Chapter Twenty
I had the table set for two at exactly seven p.m. the next day. The staff was briefed on precisely how I wanted the evening to unfold, every detail arranged the way I wanted it. They knew better than to give something less than perfection.
The dining room sat at the heart of the estate’s main floor, its long table carved from a single slab of dark walnut. Its surface was polished to a mirror finish that caught and threw back the warm light of the chandelier suspended above it.
I’d had it set with the formal service: white porcelain rimmed in gold, crystal glasses arranged in their proper order.
Candles burned in a low row down the center of the table, their light flickering softly against the dark wood and the deep red of the wine already breathing in its decanter.
The staff had prepared seared duck breast in a cherry reduction, roasted root vegetables glazed with honey and thyme, and a fresh loaf still warm enough that steam curled faintly from beneath its crust when it was set down.
The aroma filled the room—rich and sweet, the kind of smell that should have made the evening feel like hospitality rather than what it was.
I’d had her brought downstairs personally, instructing the staff to leave a dress laid out for her—pale champagne, fitted through the bodice and flaring softly at the waist.
I wanted her to feel comfortable. I wanted, perhaps more honestly, to see her in something I had chosen, in a room I controlled completely.
I heard her before I saw her—the soft, uncertain rhythm of bare feet against marble, escorted by one of the household staff. As expected, she hesitated at the threshold of the dining room like she was being led into a slaughterhouse.
Then she stepped into the light, and every measured, disciplined thought I’d prepared for this dinner scattered in the span of a single breath.
My breath caught at the sight of her, and my brows almost arched in something I was yet to name. Almost.
The dress fit her exactly as I’d imagined. The champagne fabric draped over the curve of her waist and fell in a slow flare that moved with her.
Her blond hair had been left loose, falling in effortless waves over one shoulder. And even with the wariness clearly written across her face, even with her arms half-crossed in front of her like armor, she still looked, simply, breathtaking. Amazing.
I let my eyes move over her, slow and unhurried, as I drank in the beauty in front of me.
“Didn’t I tell you?” she said, crossing to the table and lowering herself into the chair across from me. “It’s rude to stare.” Defiance flashed in her eyes.
“Didn’t I tell you?” I began, my voice calm and collected. “I only stare at beautiful women.”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “That line’s getting old.”
“Old doesn’t mean false.”
Aria glared at me like if she had the chance, she’d stab me with a fork.
Feisty. I liked it.
She unfolded the napkin in her lap with sharp, jerky movements, refusing to look at the food in front of her despite the way her eyes had already flicked toward it twice.
“What’re you waiting for?” I asked. “Eat. Or do you need permission for that?” I meant it as a joke, but judging by the scowl on her face, I’d say it didn’t land as that.
“I’m not hungry,” she blurted.
I reached for my half-empty glass of red wine. “I’m told you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” I lifted the glass to my mouth and took a sip. “Your body disagrees with you.”
A pause.
“Clearly, my body isn’t the one making decisions in this house.”
“On that, we agree,” I said, pouring wine into her glass without asking whether she wanted it. “This is my place, and I make the decisions around here. I call the shots.”
“What do you want?” she demanded. “Why did you ask for me?”
“I want us to discuss.” I slid the half-filled glass gently over to her side of the table.
“Discuss what?” Her tone was sharp and defiant. “You’ve made it pretty clear that I’m your prisoner.”
“Exactly,” I said without softening my tone. “And that’s why I wanna discuss some ground rules with you.”
Her brows arched slowly, rage evident in her gaze.
“Here’s how this is going to work.” I met her gaze directly, keeping my voice level and unhurried.
“You’ll have full access to the east wing—your room, the library, the gardens during daylight hours.
The kitchen, the sitting rooms, the gallery upstairs.
” I let the words sink in. “You are not confined to a cell, Aria. I’d like that distinction to be clear from the start. ”
“How generous.” Her voice was flat, edged. “And the rest of the house?”
“Off-limits,” I said. “My office, the west wing, the lower levels. There are things in this house you have no reason to see…”
“Like the incident at Meridian Solutions?”
The words landed hard, accompanied by a fleeting silence. She held my gaze, refusing to look away, like she was daring me to snap or something.
“I mean, that’s the genesis of my problem with you, isn’t it? In a nutshell, the reason for my kidnapping can be traced back to my witnessing what I shouldn’t have.”
I held her gaze without flinching. “Semantics aside, the practical reality is the same either way.”
“Semantics.” She let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You drugged me and had me carried out of my own apartment in the middle of the night, and you want to talk to me about semantics over…duck breast?” The slight pause came when she glanced down at her plate.
“I don’t see the problem with wanting to talk to you about the next phase of your life.”
That landed the way I intended. Not as cruel, simply as fact.
“I refuse to accept that this is the next phase of my life.” Delusion was all I heard in her voice.
I said nothing. Just sipped from my glass.
“You can’t keep me here, Rodion.” Her chin lifted, her face twisting into a frown. “Eventually, someone will notice I’m gone. My friends. My family. The university. Someone will come looking.”
A crooked smirk played on my lips, and I almost laughed at her naivety.
“Oh, they will notice, all right,” I began, my voice low and even. “In fact, it’ll interest you to know that they already have.” I cut a precise piece of the duck, unhurried.
Her brows drew together, a hint of bewilderment flickering in her gaze. “What did you do?” she growled, her grip tightening on the fork in her hand.
“Your absence has been accounted for.” I chewed on the meat in my mouth, savoring the taste on my tongue.
She glared at me, unable to understand what I was saying.
“A leave of absence was filed with your university, citing a family emergency.”
Her eyes widened slowly, shock and disbelief dancing in their depths.
I continued, “A message was sent from your phone to Iris Hart, explaining that you needed time away to process recent events.”
“You did not…” Denial and fear laced her tone
“The narrative is already in motion, and it requires nothing further from you to remain credible.”
Her face was drained of color. “This is wrong! You can’t do this!”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll come to understand soon that the only things I can’t do are the things I don’t want to do.”
She seethed in silence, her chest rising and falling with slow breaths. “I don’t care what the university might think, but Iris will never fall for that—she’ll know something is wrong.”
A pause.
“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you.” I let the words sink in for a moment. “You see, I had the message crafted in a manner consistent with how you communicate with her. She has no reason to suspect otherwise.”
“You don’t know how I communicate with her.” Her frown deepened.
“I’ve been monitoring you for well over a month now, Aria, and I have access to all your digital footprints. Phone calls. Text messages.” A pause. “In fact, I’ve read your text history with your best friend. So believe me when I tell you I know precisely how you communicate with Iris Hart.”
Her lips quivered as a flash of defeat flickered in her gaze. “You’re…you’re evil.”
“I am.”
I watched her register, fully, for what might have been the first time, the actual scope of how thoroughly I had already taken her life apart and reassembled it according to my own design.
Her hands curled into fists on either side of her untouched plate. “You must be proud of yourself, changing the trajectory of a young girl’s life to fit your twisted scheme.”
The words were meant to sting, and they did, a little.
I remained calm and composed, refusing to fall into her trap. She wanted to get under my skin, to trigger the version of me that would lose its temper and prove itself as volatile and threatening as she’d already decided I must be.
I had no intention of giving her that version.
“I understand this isn’t the life you had planned for yourself a month ago.
I’m not asking you to be pleased about that.
I’m telling you how it will function because the alternative—you spending every day fighting a structure that isn’t going to move—serves neither of us particularly well. ”
“And if I fight it anyway?”
“Then you’ll spend a great deal of energy fighting something immovable and accomplish very little beyond exhausting yourself.” I set my fork down, folded my hands, and held her gaze.
She didn’t look away.
“I’d rather you direct that energy somewhere more useful. You’re clever, Aria. Cleverer than most people I deal with in any given week. I’d prefer to see that put toward something other than testing the locks on doors that were never going to open for you.”
“I don’t like threats, Rodion. And this is the second time you’re threatening me.”
“It’s not a threat. It’s an observation. However, you’re welcome to interpret it as it serves you.”
She stared at me for a long moment, something working behind her eyes. Her chest heaved, and her expression was darker than before. She appeared to be assessing me, as if calculating the risk of acting a certain way around me.