CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sasha
I WAKE TO sunlight streaming through the windows, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then it all comes rushing back—Marco, the kiss, our agreement. Two days. That's all I have to endure, and then I can get Lily and leave this nightmare behind.
Buddy is curled at the foot of the bed, his breathing steady. He seems to have recovered from last night's episode. I reach out to stroke his soft fur, taking comfort in his familiar presence among all this chaos.
The events of yesterday replay in my mind—Baz in the hospital, Marco threatening to keep me here, that kiss that I should regret but somehow don't. I press my fingers to my lips, as if I might still feel the pressure of his mouth against mine.
A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts.
"Who is it?" I call, sitting up and pulling the covers around me.
"It's Ana," a woman's voice responds. "Mr. Walsh sent me with breakfast and some clothes."
Mr. Walsh. The formality makes me want to laugh. Or scream. I'm not sure which.
"Come in," I say, quickly combing my fingers through my tangled hair.
Ana enters, a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked dark hair. She carries a tray loaded with food—toast, eggs, fruit, and coffee that smells divine. Behind her, two men bring in several shopping bags.
"Good morning, Miss Gillespie," she says with a slight accent I can't quite place. "Mr. Walsh thought you might like some fresh clothing." She gestures to the bags. "And he said to tell you that you may use the gardens this morning if you wish. Buddy is welcome there as well."
I blink in surprise. "The gardens?"
Ana nods, a hint of warmth in her professional demeanor. "Yes, miss. It's a lovely day, and Mr. Walsh thought you might appreciate some fresh air."
The men set down the bags and exit without a word. Ana places the breakfast tray on a small table by the window.
"Mr. Walsh had to step out on business but will return before the event tonight," she explains. "He's arranged for a hairstylist and makeup artist to arrive at three."
I nod, taking this in. A brief flash of freedom, even if it's just the gardens, sounds like heaven after being cooped up inside.
"Thank you, Ana," I say, genuinely grateful for her kindness.
After she leaves, I investigate the shopping bags. They're filled with clothes that look suspiciously my size—jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, even underwear, and bras with tags still attached. The thought of Marco selecting lingerie for me sends heat rushing to my cheeks, though it was probably Ana who did the actual shopping.
I choose a pair of jeans and a simple green T-shirt, then quickly shower and dress. The clothes fit perfectly, which is both convenient and unsettling. How did he know my size?
Buddy perks up when I tap my thigh, his tail wagging furiously. "Come on, boy," I say, scratching behind his ears. "Let's get some fresh air."
Downstairs, I'm met by two security men who silently escort us to the back of the house. One of them opens a set of French doors that lead to the most spectacular gardens I've ever seen.
The estate grounds stretch out before me, meticulously landscaped with vibrant flower beds, stone pathways, and ancient trees. A fountain sparkles in the center, the sound of running water immediately soothing. Beyond the formal gardens, I glimpse rolling lawns that seem to extend forever, bordered by dense woods in the distance.
It's breathtaking, and for a moment, I forget that I'm essentially a prisoner.
Buddy dances around my feet before darting forward, eager to explore. I let him lead me down one of the stone paths, conscious of the security men keeping a discreet distance behind us. They're giving me space, but there's no doubt they're watching my every move.
We follow the path to a small rose garden enclosed by neatly trimmed hedges. Stone benches offer a place to sit and admire the blooms, which range from deep crimson to delicate pink. I settle on one of the benches, unclipping Buddy's leash so he can sniff around the enclosed area.
The morning sun warms my skin, and I tilt my face upward, closing my eyes. For just a moment, I can pretend I'm somewhere else—somewhere normal, somewhere safe. But the illusion shatters when I open my eyes and see the high stone wall that surrounds the entire property. It must be at least twelve feet tall, with security cameras positioned at regular intervals. A beautiful cage is still a cage.
I'm so lost in thought that I don't notice the man approaching until he's almost upon me. He's massive—nearly seven feet tall with shoulders like a bull and a neatly trimmed goatee. Despite his size, he moves with surprising grace.
"So you're the one causing all the fuss," he says, his voice a deep rumble that seems to reverberate in my chest.
I stand quickly, instinctively calling Buddy to my side. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which remain cold and assessing as they travel slowly down my body. "Gerald," he introduces himself with a slight bow that feels mocking. "I work for Marco's father."
Something about the way he says it makes my skin crawl. There's an implicit threat there, a reminder that Marco isn't the only power in this family.
"I'm Sasha," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "And this is Buddy."
Gerald barely glances at the dog. "Marco's never brought a woman home before," he says, taking a step closer. "Not one he didn't intend to dispose of, anyway."
My blood runs cold at his words, but I refuse to show fear. "Is there something you need, Gerald?"
He chuckles, a sound like stones grinding together. "Just curious about the girl who's got Marco Walsh wrapped around her little finger. The boss has a soft spot for you, doesn't he?"
The way he says "soft spot" makes it sound like a weakness, something shameful. He takes another step toward me, close enough now that I can smell his cologne—too strong, too sweet.
"I wonder what makes you so special," he muses, reaching out as if to touch my face.
I step back, my heart hammering. "I'm not special. I'm just repaying a debt."
Gerald laughs again. "Is that what you tell yourself?" His eyes flick to the security men, who I realize with growing dread have moved farther away, seemingly absorbed in their own conversation. "Maybe I should find out what Marco sees in you."
Buddy growls, sensing my distress. Gerald ignores him, taking another step forward, backing me against the stone bench.
"That's close enough, Gerald."
Marco's voice cuts through the garden like a blade. I turn to see him striding toward us, his expression thunderous. I've never been so relieved to see anyone in my life.
Gerald's demeanor changes instantly, though the smile he offers Marco is anything but sincere. "Just getting acquainted with your guest, Marco. No harm in that."
Marco stops a few feet away, his posture deceptively casual, but I can see the tension coiled in every muscle. "Sasha," he says, not taking his eyes off Gerald, "take Buddy and go back to the house."
"But—"
"Now." The word leaves no room for argument.
I hesitate for a second, then tap my thigh again, and Buddy follows me back toward the house. As I pass Marco, he touches my arm briefly—a quick, reassuring gesture that steadies me more than it should.
I don't go straight to the house. Instead, I stop just out of sight, behind a large ornamental shrub, my curiosity overcoming my better judgment.
"I told you to stay away from her," Marco says, his voice low and dangerous.
Gerald's response is equally quiet but laced with insolence. "Your father sent me to check on things. He's concerned about your…distractions."
"Sasha isn't a distraction. She's under my protection."
"Protection?" Gerald scoffs. "Is that what you're calling it now? The men are talking, Marco. They say you've gone soft over some girl."
"The men should be more careful about what they say," Marco replies, his tone sending a chill down my spine. "And so should you."
"Your father won't be pleased when he hears about this."
"My father doesn't dictate who I allow into my home."
Gerald's laugh is ugly. "Keep telling yourself that, boy. But we both know who really runs this family."
There's a moment of silence, and when Marco speaks again, his voice has dropped even lower, forcing me to strain to hear him.
"If you ever go near her again, if you so much as look at her, I'll kill you myself," he says with such cold certainty that I believe every word. "Father's man or not."
I don't wait to hear Gerald's response. I hurry back to the house, my mind racing. Marco's words echo in my ears—not just the threat to Gerald but the claim that I'm "under his protection." The possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable.
Ana meets me at the door, her expression carefully neutral. "Miss, Mr. Walsh has asked that you remain in your room until he returns."
I nod, too shaken to argue, and follow her upstairs. Buddy trots alongside me, occasionally glancing up as if sensing my unease.
In my room, I pace restlessly, trying to make sense of what just happened. Gerald hadn't just been intimidating—he'd been testing Marco, pushing to see how far he could go. And Marco's reaction had been…intense. Possessive in a way that should frighten me but instead sends a confusing thrill through my body.
Hours pass, and as evening approaches, I grow more nervous.
A soft knock at the door startles me. I open it to find Ana standing there with several women behind her, carrying cases of equipment.
"Miss Gillespie," she says, all business. "It's time to prepare you for tonight's event."
I nod, stepping aside to let them in; I can't help but wonder what I've gotten myself into.
Marco Walsh might be dangerous, but it seems his family is even more so. And tonight, I'll be walking straight into their world, on his arm.
God help me.