Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Chloe
T he door creaks open, and I look up from my laptop, squinting against the light spilling in from the hallway. It’s the same maid as always, bringing in yet another bland breakfast tray.
Is it a new day already?
Another week has slipped by, and my days have fallen into a pattern.
Breakfast at seven o’clock, lunch at noon, dinner at six in the evening, where I spend two hours in Louie’s company unless business calls him elsewhere.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice hoarse from disuse as I reach out to turn on the bedside lamp, giving the room more light.
Head down, she bustles over to the small table near the door. It had arrived on my second day here, and it’s not big enough to sit at, only large enough to hold my meals. Without acknowledging me, she sets out the dishes with quick efficiency. The idea of plain oatmeal and dry toast makes me want to lodge a protest, if only it would get me anywhere.
I had lived most of my adult life subsisting on prepackaged foods or delivery. But then Holden had spoiled me with fresh baked muffins and scones, pillowy scrambled eggs, buttery hash browns, and bacon cooked just to the level where the fat crisped.
Drool floods my mouth, and my stomach rumbles with hunger for food that’s not here.
I set my laptop aside and slip off the bed. “Please, have you heard anything about Grady’s condition? Is he recovering?”
Desperation bleeds into my words, needing to know if my friend is okay, for any news of the world outside. Not even my mother has returned to the penthouse after her first check-in, leaving me alone with staff that barely speaks to me, and, of course, Louie .
The maid straightens, an apologetic smile on her lips, but says nothing. Louie’s orders, no doubt. With a curt nod, she hurries out, shutting the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the room.
I sigh and ignore the unappealing breakfast to crawl back into bed and slide my laptop onto my lap. The cursor blinks on the half-finished page. I’ve been struggling to write, to lose myself in the imaginary world of my characters, but my mind keeps circling back to thoughts of my Alphas, shuffling through hurt, anger, and worry.
The longer I stay here, the more I question my time on Misty Pines. Did I romanticize everything? Was any of it real?
Then, of course, there’s Grady. Did he recover from the fall? How badly injured was his leg? Does he know I’m missing? Or is he in rehab, wondering why I don’t visit?
The thought of my friend feeling as abandoned as me brings on the sting of tears.
The laptop screen fades to black, the reflection staring back at me showing a sad woman with dark bruises under her eyes and hollows in her cheeks. Day by day, I lose a little more weight and the energy to keep fighting. It doesn’t help that my sleep has become spotty.
I can’t risk falling asleep at night, terrified that Louie will slip into the room and catch me defenseless. So I’ve been napping in the hours before lunch, when he’s occupied with work. It’s the only time I feel somewhat safe, however fleeting.
I flex my hand. On the plus side, my cast is looser, which makes it easier to hide the suppressants I stole from my mother. I don’t dare stash them in a drawer, not when Louie could order a search of my room at any moment.
With a sigh, I turn back to my writing, fingers poised over the keys. The words come haltingly, my characters’ fictional struggles blurring with my own harsh reality.
But this tenuous grasp on the world I’ve created is all I have. So I keep going, pouring my fears and fading hopes onto the screen, praying that somehow, I’ll escape this prison.
When the door unlocks again, I blink the burn from my eyes and check the clock on my laptop, surprised to find it’s already noon. Lost in my writing, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. The food from earlier sits untouched, and I missed my opportunity to nap.
The door swings open, and the maid enters, carrying a tray laden with lunch. The scent of roasted chicken and herbs wafts through the room, and my stomach wakes up with interest.
As she replaces the dishes from earlier, I glimpse the guard stationed in the hallway. There are two of them, working on alternating shifts. Their presence is a constant reminder that, even if I slip past the servant, there’s someone else to stop me.
I clear my throat, trying to inject a note of normalcy into the oppressive silence. “Thank you for bringing in the food. Sorry I didn’t eat breakfast today.”
The maid’s eyes dart to the open door, and she bows her head, busying herself with arranging the cutlery.
“It looks cold outside,” I try again. “I think it might rain.”
Her gaze flicks to the window, where gray light filters into the room, but she remains quiet. Not that my comments require answers. It makes me feel less alone to pretend our conversation is just one-sided instead of her flat-out refusal to answer.
“Have a good day,” I call out as she hurries from the room, and the guard closes the door with a definitive click.
I turn to the new food, the once-appetizing scents now nauseating. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, but I fight against it. Louie sometimes drops by after lunch, and I can’t risk him catching me by surprise. The thought of him finding me vulnerable sends a shudder of fear through me.
Instead, I return to my writing. The story had just started to go somewhere when I was interrupted.
It takes a while to pick up the plot threads, and I just start typing when the door opens again.
Startled from the creative groove I had sunk into, my stomach twists at the familiar scent of almonds and anise that precedes Louie into the room. I snap my laptop shut, hugging it close like a shield.
He saunters past the untouched food on the table, a warm smile playing on his lips as if this were a pleasant social call. He wears a suit, so he’s stopping by during his lunch break, and his dark-blond hair lies slicked back, not a strand out of place. He’s the picture of ease, but it’s unsettling, a veneer of charm masking the danger beneath.
Predatory blue eyes fix on me as he nears. “Hard at work, I see.” He nods at my laptop. “I hope that’s what’s keeping you from your meals, and it’s not because you find my chef distasteful. I would hate to have to fire her. She’s been with me for years.”
A sour ball of guilt forms at the thought of costing someone her job. “No, the food is wonderful. I was just caught up in writing.”
“That’s good to hear.” His nostrils flare as he breathes in my scent. “I’d love to read what you’ve been so hard at work on all week.”
I clutch the device tighter, the laptop digging against my ribs. “Thank you, but I prefer to wait until it’s perfect before sharing it.”
“Ever the perfectionist, aren’t you?” Louie chuckles as he settles on the edge of the mattress. “But I like that about you. Your eye for detail.”
Louie studies me, his head tilted to the side. “I imagine it must be difficult, trying to write in an unfamiliar environment, without your usual comforts. Some authors have rituals they go through to get in the right headspace. Are you like that?”
I scoot backward to press my back against the wall. “I have some touchstones I like to keep at my desk. Not having them here throws me a bit off balance, making it harder to focus.”
Louie’s expression softens, but a calculated air remains, like he wears a mask of sympathy that he slips on and off at will. “I understand, darling. It’s an adjustment, being here with me. You’ll settle in soon enough.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I force out.
His hand runs over the soft comforter. “Tell me about these touchstones you miss?”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Just silly things. Sentimental trinkets.”
Louie reaches out to touch my bare foot, and I steel myself not to flinch back even as revulsion coils in my gut. “Indulge me. I want to know everything about you.”
The words stick in my throat, loathe to give him even this piece of me. “Well, there’s this old troll doll I’ve had since I was a kid, with bright pink hair, just like mine. I used to come up with all sorts of stories about her adventures.”
His fingertips trace over the hard knob of my ankle. “And the other?”
I lick my lips, missing the artificial flavor of strawberry from my favorite lip gloss. “A quartz crystal I got at a psychic fair back in university. The woman who sold it to me said it would give me clarity and protection.”
“Quite the eclectic collection, but surely there’s something here that will inspire you?” His hand slides higher, slipping beneath the wide leg of my lounge pants to cup my calf.
The implication hangs heavy in the air, and I fight the instinct to recoil, knowing I can’t afford to provoke him.
Not yet.
As if he can read my thoughts, Louie’s smile widens. “Or, if they will help you feel more at home, I can bring those things here for you.”
Bile rises in my throat at the thought of Louie’s hands on my cherished treasures, tainting them with his touch. Thank goodness they’re still on Misty Pines with my work laptop. The thought of him violating the sanctity of my private spaces, rifling through my past is too much to bear.
I shake my head, dislodging a few strands of hair from my messy bun. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but please don’t go through the trouble. They really are just silly little things. I’ll adapt.”
Louie’s grip on my leg tightens. “It’s no trouble at all. I want you to have everything you desire, Chloe.”
His other hand cups my chin, tilting my face up to his. My heart rabbits behind my ribs as the scent of him floods my senses, slithering into my lungs.
“Let me take care of you,” he croons, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip. “I can give you the world.”
I tremble under his touch, every instinct screaming at me to run, to fight, to do whatever it takes to stop him from claiming me. I force myself to stay still, to look guileless.
“You’re already doing so much,” I breathe, letting a hint of breathy awe color my words. “I couldn’t ask for more.”
Something dark and hungry flashes across his face, his nostrils flaring as he scents the air. “You can ask for anything.” His gaze drops to my chest, heaving with the quick gasps I can’t restrain. “Anything at all.”
He leans in closer, his face a hairsbreadth from mine. I flatten myself against the wall, turning my head away.
His hand slips from my chin to curl around the back of my neck, his fingers twining in the fine hairs at my nape. I suppress a shudder, hating how my Omega instincts clamor for me to submit to an Alpha.
Muscles rigid, I refuse to yield even as his lips graze the corner of my mouth in a whisper of a kiss. A promise and a threat rolled into one.
“I only want what’s best for you, little Omega,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll make you so happy in time.”
I close my eyes, praying for the strength to endure until I can escape and return to the Alphas who hold my heart. They treated me with tender care, unlike this snake, intent on squeezing me into submission.
Steeling myself, I turn my head to meet his gaze. “I already have everything I need. Thank you for the generous offer, though.”
Something flashes across his face, too quick to catch, but enough to send a frisson of fear skittering down my spine. It’s there and gone in an instant, replaced by that smooth, genial mask.
“Of course.” He releases me with one last caress. “If you change your mind, you have only to ask for me.”
With that, he levers himself off the bed.
“Wait!” I scramble off after him before he can leave. “Do you have any news about Grady’s condition?”
Irritation flashes across Louie’s face. “I already told you, I’m your agent now. Grady is irrelevant.”
His scent takes on a bitter edge, his displeasure at this new topic making my head swim.
“I understand. It’s just that Grady is also my friend, and I’m worried about him.” I dare to get close enough to rest my hand on Louie’s arm. “Can you call the hospital for an update? It would mean so much to me.”
He studies me for a moment, considering. “If I do this for you, what will you do to make me happy in return, hmm?”
My breath catches, and I snatch my hand back as if burned.
“Think it over, darling.” Louie smirks at my discomfort and pats my head. “I’ve got a business meeting, so I won’t be able to have dinner with you tonight. I look forward to hearing what you come up with tomorrow.”
Not expecting a response, he strides out, slamming the door.
Alone again, anxiety sets in. I can’t stay here a minute more, waiting for Louie to force himself on me. Because that’s what this is leading to. I feel it in how often he touches me. His patience is wearing thin now that he has me cornered.
For the past week, I’ve been studying the layout of the penthouse every time I’m let out of my room to entertain Louie. I’ve noted the routines of the guards and servants, gathering intel while biding my time.
It’s now or never.