22. Bianca
22
BIANCA
A s I wander through the halls of the mansion, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. After days of being confined to my room, only being let out whenever Rork deems it necessary, the ability to stretch my legs and explore my surroundings is a welcome change. Even though it's only been a few days, the monotony of those four walls was starting to drive me mad.
It’s been a week since I was given permission to leave my room, and every step I take outside my room is a small taste of freedom. It’s a chance to breathe and think and plan without the suffocating presence of Rork looming over me.
Except at meal times when I’m forced to dine with him. Other than that, I rarely see him unless he has me doing another demeaning task.
He’s usually gone during the day—doing God knows what. When it came to Papa’s dealings, I was always interested in what he had to do. But with Rork? I keep hoping that one day, he’ll find himself at the other end of a gun.
But even if Rork is rarely in the house, he seems to have anticipated my every move. The mansion is a fortress, with guards and security measures at every turn, making it clear that he has no intention of letting me slip away easily.
But what he doesn’t know is just how determined I am to leave.
So, as I wander the halls, I keep my eyes and ears open, watching and listening for any sign of weakness or opportunity. Because the first chance I get, I’m getting the fuck out of here. I don’t care if I have to brave the wilderness that surrounds me. I would rather take my chances on foot than spend a minute longer in Rork’s presence.
And then there’s the matter of my own stupid heart. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me that feels an undeniable pull toward Rork, an attraction that I can’t seem to shake. I can’t stop thinking about when he caught me playing with myself, how he brought me to an orgasm that was so amazing I can’t stop thinking about it.
I still think about his lips on mine, the way his hard body felt as I writhed against him. I still can’t believe that he actually licked his fingers after they had been inside me.
It was the hottest thing I had ever seen.
But it’s precisely because of that attraction that I find his cruel and vindictive behavior so unbearable.
It took everything in me to not hurl the soapy sponge at him when he told me I had to clean all his cars. I wanted to take my nails and scratch the paint, just to piss him off. But Papa would have been proud of me—I kept my cool and didn’t let him see how much he was affecting me.
Papa .
Anger takes hold of my heart. Fucking Rork. He’s taking out his hatred for my father on me. And while I may be the one trapped here, it’s my father who is the real victim. He’s at home, sick and dying of cancer, and instead of being by his side in his final days, I’m stuck here.
Poor Papa. How much he must be suffering, seeing these photos of me. I can only pray that Mama has run interference so he doesn’t have to. But Rork hasn’t mentioned anything about whether my father responded to his messages.
The thought of my father, frail and suffering while I’m helpless to comfort him, is enough to bring tears to my eyes. I miss him and Mama so much. They may piss me off and can be backward in their thinking, but they’re still my parents and I love them.
I blink back the tears furiously. I can’t let Rork see any sign of weakness in me. And even if he’s not here, these walls seem to talk.
Instead, I channel my anger toward determination, steeling my resolve to find a way out of this hellhole. I may be attracted to Rork on some base, primal level, but I won’t let that cloud my judgment.
I will get out of here, one way or another.
* * *
Over the next few days, I throw myself into mapping out every inch of Rork’s mansion. I memorize the layout of each room, the twists and turns of each hallway, and the schedules of the guards who patrol the grounds. It’s tedious and annoying work, but I know that every scrap of information I gather could be the key to my eventual escape.
I also try to integrate myself with the housekeeper, Alice Reynolds, hoping to glean some useful insights from her. She’s a stern, no-nonsense woman with a piercing gaze that seems to see right through my attempts at charm.
“You seem awfully interested in the workings of this household, Mrs. O’Malley,” she remarks one day, her tone laced with suspicion when I ‘accidentally’ run into her and ask her questions about the house. “Is there something I can help you with?”
I force a smile, trying to look as innocent as possible even though my heart is thumping. “Oh, no, I’m just trying to familiarize myself with my new home. I thought it would be nice to get to know the staff a bit better.”
Alice narrows her brown eyes, clearly not buying my act. “Well, I’d advise you to focus on your own duties, ma’am. The staff have work to do, and we don’t need any distractions.”
Bitch .
I nod, even though I’m internally gritting my teeth. She’s like fucking Fort Knox and refuses to release any bit of information that might help me.
But I know that when one door closes, another will open.
And that’s when I meet Lucy.
Lucy is one of the newer maids, a sweet, naive girl with a trusting nature that makes her an easy target for my manipulations. It’s nothing personal to her, but when you grow up with three other sisters, you become an expert in spinning a story to get your way.
“I’m so glad to have someone to talk to,” I confide in her one afternoon, my voice dripping with false sincerity. “It can get so lonely here, being cooped up all day. What I wouldn't do for some fresh air!”
Lucy nods, her eyes wide with sympathy. “I can only imagine, ma’am. It must be so hard, being so far from home and family.”
Exactly the opening I was looking for. God, this is too easy. Poor Lucy. It’s clear she’s either desperately lonely or never grew up with sisters. Either way, I lean in closer as if sharing a secret. “It is. Sometimes, I just wish I could walk right out the front door and never look back.”
There. I’ve set my trap. Let’s see if Lucy walks right into it.
Lucy hesitates for a moment, glancing around nervously before lowering her voice. “Well, if you ask me, the front door might be your best bet. It’s surprisingly unguarded most of the time. I think the boss assumes no one would be bold enough to try and walk out that way.”
Check fucking mate .
Excitement rushes through me at her words, but I force myself to keep my expression neutral. “Really? That’s so interesting, Lucy. I never would have guessed.”
Lucy shrugs, her plump cheeks pinkening, looking pleased to have shared such valuable information. “Just something to keep in mind, Ma’am. In case you ever need a breath of fresh air.”
I grasp her shoulders and smile widely at her. “You, my dear Lucy, are wonderful. Thank you for letting me know this.”
Lucy nearly skips away with happiness while my mind races with possibilities. If the front door is unguarded, then I know how I need to make my escape. But before I implement my plan, I need to make sure Lucy’s information is airtight.
I spend the next two nights hiding in the shadows and spying on the front door, confirming Lucy’s intel. The guards seem to focus their attention elsewhere, leaving the main entrance largely unattended.
Idiots. What kind of guards did Rork hire? Were they on sale or something?
Well, his loss is my gain.
It’s a risky gambit, but I know it might be my only chance. So, I start to plan, gathering what meager supplies I can without arousing suspicion. A few pieces of fruit and bread squirreled away from dinner, a bottle of water from the kitchens, a warm coat from the depths of my closet.
Rork had mentioned at dinner a few nights ago that would be away from the mansion for the next three days to handle some “insubordination”, so I only have a few days to get the hell out of here.
And on the third night—the night before Rork is supposed to come back—I make my move.
My heart pounds as I creep through the darkened halls, my feet feather light as I barely breathe. I’ve figured out where most of the creaky floorboards are and I expertly maneuver past them.
My heart races as I tiptoe down the stairs, every step a careful, calculated move toward freedom. I’m so close now, the front door just a few tantalizing feet away. I can almost taste the fresh air, feel the rush of freedom that awaits me on the other side.
But just as I’m about to reach for the handle, I hear voices on the other side—the unmistakable timbre of the guards.
“Did you catch the game last night?” one of them asks, his tone casual and relaxed.
“Nah, man, I was on duty. Missed the whole thing,” the other replies, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck . This wasn’t supposed to happen. The last two nights, the front door was practically deserted, a clear path to freedom. But now, with these two idiots blocking my way, my plan is crumbling before my eyes. I want to scream.
A surge of panic rises in my chest, my mind racing with possibilities. Did Lucy give me bad information? Or did these stupid guards finally wise up and realize they were leaving the main entrance exposed?
I can’t afford to dwell on it now. I have to think fast and adapt my plan. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm and focused.
The front door is no longer an option. That much is painfully clear as the two guards drone on and on about the game. But there’s another way out, one that I’ve been keeping in mind as a backup plan. The kitchen, with its unassuming back door that leads out to the gardens.
I haven’t plotted out this deviation, so it’s a huge fucking risk, but what choice do I have? I’ve come too far to turn back now. I should regroup and come up with a new plan, but the thought of spending even one more night under Rork’s roof is too much to bear.
I pivot, my slippered feet padding softly against the marble floor as I make my way to the kitchen. My heart is thumping wildly in my chest, every nerve in my body screaming with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
I’m desperate, a cornered animal willing to take any chance, no matter how slim, to break free of Rork’s prison. And if that means taking a gamble on the kitchen door, then so be it.
Papa always said that a cornered animal is just as dangerous as a wounded one.
But my heart sinks as I step into the kitchen, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Because there, sitting at the table with a glass of whiskey in his hand, is the last person I want to see.
Rork.
Fuck .
He looks miserable, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched as he stares into the amber liquid. But there’s a ferocity to him too, a barely-contained rage simmering just beneath the surface.
I really don’t give a fuck why he looks so upset. He can choke on his whiskey, for all I care. Why the fuck did he come home early? When did he come home? He wasn’t supposed to be back for another day!
He’s ruined my goddamn plan. I need to re-group and think. But first, I need to leave the kitchen before he spots me.
I try to slip back out, unnoticed, hoping that he hasn’t seen me. But as I turn to leave, his voice cuts through the silence like a knife.
“And where do you think you’re going, Princess?”
I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, I turn back to face him, plastering a fake smile on my face.
“Oh, Rork. I didn’t see you there. I was just… I came down hoping to find a snack.”
He raises an eyebrow, his gaze boring into me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. With the way the moonlight falls over his face, it makes the scar on his face stand out even more, his face looking sinister.
“A snack? At this hour?”
I nod, trying to look as innocent as possible. “I couldn’t sleep. You know how it is when you get a craving for something sweet.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I know he isn’t buying it. The look on his face is one of pure skepticism, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my nervous posture and the way my hands tremble at my sides.
“And you need a coat to come down to get a snack?” he asks, gesturing with his shot glass to the coat that’s draped around my body.
Fuck.
“It’s cold in this house. I don’t feel like freezing whenever I walk anywhere,” I say, trying to find some rational explanation for the coat. God, that sucks . It’s so unbelievable, and clearly, Rork thinks so too.
“Cut the bullshit, Bianca,” he growls, setting his glass down on the wooden table with a thud. “You and I both know you’re not here for a midnight snack. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
I swallow hard, my mind racing as I try to come up with a plausible excuse. But there isn’t one. I’m caught, my escape plan foiled by the one man I was hoping to avoid.
Fuck, fuck, fuck .
But what has Papa always said? If caught, always tell a half-truth.
“I–I just needed some air,” I stammer, my voice shaking slightly. It’s not wrong . I did want to get some air—while getting the fuck out of here. “I thought a walk in the garden might clear my head.”
Rork stands up, his tall frame looming over me as he takes a step closer. “The garden, huh? And I suppose you were planning on taking this little stroll alone, without any guards or supervision? In the middle of the night?”
I can feel the heat of his gaze on me, the way his eyes rake over my body as if searching for any sign of deceit. And despite the fear coursing through my veins, I can’t help but feel something else, too. Something dark and forbidden, a traitorous spark of desire that I quickly try to tamp down.
“I didn’t think it would be a problem,” I say, lifting my chin in a sign of defiance. “After all, you said I was allowed to explore the mansion. I assumed that included the grounds as well.”
It’s a damned lie and he knows it because Rork specifically told me I’m not allowed outside. But I’m going to work with it—gaslight him into thinking he did say I could go onto the grounds.
Rork lets out a harsh laugh, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Oh, Bianca. You should know by now that assumptions can be dangerous things. Especially when it comes to me and what I will and won’t allow.”
He takes another step closer, his body now just inches from mine. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the sharp, smoky scent mixing with the intoxicating aroma of his cologne.
“So why don’t we stop playing these games, hmm? Why don’t you tell me what you were really planning, and we can go from there?”
I feel a surge of panic rising in my chest, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he must be able to hear it. Because the truth is, I have no idea what to say. No idea how to talk my way out of this, how to salvage my shattered plan and keep my desperate bid for freedom alive.
But I have to try. I have to find a way to outmaneuver him. He can’t know the true extent of my intentions.
Taking a deep breath, I meet his gaze head-on, no hint of fear in my eyes. “I wasn’t planning anything, Rork,” I say sharply. “I just needed a moment to myself, to breathe and think without the weight of these goddamn walls closing in on me!”
It’s another half-truth, a carefully crafted lie that I hope will be enough to satisfy him. But as I watch the play of emotions across his face—suspicion, anger, and something else I can’t quite name—I know that this is far from over.
Because Rork O’Malley is not a man to be trifled with. And if he suspects even for a moment that I’m trying to deceive him, trying to slip through his grasp and out of his control?
There will be hell to pay.