Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Seraphina
My hair is a tangle of ruined curls, my lips a perpetually downturned line of rage. The master suite—which I remember in excruciating detail from our time together—seems to mock me with its luxury. The massive bed with its cloud-soft sheets and mountain of pillows. The bathroom with its waterfall shower and soaking tub large enough for two. The walk-in closet that remains empty, awaiting the luggage Knox promises will arrive tomorrow. Everything is exactly as I remember, yet feels like a beautiful prison cell. I pace the room like a caged animal, my torn wedding dress dragging behind me, the weighteen of it a reminder of everything Knox stole from me today—my wedding, my dignity, my agency. My freedom.
"Damn you, Knox Vance," I mutter, yanking at the delicate buttons running down my spine. The dress is ruined anyway, might as well get it off. But the tiny pearls are impossible to reach, and after a few frustrating moments, I resort to simply tearing the fabric further, ripping it away from my body with savage satisfaction.
Let him see the destruction when he finds it. Let him see what happens when you cage something wild.
Standing in just my silk slip and lace underwear, I assess my surroundings, searching for weaknesses in my gilded prison. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a tantalizing view of the moonlit ocean, but I already know they're unbreakable—Knox once boasted they could withstand hurricane winds. The bedroom door isn't locked—Knox isn't that crude in his methods of confinement—but what lies beyond it? A house controlled entirely by technology that answers only to him.
I try anyway, padding barefoot through the suite's sitting area to the door. It opens silently, revealing the dimly lit hallway beyond. The house is quiet, no sign of Knox or any staff. Perhaps they've been dismissed to give us "privacy." Typical Knox, planning every detail.
Moving cautiously, I explore the mansion that feels both familiar and foreign after eighteen months away. The great room spreads before me, all sleek lines and dramatic views, the wall of glass showcasing the Caribbean night. In daylight, that view would reveal crystal blue waters and pristine white sand—paradise, if it weren't a prison.
My eyes dart to each potential exit—the massive front doors, the sliding glass doors leading to the infinity pool, the side entrance toward the garden path. Already knowing it's futile, I try each one. Locked, of course. The control panel Knox used earlier glows with subdued blue light, taunting me with its inaccessibility.
The kitchen is fully stocked, I discover. Fresh fruit in artful arrangements, the refrigerator humming with prepared meals, champagne chilling—as if this were a romantic getaway rather than a kidnapping. I consider arming myself with a knife, but immediately dismiss the thought. Not because I'm above threatening Knox—God knows he deserves it—but because I know it would be pointless. Knox would disarm me in seconds, and the ensuing physical struggle would only remind both of us how our bodies respond to each other's touch.
No, weapons aren't the answer. Information is.
I search for a phone, a computer, any means of communication with the outside world. Nothing. Knox has been thorough, as always. There's probably a communication center somewhere in this massive house, but it would undoubtedly be locked and secured.
"Looking for something, angel?"
I whirl around to find Knox leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. He's changed from his suit into loose linen pants and a simple black t-shirt that does nothing to hide the power in his frame. His feet are bare, his hair slightly damp as if he's just showered. The casual intimacy of his appearance makes this situation all the more infuriating.
"A knife," I answer honestly, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I was debating where to stick it."
His lips twitch, amusement rather than concern. "I've removed anything too dangerous. I know your temper."
"You know nothing about me anymore," I snap, keeping the marble island between us. "eighteen months is a long time, Knox."
“Seventeen months, three weeks, and four days," he corrects automatically, pushing away from the doorframe and moving toward the refrigerator. "And I know everything about you, Seraphina. Your new apartment in Chelsea. Your promotion to director last fall. Your preference for flat whites over lattes now. The fact that you've been working too much and sleeping too little."
A chill runs down my spine at the detailed surveillance his words imply. "That's stalking, not knowing someone."
He pulls out a bottle of water, uncaps it, and slides it across the counter toward me. When I make no move to take it, he shrugs. "You're dehydrated. Drink."
"I'm not a dog to be commanded," I seethe, even as I register the dryness in my throat. I haven't had anything since the champagne toast at the pre-ceremony gathering hours ago.
"No, you're a stubborn woman who would rather suffer than admit I'm right about anything." He opens another water for himself, drinking deeply while maintaining eye contact. "Even something as simple as needing hydration."
To spite him, I snatch the water and drink, hating that it feels like heaven on my parched throat. "Happy now?"
"Getting there." His eyes travel over my body, lingering on the silk slip that reveals more than it conceals. "You destroyed the dress."
"It was already ruined," I counter. "Like my wedding. Like my reputation. Like my career, probably."
"Your career will be fine. Better than fine." He settles onto one of the bar stools, maddeningly relaxed while I'm practically vibrating with rage. "The gallery will see a surge in attendance after this. People love drama."
"People love spectacle, Knox. They don't respect women associated with it. I've worked too hard to be taken seriously to become 'that woman' who was kidnapped from her own wedding."
"Rescued," he corrects. "Not kidnapped."
"Is that how you're justifying this to yourself?" I gesture wildly at our surroundings. "That you've rescued me? From what? A man who respected my choices? A relationship where I wasn't constantly fighting for autonomy?"
"From a life half-lived," he says, his voice dropping to that low register that always seems to bypass my ears and hit directly in my core. "From settling for security instead of passion. From lying to yourself about what you really want."
"What I want," I say through gritted teeth, "is to go home. Now."
"This is your home."
"This is your mansion, Knox. Your island. Your controlled environment where everything happens exactly the way you want it."
"Our island," he corrects, standing again and moving around the counter toward me. I back away, maintaining distance between us. "And yes, I control the environment. Someone has to, since you're so determined to run from what makes you happy."
"Imprisonment doesn't make me happy!"
"No?" He arches an eyebrow. "Then why are your pupils dilated? Why is your pulse racing?" His eyes drop to my throat where my heartbeat betrays me. "Why did you respond to my kiss earlier like a woman starving?"
"Physical chemistry isn't love," I shoot back, continuing my retreat as he advances. "It isn't respect or partnership or any of the things that make a relationship work long-term."
My back hits the wall, trapping me as Knox closes the remaining distance between us, not touching me but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"No, it isn't," he agrees surprisingly. "But it's a hell of a foundation to build on. And we had more than chemistry, Seraphina. We had everything until you got scared and ran."
"I wasn't scared!" The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. "I was protecting myself from being completely consumed by you. By this…this obsession you call love."
"Protecting yourself?" He laughs, the sound void of humor. "Is that what you were doing three months ago when you showed up at my penthouse at two in the morning? When you let me take you against the wall before we even made it to the bedroom? When you begged me to?—"
"Stop." My face burns with the memory I've tried so hard to forget. The night of the Artemis Gallery opening, when my triumph at securing the hottest new sculptor in New York had been dimmed by spotting Knox with some elegant brunette on his arm. The way jealousy had clawed at my insides, making me drink too much champagne. The cab ride to his building, the familiar doorman's knowing look, the elevator ride up to the penthouse I once shared.
Knox had opened the door like he'd been expecting me, like the fifteen months we'd been apart meant nothing. He'd taken one look at me in my black cocktail dress and drawn me inside without a word. We hadn't spoken—not with words, anyway. Our bodies had done all the communicating necessary, relearning each other with desperate hands and hungry mouths.
I'd left before dawn, hating myself for my weakness, vowing it was just closure, just getting him out of my system before committing to Richard. A lie I told myself to sleep at night.
"You ran away again," Knox continues, his voice softer now. "Left while I was sleeping, like a thief. But you took more than you realized, didn't you, Seraphina?"
The strange note in his voice makes me look up sharply. There's something in his eyes—something beyond possession or desire or anger. Something that looks almost like…wonder.
"What are you talking about?"
His hand lifts slowly, hovering near my stomach without touching, the gesture so unexpected it freezes me in place.
"You're carrying my child," he says quietly, with absolute certainty.
The world tilts beneath my feet. "What?"
"Our baby," he clarifies, his eyes never leaving mine. "Conceived that night you came back to me."
"That's impossible," I whisper, mind racing. "We used protection. And I'm on birth control."
"Nothing is foolproof," he counters. "And I think some part of you wanted this to happen. Wanted something that would bind us together permanently."
"You're delusional," I say, but mental calculations are already spinning in my head. My period is late—I'd attributed it to wedding stress. The subtle changes in my body—the tenderness in my breasts, the fatigue, the strange aversions to smells I normally love—all symptoms I'd ignored or rationalized.
"Am I?" His hand finally makes contact, pressing gently against my lower abdomen, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin silk of my slip. "You've been tired. Nauseous in the mornings. Your breasts are fuller." His eyes drop briefly to my chest, then back to my face. "You're pregnant, Seraphina. With my child."
I shove his hand away, panic rising like a tidal wave. "No. No, you're wrong. You're just saying this to—to trap me here, to make me think?—"
"I've had you watched," he interrupts calmly. "Not just for security, but for your health. My people reported the symptoms. It's why I moved up my timeline. Why I couldn't let you marry him."
"My timeline?" Outrage momentarily overshadows shock. "You were planning this all along? To what, kidnap me eventually?"
"To bring you home," he corrects. "The method depended on how stubborn you were being. The pregnancy simply forced my hand."
I wrap my arms protectively around my middle, mind reeling. It can't be true. It can't be. And yet…and yet part of me knows he's right. Has known, perhaps, for weeks, in the way women throughout history have known when life takes root inside them.
"If—and that's a huge if —I am pregnant," I say carefully, "that doesn't give you the right to imprison me here. In fact, it makes what you're doing even worse."
"I'm not imprisoning you," Knox says with maddening calm. "I'm ensuring the safety and well-being of the mother of my child. Of my family."
The word 'family' hits me like a physical blow. Knox and I, parents. A baby with his dark eyes and imperious manner. A permanent, irrevocable connection to this man who both thrills and terrifies me with his intensity.
"This changes nothing," I lie, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "I'm not staying here. I'm not yours to keep."
His smile is slow and certain, the smile of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.
"It changes everything, angel. And yes, you are."