Chapter 8 - Elena
Everything has happened too fast. Way too fast.
That thought loops through my head again and again when I wake up, heart hammering in my chest like I’d just woken up in the middle of a nightmare.
For a split second, I don’t know where I am. I only register that the ceiling above me looks unfamiliar, and the room doesn’t smell like my place. Then, I tense all over as everything crashes back.
The event at the club, the abandoned warehouse, then Wyatt…the car chase, the lawyer’s office, the marriage I never asked for.
My stomach twists, and I sit up too fast, causing the room to spin. Despite the controlled temperature, the spare bedroom feels cold, lacking decor. It feels more like an upscale hotel room than anything.
Glancing down at myself, I find the black oversized shirt swallowing me up, along with the sweatpants I had found in the closet. Even acknowledging that I’m potentially wearing clothes that belong to him makes me squirm, and the faintest flutter of heat in my chest feels like a betrayal.
This is ridiculous…all of this.
Being tied to him in such a bogus way, along with the fact that I’m trapped in a room in his condo against my will. Locked away like I’m not a person.
My eyes shift to the door, where it remains closed and surely sealed tight. That thought alone makes me grit my teeth.
A small part of me wants to just stay in here and avoid him as much as possible, but the growl of my stomach says otherwise.
The last thing I ate was a few catered finger foods I snagged in passing while preparing for the event, and it was hardly enough to sustain me then, let alone after a full night of pure chaos.
I have to eat something, even if it means begging Wyatt to let me out.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand, and every muscle feels tighter than usual as I cross the room and reach for the door handle. I hesitate for a beat, wondering if it’s even worth trying. Then I brace myself for resistance.
Surprisingly, it turns easily in my hand. It’s unlocked, and the revelation makes me pause.
The fact that I’m not fully locked in here shouldn’t be such a big deal, but it is when the thought of being stuck feels more like a rock sitting in my gut.
I stare at the door for a long moment, then with a measured breath, I slowly pull it open and peer into the hall.
The space is quiet and full of soft morning light. I don’t hear any voices or see anyone, which feels both like a blessing and a potential problem in disguise.
Somehow, it seems like a test to me. As if Wyatt is trying to determine just how trustworthy I am, which makes my pulse spike.
Stepping into the hall, barefoot, I take everything in hesitantly. The whole place looks pristine, with clean lines, muted colors, and fresh scents. Nothing looks out of place, and somehow, it feels more like a temporary place than a home.
As much as I want to avoid him, I know I can’t forever. Not when he is my means to everything right now.
Following the faint sound of movement up ahead, I keep going until I find the kitchen. And there he is.
Wyatt stands with his back to me at a section of counters, broad shoulders filling up far too much space.
He braces himself on the marble surface, while the other grips a coffee mug, and the smell fills the room.
Dressed in a simple dark shirt that matches the one I have on, with his hair still damp after having a shower, he looks strangely domestic.
It feels like a scene I’m not supposed to see, especially not after last night.
Instinctively, I want to turn around and leave. To retreat back to the bedroom and lock myself in before he notices me. But as strong as that urge is, I don’t.
Straightening my spine, I pull in a steadying breath and brace myself to confront him. I won’t run away from him, even if he likely expects me to.
Immediately, he notices. His gaze lands on me, sharp and assessing, like he’s expecting me. Then, he drops into something more neutral.
“Morning,” he murmurs flatly.
Not feeling the need to return the greeting, I fold my arms over my chest to anchor myself. “You left the door unlocked.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So it wasn’t an accident?”
“No,” he says simply, as if completely unbothered by me and the situation. His calmness makes me uneasy now that I’ve had the chance to sleep and barely begin to process what happened last night.
“Why?”
Wyatt turns fully, leaning back against the counter while he sips his coffee. “Because you’re not a prisoner.”
I huff out what sounds like an amused breath, but it’s more bitter than anything. “You locked me in last night.”
“I had to keep you secured for the night,” he corrects without hesitation. “It’s different.”
“It really isn’t.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and there’s a notable yet quiet dominance in them. “You slept, you’re alive, and you’re standing in my kitchen instead of trying to break your way out. I think I made the right call.”
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
“Good,” Wyatt murmurs, sending a strange thrill down my spine at the subtle praise that shouldn’t mean anything. “I prefer it that way.”
He’s so flippant and casual about everything, and it makes me feel like I’m moments away from losing my mind. But I refuse to let him control every inch of space between us, so I take another step forward.
“Whatever game you’re playing, my brothers will find me,” I warn him, trying my best at intimidation, even if it’s not usually my strong suit. “And when they do, they will kill you.”
Something flickers in his eyes, and despite assuming it’s fear at first, I know better. It’s a calculation.
“They won’t.”
I scoff and narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know them, but apparently you already know what they’re capable of.”
“I know enough,” he mutters, staying calm regardless. “And I know that Vito has already given me something.”
My brows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means…” he begins, setting the mug down while keeping his attention on me. “That if there’s any footage of your capture from last night, be it security cameras, phones, whatever, Vito’s face is the one all over it. Not mine.”
I pause at the claim, immediately realizing that he’s right.
Vito was the only man I saw there, and he grabbed me himself. Wyatt wasn’t anywhere near the club, which wouldn’t make him a lead.
“He was sloppy because he assumed he’d have enough safety measures after getting his payout. If anyone tracks your disappearance back to the club, then they’ll follow the trail back to him.”
“And what about you?” I ask tersely.
Wyatt leans closer, just enough to seem intentionally intrusive. “I don’t exist.”
The certainty with which he speaks makes my skin crawl, and I do my best to school my expression. Any reaction from me is a win for him.
“They don’t know I have you,” he continues, standing up straight again, crossing his own arms. “Not yet, anyway.”
Staring at him, I try to ignore the way my heart pounds still. “And you really think you can hide me from my family?”
Wyatt shrugs annoyingly. “I don’t need to hide you forever. Just long enough.”
“For what?”
His jaw tightens like I’ve struck a nerve. “You don’t need to know that.”
The more he dodges and deflects, the more anger flares inside my chest, hot and immediate. “You don’t get to decide what I need.”
“Right now, I do.”
Even if I should be watching what I’m saying, it doesn’t stop me from stepping even closer, encroaching on his space just like he did to me last night. “You’re delusional if you think this ends well for you.”
Wyatt doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds my gaze and doesn’t even show an ounce of doubt, even if he should. “This ends with me getting what I want.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, feeling something aggravated and ugly churning in my chest. “Power? Money?”
His gaze sharpens, giving me that dangerous look again. “You don’t know my motives.”
“Then tell me. Because from where I’m standing, you kidnapped me, forced me to marry you without even telling me, and now I’m locked in your place. It sounds pretty cut and dry to me.”
“You were already kidnapped. I took you out of it,” he counters, as if that negates the rest of the harm he has caused.
“You replaced one cage with another.”
“This cage has food and security. It could be a lot worse,” he mutters, looking at me pointedly.
I grit my teeth. “And bars.”
At this, Wyatt doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stares at me, and the tension between us is thick enough to feel stifling. He seems more irritated now, given how I’m not backing down when he likely assumes I should.
“Call it what you want, but we both know what this is, Vic,” I return with a touch of sarcasm.
He pauses, brows furrowing. “What?”
“That’s what your lawyer called you, isn’t it? That’s the man I’m supposedly married to. You seem good at creating false things.”
Then, he exhales, like he’s moments away from truly losing his patience. “Don’t, Elena.”
I still don’t back down. “Why? I thought you didn’t care what you’re called.”
“That’s how everyone else addresses me,” he says, a bit firmer than before. “But not you. Call me Wyatt.”
The correction catches me by surprise, but only because it somehow feels more personal. Like he’s trying to share this one thing with me.
Blinking back at him, I pull myself together and sigh. “Fine. Wyatt...what’s your plan?”
His expression shifts into something unreadable until he wrangles it in again. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” I snap back, surprising even myself by how tightly wound I’m being. “You forced me into this. Whatever you’re doing, I’m involved now, whether you like it or not.”
“That was unavoidable.”
Still frustrated, I scrub a hand down my face. “You keep acting like you had no choice. Like you couldn’t just let me go—like you still can’t.”
“I had choices,” Wyatt returns, taking up a half step between us with a darker gaze now. “But none of them were good.”
“Stop dodging my questions.”
“Then stop asking them,” he utters.
Standing there with minimal space between us, I force myself not to focus on how close he is or how his cologne surrounds me like a temptation. Luckily, his infuriating self keeps me on track well enough.
Every word of his feels deliberate and measured, as if he’s unwilling to let me catch him stumbling for even a second.
Yet, I can see something else beneath the surface. Something he’s not telling me, and something I have the urge to pick at.
I study him for as long as I can stand it, letting the pieces click into place slowly but surely. “You haven’t rushed to sell me off to anyone, and given how I share your name now, you aren’t planning to…you’re really not doing this for money, are you?”
Watching him closely, I catch how the smallest tells betray him, showing more vulnerability than I’m sure he wants. His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze so quickly that I almost miss it entirely.
Interesting.
“It’s not about my brothers either. They didn’t come into the equation until after you realized who I am,” I continue, not bothering to hide my train of thought, well aware that each one is getting me closer to whatever he’s guarding.
“You don’t want them dead. If you did, you’d be using me differently. ”
“Stop digging,” he warns, gaze hard.
“It’s not about me either…not really. You weren’t expecting to find me at that warehouse.”
With a tight jaw, Wyatt leans closer and grits out, “Enough.”
A flicker of satisfaction moves through me at the thought of making him squirm, if even a little bit. “What is it then? Who are you trying to hurt?”
Despite his frustration, he takes another breath and lets the silence fill in the gaps before speaking. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”
I don’t expect that sincerity from him, yet it only makes that tension worse.
For a while, it almost seems like he’s about to tell me everything, if only to get it off his chest, or to shut me up. His eyes pin me there while something raw and conflicted burns beneath the surface. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
“You ask too many questions,” he says plainly, closing back up again.
My own anger sparks in response to how easily he controls himself and the situation. “And you never answer them.”
“That’s the point.”
The finality in his tone aggravates me, but I bite my tongue. He’s being cagey for a reason, and that’s something to keep note of. It’s enough for now.
With a feigned air of calmness, Wyatt pulls away from the counter, reaching for a jacket draped over one of the chairs tucked under the island. The movement feels like a definitive end to the conversation, even if I’m not done with it.
I tighten my arms over my chest. “Where are you going?”
“Out,” he mumbles, sounding tired of me now, not caring if he comes across like a grump.
My brows pinch. “You’re leaving me here?”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You stay inside,” Wyatt says, sliding the jacket on while barely giving me a glance. “No calls, no testing the locks, and no leaving. Wait until I get back.”
I huff out an irritated breath and lean back against the counter behind me. “And if I don’t?”
Finally, he looks at me, letting me feel the full weight of those dark eyes. “Things get unpleasant for everyone.”
The words startle me, surprised by the quiet threat. So far, he hasn’t been aggressive, even if that’s exactly what I’ve been expecting from him.
Then, before I can argue, he’s gone.
The door closes behind him, locking securely, and for a long time, I just stand there. My heart races, and my thoughts spiral uselessly.
I’m married to someone who doesn’t want to be known, let alone perceived, and I’m trapped in a house with a man who refuses to explain himself.
Even worse, I feel far too curious about him for my own good.