34. Juliet
JULIET
S tuart pulls up in front of the three-story monstrosity that is Morpheus Calloway’s mansion.
It’s a European-style building with whitewash fronts, a slanted gray roof, and windows so pristine, it almost appears as if there’s no glass at all.
I’ve cleaned up my face somewhat by the time we arrive, but I’m sure my cheeks are red and splotchy and my eyes are swollen.
The sedan comes to a rolling stop in front of the porch steps and Morpheus descends from where he’d been waiting.
Instead of allowing Stuart to get out and round the car, Morpheus is the first one at my door.
It swings wide and he reaches a hand in.
A hand that I ignore as I set one Converse-covered foot on the ground and lift myself from the low car.
“Juliet, I’m so happy you’ve decided to come back,” Morpheus begins.
I stride past him without a word and ascend the stairs.
“Miss Donovan!” Stuart’s appalled tone has me turning to face the two of them as I reach the top.
Stuart is standing somewhat behind Morpheus, his gaze flickering from his boss to me and back again with anxious offense.
Morpheus’ face is frozen in a mask of politeness, but I can tell by the set of his shoulders and the rigidness of his jaw that he’s irritated.
A vein throbs in his throat just below the cut of his chin.
“Which room is mine?” I ask. “I’m tired.”
“Of course you are, dear.” Morpheus moves forward, taking the steps one at a time in that graceful, carefully planned way of his. The nearer he draws, the tighter my muscles contract. “I’ll be happy to show you to your room, but first, I’d like to introduce you to my staff.”
“Your staff?” I frown at him. It’s only been a few months since I last stayed here. Surely, he should remember that I already know them.
“I can do that, Mr. Calloway,” Stuart says behind him, hurrying for the stairs.
“No.” Morpheus’ tone is sharp and Stuart halts before setting his loafer-clad foot on the first step. “You may go back to your regular duties. I’ll call you if I need you.”
When Morpheus’ palm lands on my lower back, an insidious and disgusting sense of wrongness fills me.
I want to punch him right then and there when the tips of his fingers graze against my ass.
Instead of groping me, however—I should’ve known he wouldn’t do so in front of witnesses—he merely plucks my phone out of my pocket and holds it up as if he’s won a prize.
“Shall we?” Taking my phone with him and slipping it into his own pocket, Morpheus moves forward, opening the front door and motioning me inside.
My breath catches as I follow him. To anyone else, stepping inside his beautiful and wondrously large home would feel like entering a castle, but to me… all I see is a pretty cage that I’ve already escaped once before. Something tells me this time will be much harder.
Morpheus must sense my last-minute hesitation because he inclines his head towards me and drops his voice into a quiet, almost whisper.
“Do not make a scene in front of my employees, darling,” he says.
“You would not like what I do to your friends should you choose to disobey and disrespect me in my own home.”
Shooting him daggers with my eyes, I slam my foot down just inside the door and walk through. I didn’t need the added reminder that I’m not here of my own free will but because of his fucking threats.
If he’s bothered by my dirty look, though, Morpheus doesn’t show it.
In fact, he leads me through the house with a smile on his face.
It becomes quickly apparent that the reason for his insistence on introducing me to his new staff is because he’s replaced them all.
The housekeeper, the maids, the chef, even the on-site gardener and maintenance man—they’re all new faces.
Anxious thoughts creep into the back of my mind as he takes me through them all and introduces me with an arm around my waist. An hour has passed by the time we’ve finished and he directs me up to the third and final floor.
“I’ve kept your old room ready for you,” Morpheus says lightly as he approaches a white door with elaborate trim and opens it with a flourish. “As you know, my room is right down the hall should you need anything.”
I say nothing as I enter the room and glance around at the furnishings. A four-poster bed takes up a large portion of the space. In matching style, there’s also a wardrobe, twin nightstands, a vanity, and settees at both windows along either side of the bed and at the footboard.
“I’m tired,” I say, repeating what I’d said earlier and praying he’ll take the fucking hint.
He doesn’t.
“I’ve also ordered enough clothes for you to want for nothing,” Morpheus says, ignoring my statement as he marches towards the wardrobe and opens one side.
A full mirror on the inside of the door reflects the pallor of my face and the still swollen skin of my eyes.
I turn away and head for the bed, kicking off my shoes as I go.
“ Juliet .” I freeze as I reach the side of the mattress.
The creak of the wardrobe door snicking shut makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. There’s no sound, but I don’t need creaking floorboards to know that he’s approaching. Every step closer makes my heartbeat increase as that ancient need to fight or flee threatens to take control.
My breathing comes faster, stopping altogether when a familiar hand touches the side of my throat. I go still as Morpheus lifts one strand of my blue hair and slides it between his thumb and forefinger.
“I shall have someone come in to help get the rest of this out,” he says. “The blue is beautiful, but your natural beauty is a gem one must always polish to perfection to keep it pristine.”
My control snaps. “No.” Turning, I jerk my hair out of his grip and tip my chin up. “I don’t want to change my hair.”
Standing before me, his hand still raised, Morpheus frowns. “Well, I suppose if it’s that important to you…” He slowly lowers his arm, his gaze locked on mine. “Though, I’m sure you understand I’ll need something from you to prove that you’re not going to take advantage of my hospitality.”
Shoulders stiffening, I try to take a step away from him, but my legs back into the side of the bed. “Proof?” I narrow my eyes on him, suspiciously. “What kind of proof?”
The corner of his lips tips up once more and his hand comes up, flipping so that his knuckles brush down the side of my face. The gentleness of the movement belies his intentions. I remain still, glaring up at him, unwilling to break eye contact. My skin crawls.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He leans down and before I realize his intentions, Morpheus brushes his lips softly over mine. I reel back, but he’s already lifting back up and turning away.
My lips part in shock. Had he really just…?
“I’ll leave you to get settled,” Morpheus says. “Don’t concern yourself with school for the time being. I’ve informed Principal Long that you’ll be shifting to online for the foreseeable future. Just focus on getting comfortable and settling back where you belong.”
Disgust and horror crawl through me. “You… what ?” I whirl towards him as he reaches the door.
As it opens, a sight I hadn’t expected greets me. Two men, dressed head to toe in black with vests and guns strapped to their sides, are in the hall beyond. Their backs to the opposite wall and their faces impassive masks of indifference, I realize just how different this time really will be.
Before, my mother had been here with me. Before, I hadn’t been blackmailed into these walls. Before… I’d been ignorant of his intentions.
The truth means my eyes are open to everything.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, darling,” Morpheus says, smiling back at me as he greets the men with the slightest nod of his head. “Good night, dear.”
The door closes and I’m left alone. Truly fucking alone.
I bolt for the attached bathroom. My hand smacks the light switch on the wall and the bulbs haven’t even fully illuminated before my knees are hitting the cold tiled floors and I’m hunching over the toilet.
My stomach cramps as bile rushes up my throat.
I vomit, heaving into the porcelain bowl over and over again until my muscles ache and my forehead is dotted with sweat.
Tears form at the corners of my eyes, forced there as I breathe shallowly. In and out. In and out. I squeeze my eyes shut and sit back as the horribly sick sensation eases.
It takes several minutes for me to crawl back to my feet. When I do, I flush the reminder of my actions down the drain and hit the sink. I scrub my face and lips until they’re raw.
Then, and only then, do I return to the room.
My hands curl into fists. Everything inside is soft and white, a room meant for a princess—pure and perfect. I want to rip the curtains from their rods, punch holes in the walls, and shatter each poster that holds the bed up.
Did you think I was going to be happy being passed between the three of you?
Fuck. Their faces. Why had I said those words? Why hadn’t I thought of something else?
Because, a small voice in my mind reminds me, you knew they would never let you go if they knew the truth.
Soul heavy and head weary, I stumble towards the bed.
I don’t even bother to strip off the clothes I’d worn to the football game.
I crawl beneath the sheets, wishing I’d brought something of the guys’ things with me.
A jacket that I could pull closer and bury my face in as reality settles around me and I resist the urge to cry.
Instead, all I have is the smell of clean sheets that have likely never been used before and an ugly, hollow pit in my stomach.