Chapter 1 Chloe
The lock on the door clicked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Adrenaline surged through me, a prickling heat racing along my arms. My pulse hammered in my ears—not from fear, but from the knowledge of what would happen if I reacted.
I wasn’t scared; I was trapped. If I fought, they’d use it as proof—more evidence for the doctors, more ammunition for my father and them to keep me silenced.
Instinctively, my body folded in on itself.
My spine curved, shoulders hunching toward my ears.
The scratchy rug itched against my knees as I fixed my gaze on a spot three inches above the baseboard, letting my eyes glaze over.
Every sense stayed on high alert, waiting for the creak of boots or the cloying scent of perfume that would tell me who had come this time.
Olivia walked in.
Tall and lean, with a long weave cascading down her back.
A six-hundred-dollar Et Ochs dress hugged her slim frame.
The sharp click of her designer boots echoed like a countdown to the storm.
I knew exactly how expensive everything she wore was—she made sure to remind me she bought it with my money.
Sometimes I wondered if she dressed up just for me, to flaunt the life she’d stolen.
At twenty-two, my half-sister was the darling of the literary world. Her latest poetry collection—the one I wrote—was topping the charts. She didn’t understand the words she sold, but she knew how to sell them. She didn’t care about their meaning as long as the world worshipped her.
“Lunchtime, freak.” Her voice dripped with sweet venom. She looked like a 1920s starlet—light brown skin, eyes a shade lighter than mine—but her prettiness barely hid her cruelty. Sneaky. Calculated.
She didn’t set the tray down. She dropped it. The noise shattered the attic’s hush. A dry, graying ham sandwich slid onto the floor. Lukewarm water splashed over my feet.
“I read your latest ‘entry’ from the notebook I found,” Olivia said, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head back. I kept my eyes wide and wet. I didn’t make a sound. “The imagery about the ‘balcony of salt’ was exquisite. My publisher thinks it’s my best work yet.”
She laughed out loud. I laughed inside my head. The higher she built herself up, the harder she would fall.
Without warning, she slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side. Anger and resignation twisted together in my chest as I waited for whatever came next.
“Don’t glare at me with those dead eyes,” she spat, then turned on her heel and left, locking the door behind her.
I didn’t move for ten minutes. I waited until her voice faded down the grand staircase. Then came the second click.
Caspian.
Most of his visits followed hers, as if he waited until I was at my lowest.
Revulsion and a twisted sort of gratitude warred inside me as he stepped into the room.
The cloying scent of expensive scotch mingled with the stale attic air and the sharp tang of spilled water.
He was thirty-eight, tall and awkward in his designer suit, which clung to his thin frame as if reluctant to touch him.
His beady eyes swept over me with a predator’s patience.
He leaned close, his breath hot and laced with liquor and something rotten. “Did she hurt you, Chloe?” His voice oozed with syrupy sweetness—an imitation of concern that made my skin crawl.
I never forgot how he’d once told me, in the dark, that he could make all the pain stop. His threats always hid behind kindness, and his protection always came with a price.
My stomach lurched, but I forced a small grin.
“I brought your favorite,” he said, kneeling in front of me.
He peeled back the foil on the ceramic plate, revealing a perfectly seared filet mignon, buttery potatoes, and wilted greens.
The rich aroma filled the attic, a stark contrast to Olivia’s dry ham sandwich.
For one fleeting second, the smell eased the tension in my shoulders.
Food from Caspian was proof I was still human.
“Let me feed you, my baby girl.”
I opened my mouth. I took every bite he offered and chewed slowly. When the plate was half empty, he set it aside. His cold, clammy hand moved to my jaw. I tensed at the slick feel of his skin but stayed perfectly still.
“You’ve been such a good girl lately,” he murmured. “But if you ever stop…” He gave me that small, sad smile—the one that always made my skin crawl. “Well. My sister listens to me, and your father listens to her. So when I tell Ava you’re too fragile to be moved…”
He leaned in until his lips brushed my ear.
“There’s a facility outside Ocala. Very discreet.
They specialize in girls who can’t be controlled.
They use restraints for their own safety, of course.
I visited last year. Some of those girls have been strapped down so long they’ve forgotten how to walk.
” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Wouldn’t want that for my baby, would we? ”
He tapped his cheek. “Thank me properly.”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his cheek. He groaned, shifting so his mouth caught mine in a lingering, disgusting kiss. I didn’t flinch. I was a doll. Dolls don’t feel.
“Good girl,” he panted, patting my exposed thigh.
The frilly skirt he’d given me a month ago was far too small.
He never brought me clothes that fit—for his own perverted reasons.
“You’re almost twenty-five. Let them have what they want when the time comes.
Then you’ll be all mine, and we won’t have to stay in this attic anymore. ”
He stood, adjusted his hardened manhood through his pants, and slipped out, taking the real plate with him so there would be no evidence of his “charity.”
The second the lock turned, I rose to my feet. The single bulb overhead flickered, casting wavering shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The room felt narrower than ever. Claustrophobic. Cold.
I walked to the corner, grabbed a rag, soaked it in the chipped basin, and scrubbed my mouth until my skin stung and the taste of him was gone.
I had thought about running a thousand times.
But where would I go? The sheriff came to Sunday dinner.
The doctors my father paid had files on me thicker than my wrist. If I ran, they’d find me.
They’d sedate me. They’d put me somewhere with no windows and no mercy.
My father’s reach was everywhere—and the sickest part was that he used my momma’s own money to keep me trapped.
Momma said a lawyer would come. But who was he?
Would he protect me, or would he shake my father’s hand on the way out?
I couldn’t gamble on him. So I waited. I plotted.
I endured. Each day, the stakes grew higher.
I clung to hope with gritted teeth, counting the seconds until escape—knowing any mistake could end everything.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and let the words I couldn’t speak echo in my mind: When I am free, Caspian, I am going to kill you.
Then I looked down at the driveway.
Two black SUVs had just pulled in. A man stepped out of the lead vehicle—tall, wearing a suit that cost more than my father’s car. His eyes immediately scanned the roofline. He didn’t look like a guest. He looked like a wolf.
Killian Hart.
The man Olivia would soon marry in their outdated arranged marriage. I needed him.
He was supposed to be mine anyway. Even locked in this cage, I held one advantage Olivia didn’t: she was pretty.
I was breathtaking. I had heard it my entire life.
Nut-brown skin, dark waves that reached my waist, and a body shaped like my mother’s—wide hips, narrow waist, and curves that haunted men’s dreams. If I ever got close enough to him, the world would tilt in my favor.
Arthur didn’t know that I knew all their plans.
I moved silently, a ghost among thieves, collecting secrets and waiting for my moment.
They didn’t know the door could be opened with an old credit card from the inside because the wood was so warped.
They didn’t know they were nearly out of money.
They didn’t know I had read the letter from my mother’s attorney and memorized the name, address, and phone number.
I knew about the merger. I knew about the trust. And I knew exactly what they planned to do with me once Olivia wore that ring and the inheritance papers were signed.
I looked at the ruined sandwich on the floor, then back at the man in the courtyard. I had been a doll for fourteen years. I had eaten their scraps and kissed monsters. But I had a plan for every single one of them.
I would take back everything they had stolen.
I watched Killian look up toward my window. I made myself as visible as possible behind the frosted glass. He blinked, as if he’d seen a ghost. I smiled.
I had my weapon.
I threw the sandwich in the trash and began to undress. With every layer I shed, my hands trembled with anticipation. Tonight, I would meet the dangerous man I was convinced could take me off my shelf and out of this attic forever.