Chapter 18
The silence in the bedroom is fucking deafening. Rhys has been gone since the crack of dawn, some "business" outside the Menagerie that he wouldn't give me the details on. Knowing him, it’s probably something bloody gruesome or some twisted power play to keep the locals shaking in their boots.
I know that's how he is above the police.
I’m lounging on the bed, feeling small and exposed in the vastness of the room, with Shadow sprawled across the rug like a living piece of obsidian. The big cat is staring at me, his golden eyes blinking slowly, as if he’s wondering why the hell I’m just sitting here rotting away from boredom.
A sharp knock at the door breaks the quiet. I jump slightly, my heart doing a little flutter. “Come in.” The door opens and in walks the butler, his face a mask of professional indifference. He’s carrying a massive silver tray laden with food and a sleek black box topped with a perfect, silk bow.
"Your lunch, Miss Ophelia, and Master Shadow’s meal," he says in that clipped, posh tone. He sets the tray on the nightstand with a precise clink and bows slightly. "I shall leave you to your privacy."
As soon as the door clicks shut, I scramble off the bed.
I don't even look at my own food first; I go straight for the massive bowl meant for Shadow.
I slide it onto the carpet, and the jaguar lets out a low, hungry chuff, diving into his meal with a primal intensity that would terrify anyone who isn't me.
I open my own plate—my favorite, of course. The bastard knows exactly how to feed my cravings even when he's not here to watch me eat. I grab the black box and sink down onto the carpet next to Shadow, the soft fur of his shoulder brushing against my arm.
Attached to the box is a black velvet envelope, sealed with the Midnight Menagerie logo—that haunting skull entwined with roses. My fingers tremble slightly as I break the seal and pull out a piece of heavy, black cardstock with ink that looks like dried blood.
My sweet, cracked little doll, the note reads.
The world feels empty without the sound of your breath, but the thought of you waiting for me, trapped in my sanctuary, makes my cock ache.
I can feel you from miles away, Ophelia.
I can smell your fear and your longing. Don't think for a second that because I'm gone, you aren't mine. Every inch of your skin, every shudder of your heart, belongs to me. Be a good girl and wait for me. I’m counting the seconds until I can sink myself back into you and own your soul all over again.
I feel a hot flush creep up my neck and settle in my cheeks. Psychotic, obsessive, absolutely mental—and for some reason, it makes my stomach flip in the best possible way. I set the note aside and lift the lid of the box.
Resting on top is a single black rose, its petals so dark they look like velvet dipped in ink. I lift it, inhaling the deep, heady scent. It smells like the greenhouse, like rain and something metallic. I smile, a genuine, small thing, and set the flower beside me.
Underneath the rose lies a phone. A brand new iPhone, matte black and sleek, looking like a piece of futuristic obsidian.
I pick it up, seeing my own reflection in the dark screen.
I expect to feel that old surge of panic, that urge to throw the thing across the room, but it doesn't come. I’m too far gone into his madness for that.
Suddenly, the screen lights up. The lock screen is a photo Rhys took of me while I was asleep in bed—raw, vulnerable, and completely his.
A notification pops up from a contact saved simply as: Home
I open the text, and my breath hitches.
??: The way you’re crossing your legs right now... I can see your knickers, love. Pure torture. I can almost taste you from here.
My mouth drops open. I freeze, my heart hammering. I slowly look around the opulent room, scanning the cornices and the shadows, until my eyes land on a tiny, discreet lens embedded in the molding of the ceiling.
"You absolute pervert!" I hiss, glaring at the camera. I immediately yank the hem of his oversized shirt down, covering my thighs and my lace knickers in a frantic rush.
Before I can even type a scathing reply, the phone vibrates in my hand. It’s him.
I answer it immediately, my voice a mix of annoyance and arousal. "Aren't you supposed to be too busy with your 'business' to be a fucking pervert, Rhys?"
His laugh comes through the speaker, deep and rumbling, sounding like a predator who just caught its prey.
"Business is business, darling, but keeping an eye on my property is a full-time job.
You looked far too tempting to ignore. Why the sudden modesty?
You know I've seen every single pore of your body. "
"It's the principle of the thing, you mental bastard!" I snap, though I'm leaning back against the bed, a smirk playing on my lips.
"I love it when you're feisty," he purrs, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that dangerous, velvet growl. "It makes the thought of breaking you down later so much more satisfying. Tell me, love... how do you like your first phone? Does it feel right in your hand?"
I look at the sleek device, then back at the camera. "I'm not freaking out or trying to smash it into a thousand pieces, so I suppose that's a good thing, right?"
"A very good thing," he murmurs. "It means that after breaking you, I have almost achieved my task of putting you back together, Ophelia. You're becoming exactly what I want you to be. My perfect, ruined little doll."
"You're absolutely delusional," I whisper, though I'm clutching the phone tight.
"Perhaps. But I'm the delusion you've fallen in love with," he counters smoothly.
"I have to go, love. There's one last thing to tidy up before I can come home and fuck that pretty little mouth shut.
Keep those legs open for me. I want to see exactly what I've been missing the moment I walk through that door. "
"Go do your bloody job and hurry up," I mutter, my voice shaking slightly.
"Counting the seconds, Ophelia Sorrell. Stay mine."
The line goes dead. I stare at the screen for a long moment, then look at Shadow, who is licking his chops. I lean my head back and sigh, feeling the heavy, obsessive weight of Rhys's gaze still on me through the camera, and I realize I can't wait for him to get back.
I’m still sprawled out on the bed, lying on my stomach with my chin propped up on my palm. Shadow is a heavy, warm weight beside me, his rhythmic breathing vibrating through the mattress. I’ve got the phone clutched in my hand, staring at the screen like it’s some kind of alien technology.
I’ve never actually owned one of these bloody things before.
Everything feels strange—the way the glass slides under my thumb, the brightness of the colors, the sheer possibility of it.
It’s a window to a world I was kept away from, and now Rhys has just handed me the keys, though I know damn well he’s the one holding the remote.
I navigate my way into the contacts, curious to see who else Rhys put here. Although I doubt he would put anyone else. But then I spot a second contact that makes me freeze.
Amara.
I sit up abruptly, my hair falling in a messy curtain around my face.
My heart gives a little thump. Did Rhys Castellan actually save her number in here for me?
Or is this just a way for him to keep tabs on who I’m talking to?
Regardless, the urge to hear a voice that isn't Rhys's—or the silence of the Menagerie—is overwhelming.
I press the call button, my finger trembling slightly. I hold the phone to my ear, listening to the ringing. Each tone feels like a heartbeat. Then, there's a click, and a voice filters through—sharp, familiar, and sounding a bit stressed.
"Hello?"
"Hello," I whisper, my voice sounding small even to me.
There’s a pause on the other end. "Who is this?"
"It's me. It's Ophelia."
For a second, there is absolute silence. Then, Amara lets out a scream so loud I actually pull the phone away from my ear, wincing. "Ophelia?! Are you fucking kidding me? You've got a mobile already?!"
I can't help it; I burst out laughing. The sound feels foreign in my throat, but it's genuine. "Yeah, Rhys got me one. A present."
"A present? Since when does that posh man give presents that aren't blood-stained or creepy?" Amara’s voice softens, though the shock is still there. "God, Ophelia... the last time I saw you, some rich prick had kidnapped you. I thought you were fucking dead or worse."
I lean back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling where I know that camera is still watching. "Yeah, well... that was one of Rhys's enemies. A right piece of shit."
"Are you alright? Truly?" Amara asks, and I can hear the genuine worry bleeding through. "I mean, are you actually okay being with a man like him? It seems like danger just fucking follows you whenever you're in his orbit. He's... he's a lot, Ophelia. He's dangerous."
I bite my lip, thinking about the bruises he leaves and the way he claims every inch of me. "I'm okay, Amara. Really. He found me not too long after. He... he takes care of me. In his own twisted way."
"I just miss you, you little girl," Amara sighs, her tone turning fond. "I've spent half my time wondering if you were rotting in a cellar somewhere or if you'd actually managed to escape that madman."
A wave of longing hits me. I need something normal. I need a friend who doesn't want to possess my soul or carve their name into my skin.
"Listen," I say, my voice gaining a bit of strength. "Come to the carnival gate. Right now. We can hang out here, and I can actually show you my face so you know I'm not a ghost."
"The Menagerie?" Amara asks, though I can hear the excitement building. "Fuck it, why not? It's my off day anyway. I'm on my way, love. Don't let that lunatic lock you in the tower before I get there."
"I'll try my best," I giggle.
"See you soon. Bye!"