10. Isabel
Isabel
This room is much nicer. Not just because there aren’t decaying bodies inside—though that helps—but because it’s been remodeled.
The walls are painted a deep, rich blue. A false calmness settles over the space. The rich indigo, making me pause.
Tension hangs in the air, telling a very different story that the room wants me to believe. It crackles beneath the surface. A subtle reminder that this room holds its own set of rules and dangers. A dark, unpleasant energy lingers, refusing to be ignored.
I push to my feet, steadying myself before crossing to the heavy curtains. Yanking them back, I close my eyes at the fading light outside.
The day has slipped into night, and I still don’t know why I’m here or what Rurik wants.
It’s infuriating. With each second that ticks, my anger grows. I just want to get out of here. I need answers, and I won’t get those here.
I settle into the window seat, pressing my head against the cool glass, taking in the view.
The property stretches on for miles. Trees of various sizes cover the grounds. Their tiny, bright green leaves are just sprouting, offering a clear view through the branches.
From here, the stone wall looks to be at least ten feet tall, making it a solid barrier.
Razor wire lines the top, an odd addition unless you’re up to no good.
It’s been rebuilt. Even in the dusk, I can identify the old from the new.
The razor wire above is newer. It shines, untouched by the weather.
Beyond the wall, fields open into pasture. A dozen cows graze on the hay left for them, living their lives the same way I imagine they’ve always done.
Must be nice.
And here I am, trapped inside this hell, hoping for an opening to present itself so I can escape.
In the corner of the yard, an old oak tree catches my eye—gnarled, strong, climbable, impossible to miss.
I’ve climbed a few like it before. Antonio always yelled at me to get down before I hurt myself.
Not Larkin. She’d encourage me to climb higher while sharing the story about the night they escaped a game of cat and mouse during their wedding reception.
They’d climbed a large oak tree to escape their friends.
It’s a memory that has me wishing I could go back in time.
This one, much like the one I recall, has a branch that extends beyond the wall. Climbing it wouldn’t be easy in my condition, but I could do it.
It’s the drop on the other side that worries me more.
But risks are part of the game when you’re trying to escape. If I get the chance, I’m taking it.
As the sun sinks below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of fire, I sit here, the weight of the document I read heavy on my mind.
It could all be a lie. A fraudulent document. Forged signatures. Altered dates. A carefully crafted distraction meant to turn me against those he clearly has a beef with.
Until I can confirm the truth with those I trust, his words fall on deaf ears.
I wish I’d had time to gather the folder before the woman dragged me out of that shithole. While sitting here, I could’ve gone through the rest and figured out what the hell it all meant.
Not that it would stick. My head’s pounding. The injury, the drugs—they’re working against me, blurring everything just enough to make it difficult to focus.
I push to my feet, needing to use the restroom. Pain spikes through my head with every step, the room sways just enough to throw me off balance.
This isn’t just a headache. It’s a concussion. A serious one that requires medical attention.
I need a scan. A full evaluation. Without one, I’m only guessing. And guessing wrong could make this worse.
Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way slowly to the large bed. The frame has hooks attached to both the foot and headboards.
My gaze lingers there, not liking what that implies.
Instinct kicks in. My fingers find my sore wrist, rubbing over the raw skin where the ropes bit in.
I’m beyond tired. It’s been one hell of a day. Sleeping isn’t ideal, but it is necessary if I want my body to heal.
So, I set the alarm clock on the side table to wake me in a couple of hours. Enough time to rest. Not enough to make things worse. When I wake, I’ll reevaluate my condition.
I must have fallen asleep quickly, because when the alarm goes off, it feels like I just closed my eyes. It’s completely dark outside now. Around nine in the evening. Several hours have passed since Rurik locked me in the other room to give me time to reflect.
Every hour he’s gone only fuels my temper, doing the opposite of what he intended.
What’s keeping him? He was so eager to talk, then suddenly called away. What could be more important than interrogating his prisoner?
Who the hell is he?
After I’ve moved around a bit, I make another trip to the bathroom. As I drink a glass of water from the tap, I study at my reflection. My pupils haven’t improved, so back to bed I go.
I’m weak. I haven’t eaten all day. My last meal was rushed when I was called away by Dr. Grieves. Crazy to think that was less than twenty-four hours ago.
My limbs are heavy. Every movement dragging. So, when I lay down for a second time, sleep takes over rather quickly.
This time, I dream.
Aiden is here. Looking for me, but he can’t find me. No matter how loud I yell or pound against the door. Nothing works.
His shouts pierce the silence, each call of my name laced with panic. His pleas for me to respond growing more desperate.
I answer. Scream back. But he doesn’t hear me.
I startle awake. Check my alarm to find only an hour has gone by since falling asleep.
I fall back on the bed, adjust my position, then shoot upright. My breath catches as pain slams through me.
The right side of my face is killing me. Sharp and relentless.
The only pain meds I could find were generic Tylenol. I took it because I had to. But it barely makes a dent. I need something stronger. Which is why I’m back where I was when I started.
The swelling has only gotten worse, confirming my earlier suspicions of a fractured cheekbone. It wouldn’t surprise me if my eye socket is broken as well. The area around my right eye is swollen to the point that it’s almost closed.
I look like I’ve gone several rounds with a street fighter—and lost.
Why do these bastards always know how to hit a woman?
While this is a first for me, I’ve seen enough cases in A&E to recognize the damage.
I’m worried about my grandmother. I hope Aiden is taking good care of her. Shielding her from all of this. Nothing good can come from her knowing. She’s better off kept in the dark.
Did she know? And if so, why has she never told me the truth?
As a child, I can almost understand her keeping it from me. Losing my parents was already a lot to grasp, even with the amazing family I had around me. I longed for a mother and father, ones I could call mine. Adding more to that confused child would’ve broken me.
But I’m not a child anymore.
As an adult, I had the right to know the truth. It still would’ve been difficult to hear, but at least it would have given me insight into a mother I barely remember.
Instead, I’m left guessing, trying to piece it together on my own.
I don’t know why she did what she did. I may never know. But at least I’d have had a chance to try to figure it all out, and maybe even avoid my current situation.
Dragging in a slow breath, I force my frustration down.
I can’t stay mad at Grams, not now, even if she helped keep it a secret all these years. She’s been rambling during her moments of confusion. Enough to make me assume that what I’ve learned holds water.
Maybe she knew only some of it. It’s hard to believe she’d keep such a big secret. I can’t shake the feeling that if Grams had known, she would’ve fought to raise me instead of letting strangers take me in.
It sounds absurd calling my siblings strangers, but right now, that’s what they feel like. I thought I knew them. But they kept a major secret from me. One that changes everything.
There’s no way Antonio didn’t know. He’s the king. If that document existed, he would’ve been read in on everything his father knew—my secret, included.
The adoption papers, signed by King Ramon, prove he knew I wasn’t his biological child. Otherwise, why go through the formal process at all?
Why keep me? Why not send my mother and me away the moment he learned she was carrying another man’s child?
Was that why she killed him? Did she fear we’d be shunned and put into danger?
It’s possible that he kept it to himself. Didn’t share it with others, including her.
Not logical, but possible.
But again, why?
Were they afraid of Rurik, what he’d do if he learned about me? Did they even know he existed?
Pain pulses through my skull, and I press my fingers to my temple, as if that will stop my thoughts. It doesn’t.
My current situation says everything about what he’s capable of. Only a cruel, heartless man would do this to someone he believes is his own flesh and blood.
Unanswered questions swirl in my mind like a cyclone, each one a blow against my skull, feeding my pounding headache. It’s only making the pain and confusion worse.
But there’s no way to stop them. Not until I can speak to Rurik. The man who claims he’s my biological father.
And he’s still gone.
Why take me?
Doesn’t he know my family, those who raised me, won’t sit back and do nothing? The second they realize I’ve been kidnapped, my siblings will stop what they’re doing and make finding me their top priority.
They will find me.
When they do, there will be consequences. Rurik will pay for what he’s done. Even if he runs, they’ll hunt him down. Make sure he never gets the chance to do this to another soul.
My family can be ruthless. We’ve faced a lot of adversity before. People who’ve tried to ruin us with lies. Each time we’ve come out stronger.
We are warriors. A force to be reckoned with. My siblings—each one—has shaped that in me. The grit. The determination. The refusal to give up.