Chapter 8
Elowen
The first thing I see after waking is my bandaged hand.
I stare at it. How did this happen? Is there something paranormal in this house? Because I don’t remember any breathing human who cares enough to have done this.
Bruno isn’t in the bed. Did he do this? Is Bruno a husky shifter? I snort.
Maybe Antonio did it. He’s the second-best option, and since Bruno isn’t a husky shifter, that leaves only Antonio.
I stretch and climb down from the bed. I’ll thank Antonio later for this.
I look at my other hand and feet. My burns also look better. I sniff my hand. It feels like he applied some kind of cream on it.
I walk out of Bruno’s room and see him trotting toward me, fur wet, tongue lolling. And behind him—none other than the tyrant who owns this place. His thick brown jacket suggests he’s just returned from the cold outside. Bruno rubs against my leg, soaking my robe.
He took Bruno for a walk? In this freezing weather? But Bruno’s a husky—so that makes sense. And it also says something else: he cares about him.
“Wash him,” he orders, cold as ever, and turns toward his room.
I pat his head. “Let’s go, Bruno.”
Bruno follows me into the bathroom and settles in the tub on his own.
I ruffle his head. “Such an intelligent puppy.”
I glance at my bandaged hand.
“How am I supposed to wash you with this hand?”
“Well, let’s see.” I grab the shower handle, and turn on the water—holding it in my bandaged hand. I guide the spray over his body, scrubbing awkwardly with my left hand.
“It’s not my best hand. Don’t judge me, okay?” I chuckle.
A knock sounds behind me. I turn and see Bruno’s master in the doorway, his jacket now off.
“Leave.”
He steps inside.
What is he doing here? Didn’t he just order me to wash Bruno?
I turn off the water and rise. He takes the handle from my hand and turns it back on.
I step back but don’t leave as ordered. I want to see how this man handles this task.
I’m more curious whether he’ll take off his gloves.
I’ve never seen him without them, and it does look strange—someone wearing gloves all day.
He turns his head, watching me from the corner of his eye.
“Do I have to repeat myself?”
I roll my eyes and leave the bathroom, heading for my room. But when I reach the door, I don’t go in. Instead, I turn and walk across the hall, open the other room’s door, and slip inside.
Since my captor is occupied elsewhere, I can use this chance to look around—search for a phone. The chances of finding one unlocked are slim, but even if the odds are one percent, I can’t give up.
I scan the area around the bed. The bedside table is empty.
I open the drawer—empty. Then the lower one—also empty.
What is with this man? Nothing to put in his drawers? He has no life. I wonder how he’s even alive.
I circle the bed and reach the other nightstand, sliding open the top drawer. Inside is a knife, something etched into the blade—a date. I pick it up, but the door behind me opens. I drop it and spin around, shoving the drawer closed.
He steps into the room with deliberate strides and stops in front of me.
“What is this?” he asks, his voice flat.
I force a chuckle. “I got lost.”
His expression doesn’t flicker at my pitiful lie.
“You won’t find anything useful. Don’t waste your energy.”
“I was looking for a first aid kit. Nothing else,” I lie, my voice earnest.
He takes another step closer. I lean back as he invades my space.
“Like everything else, you don’t know how to lie.”
“You can’t say I don’t know anything.” I bristle.
“I can. I’ve seen enough of you fumbling through things.”
“You’ve only seen me doing things I’ve never done before.” I straighten.
Now that I’m arguing, I need a confident posture, even if it means standing close enough to see the details of his face. Like how the gray in his eyes is too clean, too clear.
There’s a small cut at the corner of his upper lip—that his short beard hides from a distance. His lips are pale, brushed with the faintest hint of color. They aren’t full, yet not thin either—a perfect balance between the two.
His skin looks rough. I noticed the dark circles under his eyes long ago. They seem permanent, but they do nothing to diminish his beauty.
My heart stumbles into a rapid rhythm when I realize I’ve been standing here, silent, watching him. I quickly collect myself and make a mental note to scold myself later for thinking this monster is beautiful.
“I’m excellent at many things, like—” I catch myself before I say playing piano. “Like writing. I’m a bestselling author, for your information.”
“I’m aware.” He nearly scoffs.
What’s there to scoff at? Does he think writing is easy? I can’t even string together two chapters, and I’m sure he can’t either. I’m damn proud of Avi for writing such incredible books.
I narrow my eyes. “It’s not easy. It’s an art, and decent people respect art.”
I pause, smirking. “Decent people.”
Salvario
She smirks. She fucking smirks at me. And I can’t look away—I’m seized in place, unable to blink, unable to look anywhere else.
She’s not even beautiful. I doubt anyone else would find her eyes beautiful, they’re more like a doe’s than a human’s.
And those rose-colored lips? No one else would call them beautiful either.
The upper lip has a slight heart shape, the lower a little fuller—nothing extraordinary, average in every way.
Her hair falls in wild brown waves to her waist, as though she never bothers to run a comb through it.
So why did she steal mine? Her height barely reaches my shoulder, and her frame would wither after a single week without food.
How could anyone call her beautiful? That, paired with her talents…
she’s a waste of space at best. Her existence makes no difference in this world.
“Next time you enter my room, do so after planning to stay in yours for two days.”
There’s no truth to the threat, but it works on her. She doesn’t just have a doe’s eyes—she has the bravery and survival instincts of one too. I don’t know how much coddling she got growing up to turn her into such a disgrace to the species.
She nods once and bolts from my room.
I turn to leave when my phone rings. I pull it from my pocket—Robin is calling.
I pick up.
“Boss. Two updates.”
“Speak.”
I move to the window, draw the curtains open, and stand before it.
“King Alessio has sent his own men to every country. They haven’t reached Greenland yet, but they’re conducting thorough searches elsewhere. Police and local officials are turning over every house.”
I hum. “Next.”
Alessio is Alexander’s brother-in-law. Their families are close. Inevitable that he’d get involved.
“While digging for more on Avira Bennett, I found she’s only been spotted in public once. At a car race—her adopted brother, Zloban Bennett, was competing. I tried to get the footage, but a short clip is missing.” He pauses. “There must be something in it. Something they’re hiding.”
I frown. “Your guess?”
“Not with what little we have.”
I need to know everything about this woman. But given how carefully she’s been kept from the world, it won’t come easily.
“Find that footage. If not the original, a backup.”
“Yes, boss.”
I end the call and pocket the phone.
Before I took her, the only information I needed was that she was Alexander Bennett’s daughter. But now I need more. I need to know everything about her—every detail of her life.
In these few days, I’ve gathered what kind of person she is, but I still have no idea what she has in her life.
Does she have a lover? I know it has nothing to do with what I planned, but for some unknown, uncomfortable reason, I need to know.
Elowen
After bathing and changing into the maid’s uniform, I head back to Bruno’s room. There, Antonio is serving Bruno his food.
I walk over and stand beside him. He rises, and Bruno launches himself at the bowl.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
Antonio looks at me, puzzled.
“For what, signorina?”
I raise my bandaged hand. “For this.”
I somehow managed to bathe without getting it wet.
He frowns. “It wasn’t me.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Then who did this?”
Is Bruno actually a husky shifter?
“It must be him.”
I know who he means. And the possibility of him doing this is less likely than Bruno being a husky shifter.
“Um, I don’t think that’s possible. The kind of man he is… I don’t think he even cares about his own family’s pain, let alone mine.” I gesture to myself. “The person he hates.”
Antonio’s face goes distant. I realize I just said things I should have kept to myself.
“So, is there no one else in this house?” I pivot quickly, shifting on my legs uncomfortably. “I never see anyone. Where’s his family?”
Antonio is silent for a moment, then speaks, his voice low. “He has no family.”
I frown. “He’s an orphan?”
If I’m not mistaken, I see pain flicker in Antonio’s eyes. “Your father made him an orphan.”
My eyes widen. Uncle killed his family. That’s why he hates us.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, looking down. Even though it’s not my fault, I feel for him. It’s hard to live in this world without someone loving you.
If he’d had parents, who knows what kind of man he would have been? Maybe he wouldn’t have become this.
“It’s not your fault,” Antonio says, his voice heavy.
I raise my head. “Can you tell me what happened?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t, signorina.”
“Why? It’s not like I can do anything with it.”
“Tell her, Antonio.” The cold voice snaps us both around.
He’s staring at me. “Tell her what her father did.”
He turns and walks away. I face Antonio again.
“Your father killed his father. After that, his uncles and his father’s men tortured him and his mother.” Antonio forces out.
His face hardens—emotions warring across it: anger, pain, grief.
“She couldn’t endure it. She killed herself.”
His eyes redden. My heart drops. There are details in this story I’m not sure I want to hear.
After a long pause, Antonio rasps. “He wants your father to feel the same grief he felt.”
My heart, already sunk, stops.
“He wants to torture me to death?”
Antonio doesn’t answer. But fear roots deep in my chest. What kind of torture does he have planned? What I’ve experienced so far is bad, but not enough to kill me.
“He can’t,” Antonio breathes, his voice barely there, like he’s saying it to himself, not me.
This conversation isn’t something he wanted. It’s torture for him. Maybe his parents were close to Antonio. I want to ask more—but I won’t hurt him further.
I wrap my arms around him, silently wishing it would make him feel better. He doesn’t resist.