Chapter Twenty-Five
Juliet
He leaves me alone. Hadrian. Hadrian leaves me alone, in the cell in which he’s holding me captive. The cell where he’s punished me, teased me, and fucked me over and over again.
Hadrian.
How?
I prowl around the cell, looking at everything with new eyes. Even ignoring the enormous question of why the hell he is doing all this, how did he afford it? Hadrian isn’t a billionaire. He doesn’t come from a mob family or have any connection to organized crime.
His dad is a safety inspector for the local council, for fuck’s sake.
What happened to him in the five years since we split? Once he found out I turned him in, he cut me off completely. The divorce was simple—no kids, minimal assets, and we were still renting. I tried to talk to him, but he blocked me on everything.
He’d never bothered with social media much, but he deleted the little he had. None of our mutual friends ever heard from him again. It was like he wiped everything tainted by me from his life and started again.
Even though I understood why, it fucking hurt. I’d imagine him in some distant city, working away at his projects. How, in the name of fuck, did he end up with the resources to create a prison like this?
And why?
If he wanted me back in his life, he could have just called. No need to go to these lengths.
Maybe my betrayal broke him and he’s clinically insane. But despite the great, steaming pile of evidence to the contrary, he doesn’t feel insane. He didn’t as Saldar. As himself? I don’t know yet.
Every hour I’m left to my own thoughts might as well be a million years.
When the lights start to dim, indicating it’s time to sleep, I finally crack.
He can’t just do this. Reveal himself, then breeze off like nothing has changed.
Like he’s still Saldar, mysterious masked stranger, and not my ex-goddamn-husband.
I march to the door and hammer on it. “Hadrian! Open this door! Come in here and talk to me, you fucking asshole!”
I deleted the part where you called him an asshole.
I freeze as I remember the voice. It hasn’t returned, and I’d started to wonder if I’d imagined it, but now it makes even less sense. If it’s Hadrian keeping me captive and not some shadowy organization, then just who the hell was that woman? Is she helping him?
The jealousy hits like a jet of cold water, and even though I know it’s ridiculous, my fists clench anyway. What if they’re together and laughing at me? What if even now, they’re sipping a glass of wine, watching me like a fish in a tank, wondering what I’m going to do next?
No. Don’t be stupid. Hadrian wouldn’t do that.
Hadrian wouldn’t do any of the stuff he’s done to you. But he has.
What if it’s not him? What if he’s got an evil twin, separated at birth, like some bad sitcom? But, no, the birthmark. Twins don’t have matching birthmarks, do they? I don’t think so. God, what am I even thinking? I turn away from the door and slump to the floor, head in my hands.
The lights slowly dim. I force myself to feed Charlie—none of this mess is her fault—and tuck myself into my makeshift bed. Why did he get me a spider? He hates them. Maybe he wants to make a point that he’s a badass now. The new, scary Hadrian isn’t frightened of spiders.
None of this makes any sense, and my head is starting to ache. Eventually, I fall into a restless sleep.
The next morning, I eat my toast and come up with a plan. Somewhere during the night, a few important facts made their way through my mushy head. I’m not dealing with an unknown anymore. I know Hadrian. Whatever has happened to him, I can reason with him.
We spent fifteen years together. He doesn’t really want to keep me in a cage forever. I just need to break through the personality he’s wrapped himself in and find the real him again.
When the door clicks, the inbuilt Pavlovian response urges me to fall to my knees, but I fight it.
I’m not Hadrian’s slave, however much he tried to convince me with yesterday’s performance.
He can’t hide behind the Saldar costume anymore.
And there’s no way Hadrian Glass can look me in the eye and treat me as a sex toy. No way.
I’ve wrapped the altar cloth around myself like a dress, giving me some semblance of clothing. Why didn’t I bother to do that before? It seemed pointless with Saldar in charge. Now it feels like armor.
He enters, and my breath catches to see he’s still himself.
Part of me had been sure he’d walk in as Saldar.
Black jeans sit low on his hips, and he’s bare chested again, showing off his new ink and muscles.
He’s so familiar and so different from the man I once knew that I have to work to keep my shoulders back and look him in the eyes.
He closes the door behind him unhurriedly and quirks up his eyebrow in the way I always used to love as he studies me. “On your knees, doll. And strip.”
His voice hasn’t changed.
Christ, hearing that command in his rich, cultured voice does something to my insides.
His dad always wanted to be richer than he was and sent Hadrian for elocution lessons to make sure he could hold his own in the country club set, should he ever get there.
A total waste of money. Hadrian would rather chew off his own foot than go to a white-tie social event.
My resolve wobbles at the calm authority in the words. He doesn’t have Saldar’s growl, but he definitely has his confidence. I take a deep breath. “We need to talk. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but—”
“Last chance. On your knees, and strip.”
There’s a tug, deep in my belly. Obey. The urge is so strong my knees wobble, twitching toward bending for him. Is it the weeks of conditioning or just the way he’s looking at me? There’s a darkness in his eyes that was never there before.
Maybe this was a bad move. Maybe—
“You’ve made a poor decision.”
The words have a doom-laden ring to them, and it takes everything I have not to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness.
I watch him like a bird watches a cat, tense and ready for him to strike.
My heart hammers, and my skin heats. Every second that passes, the chance of us having a sensible conversation fades further away.
I’d never have pulled this shit with Saldar. Why did I think things would change just because he took off the mask? I give it one last, desperate try. “We need to talk things out, Hadrian. This isn’t you. I know I hurt you, but—”
He turns his back on me, heading to the wall. It’s such a dismissive thing to do that it stops me in my tracks. I stare as he touches his thumb to a spot and a whole section of the goddamn wall folds down into a ramp. What the…
“When I was playing Saldar, I liked to keep up the illusion of the cell, but that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just you and me now, doll. No pretending.”
He glances back at me, and I catch a moment of sadness before he turns back to the contraption he just revealed. It’s a sort of chair but made up of lots of moveable parts and straps. He rolls it out of its hidden nook and the wheels squeak ominously.
There’s something unpleasantly medical about the thing, and my skin crawls as I examine it.
It doesn’t fit in this room, but it doesn’t look modern either.
I can imagine it in a Victorian insane asylum.
Now that I can see it properly, a few elements leap out.
A thick restraint—think Hannibal Lecter—dangles from the head part, but what looks like a dildo is attached to it.
Hands starting to tremble, I track down the chair. Two more rubber cocks protrude from the seat.
“I’m not getting on that thing!”
My voice squeaks. I’m not even sure why I’m freaking out as much as I am. It’s just a chair. They’re just dildos. But for some reason, the thought of being strapped into it gives me the creeping horrors.
Or maybe it’s just the thought of Hadrian being the one to do it.
If Saldar had pulled this out, would I have been this scared?
Is it worse than the dildo stick? Logically, I know they’re the same person, but I still can’t quite believe it.
How the hell did Hadrian come up with something this weird and creepy? Just what is he capable of now?
He raises a brow in his painfully familiar way. “I don’t recall giving you a choice.”
God, there’s that twist in my core again.
Despite the fear, or maybe because of it.
Those words in his voice? It ought to be illegal.
But I’m still not getting on the dentist chair from hell.
I clutch the altar cloth around me with white knuckles and back away, shaking my head.
“Just stop this. It’s fucked up. It’s not you. We can just—”
He lunges for me.
I spin, racing away, but where, exactly, do I think I’m going? Not out of the door. That’s for sure. I dodge behind the altar, trying to keep it between me and Hadrian. My heart races, and a savage smile twists his lips.
“You’re just making this worse for yourself but please, keep going. This is fun.”
Fun? He thinks chasing me is fun? Blood pounds in my ears, and my skin tingles.
He stalks around the table, and I keep my distance, but my skin heats.
He’s chasing me down. He’s going to catch me.
I might have fantasized about this a few times while we were together, and the reality is way more intense than I imagined.
All my senses light up, ready for the chase,
The chair, though. Fuck the chair.
“You know, doll, you should really—”
He feints left, I move, but he doubles back and grabs my arm.
I yelp, flailing against him but he’s gotten so, so, strong. He yanks my arm, pulls me into him and half drags, half carries me toward the chair. I struggle, but he shoves me into the seat, squashing the dildos flat, and locks first one wrist, then the other, into the waiting arm restraint.
“You fucking—”
He slaps his hand across my mouth, then presses into mine, trapping my legs so I can’t kick.
The bastard. He tricked me.