Chapter 27
VALENTINA
Iwake up with the taste of chemicals in my mouth and no idea where I am.
For a few seconds, all I can do is stare at the ceiling and try to make my brain work.
The room is dim, but not dark. Daylight comes through heavy curtains that look expensive in an old, neglected way, like someone decorated this place twenty years ago and never came back to enjoy it.
The bed beneath me is soft. The air smells like dust, old wood, and whatever Adrian held over my face. My stomach turns so violently I barely make it off the bed.
The bathroom is attached to the bedroom, thank God, because I don’t get more than a few steps before I’m on my knees in front of the toilet. I throw up until there’s nothing left, but my body tries to heave anyway. Morning sickness doesn’t hold a candle to pure, undiluted panic.
When I finally stop, I stay on the floor with one hand braced against the tub, breathing through my nose because my mouth still tastes like poison. My head throbs. My shoulder aches where Adrian grabbed me. My throat burns from screaming or crying or vomiting. Probably all three.
I reach for the flush. Nothing happens when I push it down. I stare at the handle for a second, then try again. Still nothing.
“Of course,” I mutter, registering how dark it is in the bathroom.
I push myself up carefully and turn on the sink.
The faucet gives one dry little cough, then nothing.
I try the other handle. Same thing. No water and no electricity.
I wouldn’t expect this from Adrian. Not that I particularly want to think about what I should expect from him, but I’ve never known him to be drawn in by rustic charm.
I make myself leave the bathroom and actually look at the bedroom.
It’s nice at first glance. A big bed with fresh sheets.
The dresser looks hand-carved from expensive wood.
A faded oriental rug covers the hardwood floors.
A chair by the window sits slightly crooked on one leg.
This room wasn’t designed to house a prisoner, but I can’t imagine anyone has been inside in at least five years.
The window is the obvious first choice. I cross the room too quickly and almost fall when my head swims. Once the dizziness passes, I grab the curtains and yank them open.
White bars are bolted over the outside of the window. They’re painted the same color as the trim so passersby wouldn’t notice them right away. I wonder if they’re a feature of the house or if Adrian had them added.
I try the window anyway because nothing about my thoughts is rational right now. It opens maybe three inches before stopping hard. I shove at it with both hands and get nothing for my trouble except a sharp pain through my shoulder and a stronger urge to cry.
The door is locked, of course. I rattle the handle anyway, then press my ear to the wood and listen. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. No hum of electricity. Wherever he brought me, it’s quiet enough to make my own breathing sound too loud. I back away from the door and force myself to think.
The room is upstairs. I can tell from the height of the window and the tops of the trees outside.
The property is overgrown. Not abandoned-abandoned, because someone put clean sheets on the bed and dragged me inside, but not lived in either.
No neighbors close enough to hear me scream.
No foot traffic. No house staff moving around in the hallway.
That last detail bothers me. Adrian should have people.
He always had people. Drivers, guards, assistants, men who said yes too quickly and never looked at bruises too long.
In New York, he never moved alone if he could help it.
His family had money, connections, favors owed, and all the ugly little protections that came with them.
This place doesn’t feel like that. It feels improvised.
The thought should comfort me. It doesn’t. Adrian backed by his family was dangerous because he had resources. Adrian alone is dangerous because there’s no one left to tell him he’s going too far.
Just as I’m thinking this, I hear the lock turn.
I step back so fast I nearly trip over the edge of the rug.
The door opens and Adrian walks in carrying a bottle of water and a protein bar.
His coat is gone now and his shirt wrinkled.
A dark bruise is forming near the corner of his mouth where I must have caught him harder than I realized, and the scratches on his cheek are red and angry under the dim light.
I hope they leave a nasty scar.
He closes the door behind him and slips the key into his pocket.
“You’re awake,” he says.
I look at the water in his hand. “And you’re running a bed-and-breakfast from hell. Look at both of us branching out.”
His mouth tightens. He doesn’t like that. He never liked it when I was sarcastic, especially at his expense.
“You should drink something.”
“What did you do with Gia?” I counter.
“She’s alive.” He shrugs. “At least I think she is. She wasn’t my main concern.”
That’s some comfort, at least. Gia isn’t here, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He laughs humorlessly. “What the hell do you think I’m doing here? I’m here to take you home.”
“I am home,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You only think that because of your meddling brother and your shiny new boy toy. This place is a cesspool that deserves to be burned to the ground. You’re supposed to be back in the sophistication of the New York elite.”
“I’m not going with you.”
His eyes flick to my stomach.
It’s quick, but I catch it. Interest. Calculation. Something uglier than both. My hand moves to my stomach without permission, and I hate that too, because he notices.
“So, it’s true,” he says. “You’re really knocked up.”
I take one step back before I can stop myself. “Don’t.”
“Is it his?”
The question is so absurd that for a second I just stare at him. “Are you serious?”
His jaw tightens. “Answer me.”
His expression goes cold. The old kind of cold. The one that used to tell me exactly how much trouble I was in before he ever raised his voice.
“Yes, the baby is Sebastian’s,” I say. “And I promise you, if you hurt either of us, there is nowhere you can run where he won’t find you.”
Adrian steps closer. “You think he’s coming for you?”
“I know he is.”
I see the crack in his armor as I say it. He wasn’t expecting this. He didn’t think I’d have someone else who cares about me.
“He doesn’t love you,” Adrian says. “Men like him don’t love women like you. They use them.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
His hand moves so fast I barely track it.
He grabs my jaw, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to hurt.
Not a slap. Not yet. Just the reminder that he can overpower me whenever he wants.
That he thinks this room and my body and the air between us all belong to him because he dragged me here. I force myself not to flinch.
“I let you leave once,” he says.
I speak carefully because his grip makes it hard. “You didn’t let me do anything.”
His fingers tighten. “You humiliated me.”
“You did that yourself.”
For one second, I think he’s going to hit me. His breathing changes. His eyes go almost flat. Then he lets go abruptly, like he’s decided I’m not worth the effort yet. I stumble back a step, but I stay upright.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he says, smoothing the cuff of his shirt. “We’re only staying here until I can move you.”
My pulse kicks hard. “Move me where?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid. “I told you,” he answers flatly. “I’m taking you home.”
“I would rather die.”
He smiles without any warmth at all. “That can be arranged.”
I believe him. It isn’t the first time he’s threatened me. It isn’t the first time he’s hurt me. But this time feels different because he doesn’t even bother pretending he wouldn’t. He doesn’t want me back. Not really. He wants to win. And if he can’t win, I’m not sure he cares what happens next.
I keep my face as steady as I can. “Your family doesn’t know you’re here. Do they?”
He goes still. I almost smile. Not because anything about this is funny, but because finally, something makes sense.
“You don’t have any security,” I say, glancing toward the door. “No staff. No driver hovering in the hallway. No working electricity, which feels like a real step down for you. This wasn’t sanctioned.”
His mouth flattens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do.” My voice is too shaky to sound as confident as I want, but I keep going anyway. “Daddy didn’t approve of this trip. He’s probably sick of your obsession with me. He never really thought I was good enough for you, anyway. He’d probably cut you off if he knew what you’re doing.”
“I don’t need his approval.”
“Of course you do. He’s your personal bank.”
He crosses the room before I can move, and this time he shoves me back against the wall. Not hard enough to knock the breath out of me, but close. One hand pins my shoulder, the other braces near my head. I smell stale coffee on his breath. He’s too close. Too warm. Too familiar.
“You always thought you were smarter than me,” he says.
“No,” I say honestly. “I always knew I was.”
His face twists. Then he steps back. Again, he chooses not to hit me. That should comfort me. It doesn’t. It tells me he’s measuring himself. Trying to keep enough control to preserve whatever plan is still rattling around in his head.
If he intends to move me, Sebastian has less time than I thought. Adrian picks up the water bottle from the dresser and tosses it onto the bed.
“Drink. You’re no use to me sick.”
“I’m not much use to you alive either.”
“Don’t test me, Valentina.”
I shut up then, not because I’m out of things to say, but because the look on his face tells me the next one might cost too much.
He walks back to the door.
“Adrian,” I say before I can stop myself.
He turns.
“Sebastian will find me,” I say.
He pauses with one hand on the doorframe. “Then I suppose we’ll see who wants you more.”
He walks out and locks the door behind him.
I stand there for several seconds after he’s gone, staring at the door, trying to make my body move. It doesn’t want to. My legs feel weak. My jaw hurts. My shoulder hurts. My stomach turns again, though I don’t know if that’s the baby or the fear.
Eventually I force myself to pick up the water bottle. The cap is sealed. I check it twice anyway before opening it. I drink slowly because my stomach still isn’t steady, then sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the window bars.
Adrian is alone. He’s desperate. He’s planning to move me. Even knowing all of that, I have to believe Sebastian is going to get here first. He’ll find me. He has to.
I press one hand to my stomach and take another careful breath. “We’re going to be fine,” I whisper.
I have no idea if that’s true.