Chapter 10 Vivian
VIVIAN
Istared at the open door like it might sprout teeth and lunge at me.
It had been ajar for hours—or maybe it was only minutes.
Time was an abstract blur in this place.
Freedom dangled on the other side, but I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that it was a trap laid by a predator who thrived on manipulation.
My fingers brushed the diamond choker around my neck.
The delicate chain was deceptively beautiful.
Its clasp was still warm from where The Shadow had locked it in place, and it glowed faintly.
Could he do more than track my movements?
Hear my voice? See me? The bastard had a lot of nerve.
He put a fucking collar on me with an invisible leash and called it a necklace. Asshole.
The thought sent a cold shiver down my spine. My pulse quickened, not from fear but something else. What if he could see me? Every moment, every detail? What about when I showered? My throat tightened at the idea of those piercing dark eyes, their gaze stripping me bare.
I clenched my fists. Get a fucking grip, Vivian.
But then there was his face. His gorgeous, fucking infuriating, utterly unethical face.
It wasn’t fair. How could someone so cruel, so unhinged, be so damn beautiful?
Tall—he had to be at least six-four or six-five—with jet black hair, pulled back like he had better things to do than worry about appearances.
Lean, athletic, but solid—his chest had felt like carved stone when he carried me.
I had never seen a creature so sexy.
Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I cursed under my breath. “No. Absolutely not.”
This was adrenaline. Stress. Maybe even trauma. Not desire. Definitely not that. I was a fucking prisoner in his shadowy little kingdom, wearing his damn enchanted necklace. He wasn’t a brooding hero. He was a monster in disguise. He was not Prince Charming. He was the fucking villain.
I exhaled sharply and glared at the open door again.
“If this is a trap, then it’s the dumbest fucking trap I’ve ever seen.”
I pushed off the bed and padded across the room, my bare feet silent against the cool floor. The mansion was eerily quiet, the silence pricking at the edges of my nerves. I hesitated in the doorway, glancing back at the room, the prison where I’d spent too many hours drowning in my thoughts.
Screw it. If he wanted me to sit here like a good little bride-to-be, he’d learn soon enough that obedience wasn’t in my vocabulary.
I stepped into the hallway, and the illusion peeled back, revealing the true grandeur of the estate. The mansion was a world unto itself, a labyrinthine fortress that pulsated with an ancient magic that was both breathtaking and suffocating.
The polished floors beneath my feet gleamed like black obsidian, their reflective surface rippling as if the shadows themselves were watching me.
The walls were adorned with carvings so intricate they seemed to shift under the light of the floating orbs that lined the corridor.
Each orb was suspended in midair, their soft glow casting silvery patterns that danced across the ceiling.
My fingers trailed along the carvings etched into the walls.
Ancient symbols, some I recognized as protection runes, others I couldn’t begin to decipher.
They pulsed faintly under my touch, like a heartbeat.
The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of the so-called necklace around my throat.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that the runes were watching me just as much as The Shadow likely was.
I turned a corner and found myself standing before a massive stained-glass window.
It stretched from floor to ceiling, depicting a swirling, chaotic battle between fae high on a mountaintop and sirens emerging from the waters below, their forms locked in eternal conflict.
The colors shimmered unnaturally, shifting as though the figures were alive, their swords clashing and spells weaving in an endless dance.
The hallway led me to a gallery. The moment I entered, the air became thicker and heavier, as if I’d stepped into a room filled with unspoken words and lingering ghosts. Massive, gilded paintings lined the walls, each one more vivid than the last.
I moved from one to the next, unable to look away.
A fierce storm overtaking a fae court, shadows consuming everything in their path. A banquet table surrounded by figures that blurred at the edges, their faces twisted with greed and laughter.
Then, a portrait.
It stopped me in my tracks. The man in the painting was almost a mirror of The Shadow—same piercing eyes, same angular features—but his hair was streaked with gray, and his expression carried a weight far heavier than the stormy facade The Shadow wore.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me who he was. The resemblance was undeniable, and the oppressive energy radiating from the painting made my skin crawl. This was the man who had molded The Shadow. It had to be his father.
I took a step back, panic roaring through me.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The sing-song voice startled me. I whirled around to find Eldora standing in the doorway, her lavender eyes narrowed in warning. She stepped forward, the glow of the runes on the walls casting an otherworldly sheen over her silver-gray hair.
“I didn’t realize there were restrictions on where I could and couldn’t visit within the estate.”
“Every inch of this estate could have danger lurking,” she said. “Tread carefully.”
The way she said it sent a chill down my spine, but I refused to let her see it. “I wasn’t aware a memo had gone out banning sightseeing,” I said, letting sarcasm lace my words.
For a moment, her lips twitched, almost a smile. Almost. “I see you’re acclimating to your surroundings.”
“Acclimating is a strong word,” I said, gesturing around the gallery. “Let’s call it familiarizing myself with my prison.”
Eldora’s expression softened, though her sharp gaze never wavered. “Everyone is caged by something, Vivian. Even the masters of the darkest cages often find themselves trapped. Sometimes the bars are forged not by enemies, but by the ghosts of those who raised them.”
I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at Eldora. “What about you? Are you caged?”
Her expression softened, a flicker of regret passing over her face. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer. Then, with a quiet sigh, she said, “I am.”
Her gaze became distant. “But my cage is of my own making. It’s built of choices I’ve made, and the hope that one day, they’ll matter.”
“Hope?” I repeated, unsure if I’d ever heard the word sound so bittersweet.
Eldora’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hope can be its own gilded prison, Vivian. It keeps you looking forward, even when the walls close in around you.”
Her words pressed against me, but I forced myself to shrug it off. “Noted,” I said, keeping my tone clipped. “Anything else, or is this where you tell me to run along and play nice?”
Her eyes flicked to the painting of the man I assumed was The Shadow’s father, and her expression darkened as if the very sight of it unsettled her. “Be careful whose shadows you step into,” she said softly. “Some linger longer than others.”
Before I could respond, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the corridor, her movements so silent it was as if she’d never been there at all.
I turned back to the painting, staring into the cold, predatory eyes of the man who had shaped The Shadow into what he was. The air around me felt heavy, charged with an energy I couldn’t name.
This wasn’t just a house. It wasn’t even a fortress.
It was a web of deception, built to capture and control prey.
Every room, every corner, held a piece of The Shadow. And as much as I wanted to convince myself that I could escape someday, there was a part of me—a quiet, insidious part—that was curious and wanted to see more.
The hallway stretched out before me, the sconces casting flickering shadows on the dark stone walls. Each step I took felt too loud, even though I was trying to move silently. My nerves were frayed, my heart hammering with every creak of the floorboards.
I half-expected The Shadow to emerge from the darkness, his towering form materializing to drag me back to my room—or worse. But as I turned corner after corner, nothing happened. The mansion was quiet—too quiet—and the stillness only made my anxiety worse.
I ran my fingers over the cool, carved wood of each door I passed.
How many rooms did this place even have?
Hundreds? Thousands? The size of the estate hadn’t truly hit me until now that I was wandering aimlessly through its endless halls.
The one time I’d “visited” with Celeste and Vincenzo, I’d been too busy plotting our exit strategy to pay attention to the architecture.
Besides, everything had been illusioned to look shitty.
Most of the rooms I peeked into were unremarkable. Cold, impersonal bedrooms with matching furniture. Guest rooms, maybe, though it was hard to imagine The Shadow entertaining guests. Somehow, I doubted anyone spent time here willingly.
I turned another knob and pushed the door open, stepping into a room that made me pause. Easels were scattered throughout, some standing empty, others draped with sheets. A few had half-finished paintings, their vivid strokes contrasting sharply with the sterile perfection of the other rooms.
I walked closer to one of the canvases. The scene was dark, almost oppressive—swirling shadows devouring a lonely figure standing at the edge of a cliff. I stared at it, unease curling in my stomach. Who had painted these? Not The Shadow. No way. I snorted. He probably ate paint for breakfast.