Chapter 10 Vivian #2
I shook off the thought and left the room, descending a winding staircase that led to even grander spaces.
The estate was a labyrinth of opulence and excess—polished floors, intricate moldings, and gilded details that seemed to mock my every step.
I descended a staircase to another level and wondered just how many sets of stairs were in this place. I could easily get lost.
Occasionally, I passed a guard, but none of them stopped me. They barely even glanced my way. It was odd. Maybe I really did have free rein of the place, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was always watching.
I wandered aimlessly until I came across a pair of huge, ornately carved wooden doors. The intricate patterns of flowers seemed to writhe under the dim light, as though alive. My curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed the doors open.
I gasped. So many books. I’d never seen so many books in one place outside of the public library.
The bookcases stretched up three stories, and there were ladders on tracks.
Rows upon rows of leather-bound books filled the room, their spines gleaming in the faint glow of the chandeliers overhead.
Long tables were arranged neatly between the shelves, each one adorned with elegant reading lamps and untouched stacks of parchment.
This was a monument to knowledge—or maybe just another display of The Shadow’s unimaginable wealth.
It was breathtaking. And yet, it felt oddly incongruous with what I knew of him.
Did he actually read all these? Did he even care about the stories between their pages, or were all these books just a way to flaunt his power and intelligence?
The sheer magnitude of the collection tugged at my heart. I’d once yearned for a world filled with stories and possibilities, far removed from the dark reality of life. It felt almost cruel, standing here, surrounded by knowledge and escape, while being trapped at the same time.
I wandered deeper into the room, brushing my fingers over the spines as I passed.
I marveled at the textures of smooth leather, worn cloth, and embossed titles in gold and silver.
The smell of aged paper and ink filled the air, a rich, intoxicating aroma.
Here, it was as though time stood still, each book holding a fragment of another world, untouched by the darkness that seemed to cling to every corner of The Shadow’s domain.
I paused before a particularly ornate shelf and studied its contents.
Some titles were in languages I couldn’t even begin to decipher—flowing scripts and angular runes that looked more like works of art than words.
Others bore names I recognized, old classics and historical texts, their bindings so pristine it seemed impossible they’d ever been opened.
The scent of the books brought back memories, unbidden and vivid.
For a moment, the grandeur of the library melted away, replaced by the image of the small, dusty public library my mother used to take me to when I was a kid.
It wasn’t anything like this—the shelves there were chipped, the carpets threadbare, and the fluorescent lights always buzzed faintly overhead. But to me, it had been a palace.
I could still see her face, her faint smile as she sat at a corner table, her hands cradling a battered paperback.
Back then, she couldn’t afford to take me anywhere special.
There were no amusement parks, no movie nights, no ice cream parlors.
But the library? That was different. It didn’t cost anything, and it was a sanctuary where she could give me the world.
We’d walk the aisles together, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books just like mine did now. She’d let me pick out any book I wanted, no questions asked. “Books are the best kind of adventure,” she’d say. “They’ll take you farther than your feet ever could.”
I swallowed hard, grabbing the nearest shelf to steady myself.
After she died—no, after she killed herself—the library became more than just a sanctuary.
It was my escape, my lifeline. I’d sit in the same chair she used to favor, burying myself in story after story.
I preferred to be there instead of at our apartment, where the silence was so heavy I was sure it would suffocate me.
The characters in those books became my friends and my family.
They gave me a world where mothers didn’t leave, and children didn’t have to fend for themselves.
But no book, no story, could truly keep reality at bay.
I’d stay until closing time, until the librarian—an older woman with kind eyes—would gently tell me it was time to go.
And every time I walked out into the night, the weight of my life would settle back onto my shoulders like a familiar, suffocating cloak.
Standing here now, surrounded by more books than I’d ever dreamed of, I felt that old ache again. This wasn’t my sanctuary, and it never could be. These books weren’t here to comfort or inspire. They were just another piece of The Shadow’s empire, another reminder of the chasm between us.
But still, I lingered, touching the spines as if they might tether me to something safe and real.
At the end of the aisle, a single leather-bound book sat alone on a pedestal, its cover engraved with an intricate symbol I didn’t recognize.
It glinted faintly in the dim light, as though daring me to touch it.
My fingers itched with curiosity, but part of me hesitated.
It felt wrong, somehow, like stepping into a sacred space without permission.
Did The Shadow ever come here? I tried to picture him in this space, tall and commanding, his piercing dark blue eyes scanning the shelves.
It didn’t fit, not with the dark, ruthless image of him I had.
And yet, there was a part of me—an infuriating, traitorous part—that wondered if this room was more than just another piece of his arsenal.
Was it a refuge for him, too? A place where he could escape from the world, even for a moment?
I shook my head, trying to dispel the thought.
He was a monster, I reminded myself, a manipulative, dangerous man who had trapped me in this nightmare.
But as I moved through the aisles, I couldn’t help but feel like this room, with all its quiet wonder, belonged to someone more complex than the man I thought I knew.
Deeper into the library, the shelves grew taller, the books older. The temperature seemed colder here, the light dimmer. At the far end of the room, a black door stood out starkly against the rich wood paneling. Its surface was unmarked, save for a small silver plaque that read Private Collection.
Private. Of course. As if everything here wasn’t enough, he had to have secrets even within this treasure trove of knowledge.
I hesitated, staring at the door. My pulse quickened as my hand reached out of its own accord. My fingers brushed the cold surface of the handle, and defiance surged through me. Whatever lay beyond this door wasn’t meant for me. Which only made me want to see it more.
I pressed down on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Locked. Of course. My lips twisted into a frustrated smirk. What secrets was he hiding here? And why did I feel like they were calling to me?
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to go where you’re not invited?”
The low, dangerous voice behind me froze me in place. I spun around to find The Shadow standing there, his piercing gaze locked on me. Fury radiated off him like a storm about to break.
“I wasn’t—” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I didn’t see anything. I just—”
He moved faster than I could process, closing the distance between us in an instant. His hands slammed against the bookshelf on either side of my head, caging me in. His body pressed against mine, solid and unyielding, pinning me in place.
“Can’t my future wife read?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.
I whimpered despite myself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“This area is forbidden,” he growled, sending shivers down my spine. “If I catch you here again, the punishment will be far worse than wearing a diamond necklace.”
His eyes bored into mine, fury blazing within them, as well as something darker and more primal.
“Can we stop pretending this fucking dog collar is anything more than what it is?” I spat, yanking at the diamond-encrusted chain around my neck. “You can dress it up with jewels, but it’s still a shackle chaining me to a life I don’t want.”
He pressed me harder against the bookshelf. The carved wood bit into my back, but it was nothing compared to the weight of him pinning me in place.
“Shackle?” he repeated, his voice a low, simmering growl. “Do you think you understand what that means? What it means to belong to someone?”
His finger traced a deliberate, almost cruel line down the curve of my neck, lingering at the hollow of my throat where the necklace rested. His touch burned like fire against my skin. My body betrayed me, heat pooling low in my stomach despite the fear thrumming through my veins.
“Your life, Vivian,” he continued, his tone soft but laced with venom, “is mine. Mine to determine the value of. Mine to decide when it ends. Shall I remind you how fragile you are?”
He tilted his head, leaning in so close his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Do you know how easy it would be to snap this delicate neck of yours?”
The calm in his voice was worse than it would have been if he’d been shouting. It was surgical, like he was stating an irrefutable fact. I gasped for air, unable to move as his lips skimmed my skin. He didn’t kiss me, but the almost-kiss, the claim it implied, was suffocating.
“Fucking do it, then,” I hissed. “Put me out of my misery.”
He froze, and the tension in the air shifted. His hand trailed lower, resting just above the necklace, his fingers splayed across my collarbone. I thought he would laugh and mock me, but instead his grip tightened just enough to make me feel his strength, to remind me I was at his mercy.
“You think this is misery?” he asked in a sharp, icy whisper. “This is mercy, Vivian. And you don’t want to know what it looks like when I stop showing you that.”
The weight of him against me was unbearable, his presence overwhelming my senses. My heart raced, and my breath left me in shallow gasps. I couldn’t tell where his anger was aimed—at me, at himself, or at the tension sparking between us like live wires.
I couldn’t stop myself from wondering, almost morbidly, if the collar would stop me if I tried to end it all. Would it alert him before I could even finish the thought?
His eyes bored into mine, a tempest of fury and control. His lips hovered near my neck again, his breath warm against my skin as he inhaled deeply, like he was memorizing me. I could feel the hard line of his erection pressing against me, leaving no question about his state of mind.
I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. He traced a maddeningly slow line down my throat before he abruptly stepped back, the sudden loss of contact leaving me breathless and disoriented.
“You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”
He turned, his movements stiff as though he were reining himself in. “Go to your room. Eldora will have your clothing ready for you. There’s a performance in the dining hall tonight, and you will attend.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me shaking, my legs barely able to hold me up. I touched the necklace—it felt heavier than ever—and pressed my back harder against the bookshelf.
I didn’t know what terrified me more—the way he had looked at me, or the way I had felt under his gaze.