Chapter 13 Keira
THIRTEEN
KEIRA
It's been hours with no word. No footsteps outside my door. No knock to summon me downstairs.
Five minutes past ten.
Late enough to slip out, make a quick sandwich, and get back to Hale's room before anyone notices I'm missing. I sleep there most nights now. It's safer, or at least it feels that way.
In Scotland, Ewan and I had separate bedrooms. Here, he's made sure I don't have a space that belongs to me.
He says it's so we can feel more like a family, but that's bullshit. He wants another child, and his bed will freeze before I let him touch me willingly.
The hallway greets me with a chilling silence.
It's too quiet.
A thin prickle ripples across my skin, that old instinct sharpening even as the rest of me feels worn thin.
I used to move through darkness without a thought. I liked the thrill of dangerous situations—that's what I loved most about my job. I was powerful, unstoppable even.
Now every unknown space feels like I'm being pulled underwater.
The two guards normally posted at the east wing are gone. No murmured radio chatter. Just empty air where men with guns should be.
The night housekeeper's chair by the service stairs sits pushed in, folded apron on top. There's always someone here. Where is everyone?
I feel a bit better when I step into the kitchen and see someone stacking plates.
"Good evening," I say.
But the man doesn't acknowledge me as he sets each dish down gently.
Ewan's going to blindside me tonight.
This is another lockdown.
I run the math through my head quickly, trying to remember when I had my period. How many days since my last cycle? How many times have I refused him?
Shit.
It's not looking good. I'm either approaching ovulation or just finished it.
"Mrs. Calder."
A guard appears at the end of the hall. The broad one from the garden with the blank eyes. "Mr. Calder requests your presence in the main dining hall."
Requests. The irony.
"I'll go freshen up and meet him there in a few minutes."
He takes several steps, blocking the exit. "Not necessary. I'll escort you now."
I wasn't planning on running. There is nowhere for me to go.
There's no door I can reach before a hand closes around my arm. No window wide enough to matter. No world that exists outside the prison he's built for me.
Even if there was, running would only make the punishment worse.
There's nowhere to run or hide.
No one coming to save me.
No version of me strong enough to stop what's waiting behind that door.
And the worst part is…some part of me believes I deserve whatever happens next. That maybe this is the only ending someone like me was ever going to get.
I hold my breath, pausing for a few seconds before opening the dining hall door.
I'm going to delay this for as long as possible.
The guard reaches over and opens it.
Another reminder.
The room has been reorganized. The long table is bare except for two settings in the middle. White plates. Gold cutlery. One lone candle burning.
Ewan stands when I enter. "Keira, thank you for agreeing to have a late dinner with me."
Agreeing? What a joke.
When I step inside, the door clicks shut behind me. I'm officially trapped in a cage with a beast.
"Why did you send Hale away?"
His expression thins. "Why do you sound upset? He's having a wonderful time, I'm sure."
"You didn't tell me he was leaving for the night."
"I don't need to run everything by you. Sit." He gestures to the chair.
I don't move. "Actually, you do. I'm his mother."
A dangerous look spreads across his ugly face. He steps behind the chair and drags it out with a scrape that raises every hair on my arms.
"Sit. Now."
When I don't comply, he grabs me by the arm and shoves me down into the chair.
I catch a whiff of his nauseating cologne as he pushes me too far in, forcing the wood to bite into my ribcage. When I try to shift back, his hands clamp down and pin me in place.
He leans close to my ear. "I don't like repeating myself. Don't disrespect me again."
The door opens. A kitchen staff member walks in, head down, carrying two plates of food. She sets them down and pours wine into our glasses.
I'm desperate for her to lift her head and look into my eyes—see the plea in them—but she never does. She's more scared than me as she scurries out.
Ewan plants a kiss on the top of my head before taking a seat.
I draw inward, folding every sharp edge down, trying to quiet the dread that's snaking its way through my body.
"Why do you look like someone died?" Ewan asks pleasantly, cutting into his steak. "It's a great day. I handled a threat and made a lot of money."
"That's wonderful."
"That's all you have to say?"
"Sorry, I'm just tired."
He chuckles. "Of what, exactly? You never do anything."
The bite in my throat turns to dust, but I swallow it anyway.
"You know," he says, watching me instead of his plate, "you've changed this past year. Stopped wasting energy on pointless fights. It's made you much easier to live with."
I keep my breathing even, focusing on the food in front of me.
"You're calmer," he continues. "Almost content. Does it make you happy, Keira? Living like this?"
"Sure." I smile through the lie.
"I think we should celebrate that too."
He watches my face as he says it, savoring the way my fingers tighten around the stem of the wineglass.
"Answer me."
I clear my throat. "How do you propose we do that?"
He grimaces, as if the question offends him. "Something more intimate. Just you and me."
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Hale won't stay small forever. He won't stay protected. I need options." He cuts into his steak again.
A threat wrapped in a promise.
I wish I could shove the steak down his throat and stab him in the eye with his knife.
"I thought we discussed this," I reply, keeping my tone neutral—the way I used to when talking to targets with guns tucked behind their backs.
Ewan tilts his head. "And I told you what I want, but you've made excuses the last few times."
"I wasn't ovulating."
"Surely you are now. It's been a couple of weeks since you bled."
A thin, nervous laugh slips out. "Are you keeping track of my cycle?"
"I'd like to cover my bases, just in case." He winks at me.
My hand curls around the edge of the table beneath the linen. "If you'll excuse me, I'm not actually that hungry."
"You're not going anywhere."
I stand, and he stares up at me, half smiling.
"Sit." The softness in his voice vanishes so fast the room chills.
I stay standing, contemplating making a run for it.
"Keira."
Every cell in my body screams move, but I turn toward the door too late. His hand fists in my hair and yanks me backward so hard I let out a scream.
"You ungrateful little whore," he breathes into my ear. "I have given you everything. Food. Shelter. Protection. A son who is still breathing because of me."
He spins me and shoves me to the floor. My palms burn as they skid across the carpet.
Where is my will to fight now?
Above me on the table, a candle flickers steadily…so I stare at it. Focus my attention on the flame.
You will not cry.
He's behind me, the weight of him bigger than his body as he presses my cheek into the carpet.
The rug smells like cleaning solution and dust.
"You embarrassed me today at the table, in front of my guests. Your hand pushing mine away like you're some fucking feral animal who forgot its owner."
His knee presses down between my shoulder blades.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I'd let that slide?"
I don't answer.
His hand slides slowly down my spine until he reaches the hem of my dress.
"Stop, please."
"Shut up."
Cold air hits my skin as he yanks the fabric up to my waist.
Panic floods my brain, but my body goes still. This is survival—finding a quiet place inside my mind to retreat to, somewhere he can't reach. It's the only thing I have left.
"Look at you," he murmurs, almost tender. "So obedient when you remember your place."
His hand trails up my thigh and I close my eyes, swallowing another scream. Bury every emotion I have somewhere he will never reach.
I refuse to let a single tear fall.
He may have my body, but he will never have my fear.
So I go somewhere he can never follow, walking out of the room without moving an inch.