Chapter 6
SAGE
Iwant to haul off my dress.
His woodsy leather scent still clings to the fabric from when I wore his sweater in the library. It smells like a deep, dark forest, clean and fresh, and masculine. It somehow subdues the anger bubbling in my chest, which only makes me more furious with myself.
Why did I put it on? Of course, that sweater was his; who else would it belong to? This is his house. Severin owns everything on this wretched island.
Even you.
“Oh shut up,” I hiss at Nell’s stupid ghost. “Not anymore.”
I dig out the phone in my pocket to see one new message. It vibrated a few minutes ago when I was staring at that stupid warped mirror. I don’t know why I rushed into the bathroom to read it.
If it’s a message from Laine and Nola, I want to read it alone, not with my own reflection staring at me. But it’s not from either of my friends.
It’s from my father.
If he tries to send you home. Remind him of the morality clause, which impacts all contracts, including the property deal.
What property deal? My mind immediately goes to the property agreement I found in Severin’s office this afternoon. Why is my father involved in that?
When I read it, it felt connected. The language was too similar to how my grandfather’s law firm writes contracts—old-fashioned and wrapped in antiquated Victorian legalese to hide the awful parts in plain sight.
My family has always done it that way, to control everything.
Did my father help put together the sale of Grayfleet?
And does Severin have other agreements with my father that I don’t know about?
A morality clause that impacts all contracts.
At least I know what a morality clause is.
The phrase sends a chill through me, even now, I’m older and don’t care so much.
Father made me read every word of my trust fund agreement when I turned eighteen.
How could I forget a clause that has controlled me my whole life, forcing me to stay a virgin before marriage? An arranged marriage at that.
It almost made me throw up.
“These clauses protect family reputation and ensure proper conduct,” my father had said at the time. And now his cryptic text suggests there are implications to my staying here at Grayfleet before a wedding.
It occurred to me last night, while I had the worst insomnia ever, that Severin might send me home. No one here seems to have been expecting me. Severin, least of all. But my father has just given me a weapon. A way to force the monster to keep me here.
Oh, I want to leave. Don’t get me wrong.
Every nerve in my body is screaming to escape while I have the chance.
I had to grip my chair just now to keep myself from running out the door and diving into the next boat.
Severin is horrible, and the rumors of what he’s done to get where he is, I now believe, are true.
They were right; the newspapers, the gossip, even my mother.
Troy Severin is horrid.
And he definitely killed Nell. He practically admitted it just now.
For that reason alone, I need to stay.
Urgh.
And now I have nothing to wear because I wore his sweater, and my dress smells of him. I feel sick even having it against my skin. I’d rather walk naked around the estate than wear it again.
At that, a twisted giggle sticks in my throat, which turns into a strangled sob.
Then, it comes; hot tears burning the backs of my eyelids.
I sit on the bathtub’s edge, my dress half undone, letting the grief I’ve kept inside so long fall.
I haven’t cried this hard since my father informed me that this was my future.
I don’t want to cry. But it’s all coming out now, no stopping it
I cry for the longest time, until no more tears are left in me.
And then I take a deep breath, wipe my face, rebutton my dress, and exit the bathroom.
I must have been in my room for a while because the light has dipped outside when I look out the window.
The rain has ramped up, and the wind seems to have taken a dislike to the walls of Grayfleet, battering tree branches against it.
It feels like nature hates this place, too.
The sooner I leave, the better. I don’t know why I came here.
Yes, you do.
Before I can protest against the voice in my head, I catch my reflection instead.
Twisted by the vintage glass mirror, I don’t look like myself.
My features blur slightly at the edges, eyes too large, mouth blurred.
I don’t recognise the girl staring back at me.
She looks lost or trapped. Without stopping to think why, I take the blanket off the end of the bed and throw it over the glass.
There. Much better.
There’s a knock on the door as soon as I’m done. I flinch and find myself holding my breath until I hear who it is.
“Miss Lovett?” It’s just Mrs. Oakley.
“Y-yes?” Tension seeps from my bones as I call out to her through the door.
“I know you’re meant to be leaving, but any travel is delayed now until tomorrow. There’s a storm brewing.” When I don’t answer, she adds, “And dinner is in ten minutes.”
She knocks again. “Miss Lovett?”
“Right. Okay, thank you for letting me know.”
I wait until I hear her footsteps fade.
Then I hurry to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, slapping my cheeks to make myself look presentable with no makeup. The makeup I did bring in my vanity was ruined by the rain.
One glance at the clock tells me almost five minutes have passed when I come out of the bathroom a second time, so I suck in a breath, pocket my phone, and leave my room to head to dinner.
One last night.
That’s all I have…one more night, if I don’t use father’s leverage. So, no more crying, then. Now that I’m sure that Severin killed my Nell, I could kill him tonight, and then, somehow, quickly leave.
But how would I do it?
Throw a toaster into his bathtub?
Stab him with a butter knife?
Make him laugh while he’s eating so that he chokes to death?
Oh god, all of those are terrible ways to finish someone off. And none are at all discreet. I’d get caught, for sure. They’d have the police waiting for me when I got off this island.
If I got off the island, there’s a storm brewing, apparently.
All I can think as I take a seat at the empty table is that I’m the worst murderer in the world.
I eat alone, at first. Only the sound of cutlery scraping against china and rain lashing the windows breaks the silence as I push food around my plate, my appetite nonexistent since this afternoon’s incident in the library.
While no one is around, I slip my dinner knife under the table and sit on it.
As soon as Severin comes, the first chance I get, I’m going to stab him with it.
That quickly changes when Severin eventually decides to join me, and I grip the warm metal under my thigh and then start shaking.
You couldn’t stab him if your life depended on it, Nell titters.
I hate that she’s always right.
Thankfully, Severin hasn’t looked at me yet.
He’s reading a bunch of papers that seem important as he walks in, wearing a pristine suit that looks as though it’s been poured on.
His presence exudes power, and I’m aware of how tall he is.
I didn’t notice before. The memory of him that first night, towering over me in his bed, comes flooding back.
He’s at least six foot four.
An unchewed portion of food lodges in my throat as I sit there, frozen in my seat, waiting for him to notice little old me.
My throat still aches where he keeps grabbing me, I’m sure of it. My cheeks still flush whenever I think of how he found me earlier, fast asleep, drooling in his sweater…
Even my mouth tingles.
But he doesn’t seem to care. He keeps on reading, like I’m not even there. He doesn’t bother to look over when he takes a seat at the other end of the table, as far away from me as possible. In fact, he doesn’t bother to look up from his work at all.
I may as well be a ghost.
Until I drop the dinner knife I was clutching with shaking hands, trying to hide it within the folds of my dress skirt. Severin looks up. His gaze locks on mine, his eyes zip up and down, taking me in, and then he glares.
My chair scrapes across the hardwood floor as I crouch down to retrieve the dropped utensil. And then, slowly, I sit back down, settling the knife on my lap.
There’s a heartbeat where all I can hear is blood pounding in my ears.
And all the horror of who this man is worms its way under my skin, making me want to run far, far away.
When Severin’s green eyes narrow as sharp as cut glass.
And he opens his mouth to say something and then shakes his head as though dismissing the idea.
But then Mrs. Oakley walks in. She delivers Severin a plate with everything on it, along with a wine glass and a decanter containing a swirling, dark red liquid. As she walks back toward the kitchen, past where I’m sitting, she pauses.
Her brown eyes, usually stern, soften. “Do you want me to take that, dear?”
I’m not hungry anymore, so my bowl of salad that I asked for is mostly untouched. But it makes me feel awful for having others make food for me and not eating it, so I shake my head.
“I’m just about to finish it.” I stab my fork at a wedge of carrot and start munching just to please her. Old habits die hard.
Mrs. Oakley nods and struts off, her linen pants swishing as she does. When she’s gone, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind howling, and me…eating the crunchiest carrot there is.
I’m so annoyed that I can’t kill Severin that I purposely take big bites, enjoying the light sweetness of the vegetable, taking away the sour taste in my mouth.
After a few seconds, there’s a sigh from the other end of the table.
“Do you have to do that?” Severin puts his pages down to look at me.
I stop mid-chew, but then I can’t answer him, so I force myself to swallow. “Do what?”
“Eat loudly.” His tone is scathing enough that blood rushes to my face.