10
“What the—”
“Get up!” Mama’s voice seethes in my ear.
I pull my arm out of her grip, rubbing on the sore muscle with a frown on my face. “Why?”
Mama glares at me with an irritation. “They are coming for you today. And I don’t want any trouble, do you hear me? You Papa is still not fully recovered. You need to be ready when they arrive.”
Still half asleep, I trudge into the bathroom, slipping out of my clothes before stepping into the shower. The warm water soothes my skin and nurses me back to reality and when I come out, Mama’s supervising as the maids pack away my things.
She fixes me with an unimpressed glare. “Don’t look at me like that, you ungrateful girl.”
I clear my features of any apparent emotions, averting my gaze.
She crosses her arms. “You were supposed to pack your things, now I have to do it.”
Technically, she isn’t actually doing anything, the maids are, but I’m not in the mood to start another one of her tantrums. I shift on my feet, supressing a sigh. “Well…thank you.”
“No need.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Thatd’yavolchoosing to marry you has made me the happiest I’ve been in a while.”
I press my lips together, but somehow the words still fall from my mouth. “I thought you wanted Ana to marry him.”
She lifts her chin. “I did. But then I cut my losses and raised my ambitions. Ana will find someone better than Torren Costa. He is perfect for you.”
Right. She doesn’t care that I’m moving out. In fact, it’s what she wanted. I swallow, looking around. I’ll miss everything about this home. Even being chastised and berated by Mama makes my heart ache. And thinking about leaving makes me want to start crying, but I hold back the tears.
The maids carry my bags downstairs, and I hold as much as I can in my own arms as I follow them down. I can feel Mama’s presence lingering as she descends the staircase behind me.
Suddenly, the tall wood front door of the house opens. Torren’s cousin, Luca, stands on the other side with his hands in his pockets. Instead of chastising him for walking into our house like he owns it, Mama looks mildly surprised. “I thought you would send a driver.”
He ignores her. “We leave now.”
What?
“You’re two hours early,” I mutter.
Luca just shrugs. “Better early than late, no?”
A few of the Costa guards step forward to pick up mymanybags before striding to the car.
Remembering, I turn back to the staircase. “I want to say bye to Ana.”
Mama steps in my way. “She’s sleeping.”
Sighing, I nod. I guess I can visit as soon as possible, anyway. Papa left the house earlier than usual today. I know it’s because he couldn’t bear to see me leave.
“You ready?” Luca asks.
And even though I’m not, and never really will be, I nod.
He turns and starts walking, and I follow behind him. He gets into the driver’s seat, and I take the passenger seat. I reach to turn the A/C on, and Luca doesn’t bother stopping me. He’s not like Torren, but I don’t think he’s much better, either.
I sigh, looking out the window. Instinctively, I reach for the silver heart-shaped locket around my neck. It belonged to my real Mama. I never knew her, but Papa said she was a good woman.
I wonder what she’d think of me doing this.
And then, as quick as I start wondering, I pull the brakes on the thought, because it’s a one way down spiral.
Instead, I glance out my window. It’s a one-hour drive between Staten Island and Manhattan.
I hate that I’m forced so far away from home despite being in New York.
Outside, the scenery slowly changes, the buildings growing taller and taller, the streets smoother and busier. Torren has a loft in Tribeca, New York’s wealthiest neighbourhood. Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens— they’re all Italian turf. The Costas rule over New York’s underworld.
I don’t even know I’ve fallen asleep until someone shakes my shoulder roughly. I blink my eyes open and meet Luca’s face before he blows a puff of cigarette smoke in my face. “Up and out, princess. We’re here.”
I crunch my face and cough out the smoke, stepping out the car. My Doc Martens and black plaid skirt suddenly seem out of place as I glance up at the glance up at the high-rise building.
It’s strange. I expected something more.
. . modern. The exterior of the building is antique and traditional.
Warm, almost. The opposite of the cold, cruel character I know.
This must be an empty house he decided to shove me in, then.
I watch as the Costa guards take finish unloading the last of my bags.
They must have already taken a few rounds while I was sleeping.
“Which floor?”
“Penthouse.” Luca flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps on it before turning to me. “Torren doesn’t like neighbours.”
I can’t help but blurt, “This is his personal home?”
“Yep,” Luca mutters, ushering me into the large wooden doors at the entrance.
I frown. Torren owns countless properties. Why would he set me up in the one he lives in? I guess I already know the answer to that question. He knows how much his presence tortures me. And when was he one to spare me the torture?
We take the gilded elevator with all the way up to the twenty-ninth floor. Inside, the house is a whole new story.
White marble floors, sleek furniture and fully glass windows for walls. Light pours through the space, casting a golden glow on everything. The furniture is in shades of cream and taupe, and everything looks untouched.The scent of him lingers in the air, and I hate that I recognise it.
“Home sweet home,” Luca mutters.
“Where is he?” I ask, “Torren?”
Luca grins. “Already missing him?”
I scoff. As if. “I get to stay here alone?”
“No.” Luca gives me a flat look. “He’s at a meeting.”
I pull off my leather jacket and Luca’s gaze lands on my exposed skin, but he averts it quickly. “See you around, baby Morozov.”
I can’t help but notice the creases on his black dress shirt. He’s definitely not like his cousin. Luca’s back recedes as he closes the door, and it draws quiet as I go back to marvelling out the large windows. The penthouse is so high up that you can see the entire city from here.
“Miss Freya?”
I jump, turning to find an older woman with bronze skin, dark eyes and slate grey hair pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a loose white apron over a dark grey dress.
“Who —”
“Giulia, Miss. I cook and clean for Mr Costa.”
I glance back to Giulia. “Have you been here the whole time?”
She nods. “I will go home soon. Mr Costa said I must show you your room before I leave. Please, come.”
Dazed, I follow her through the hallway as she leads me to a room twice the size of my one at home. The space is nice, but it feels . . . empty. I notice that there’s a feminine vanity mirror and the room seems like it was set for me.
I smile. “Separate rooms, huh?”
Giulia looks at me with pity in her eyes. “Do not be sad, Miss. Mr Costa likes own space, no? Even dog has own room.”
I refrain from giving her a ludicrous look. She thinks I feel bad about being in separate rooms?Ha.If only we could be on different planets.
Giulia continues talking. “Please do not go upstairs. Everything you need is downstairs. I have made food, Miss Freya. Please eat. I must leave now.”
The woman turns around to leave, and I swallow, opening my mouth to stop her. “Giulia.”
She turns. “Yes, Miss?”
“Is the apartment … safe?”
She gives me a warm smile. “Apartment is safe, Miss.”
Little does she know that the only monster I need saving from is the one who lives here.
I nod. “Okay. Please call me Freya from now on.”
“I …” She looks like she’d rather eat glue than call me by my name. “I cannot, Miss. I will leave now and see you tomorrow.”
I sigh. “Okay. Bye, Giulia.”
After she leaves, I go exploring. The place is giant.
I find it strange that there aren’t any pictures or anything too personal.
It’s only warm because of the sunlight. At night, I imagine it will be cold and empty.
I’ll bet good money that he had someone else decorate it. To his specifications, of course.
There are a few neutral dresses that look like something the first lady would wear, and a few pairs of kitten heels.
I resist the urge to scoff. Like hell I’m going to wear these things.
I move to the vanity, pulling open the cupboards.
There are basic things, too. Hairdryer, hairbrush, neutral makeup.
And buried neatly in the top drawer of the vanity, I find something that makes me clench my jaw.
A vibrator.
A fuckingvibrator.
It’s tiny and black, and if I didn’t look twice, I would have looked right past it.
Annoyed, I fling it to the floor and storm out of the room. So he gets to fuck other people but allIget is a vibrator?
I’m still fuming when I decide to go upstairs, ignoring Giulia’s instructions.
Upstairs, theentiretyof the second floor seems like it’s Torren’s room, bathroom and what looks like an office. It makes sense now — I get the guest room while he has a whole damn floor.
He didn’t even have the decency to bring me to his house. He’s off at some meeting while I’m stuck here like a captive.
His room is devoid of emotion. No wallpaper, no ornaments. The walls are the lightest shade of grey, and the cupboards are a deep mahogany so dark it’s almost black. Somehow, the second level suits him. Cold and colourless.
And I find cameras. I follow them along the hall and downstairs, I spot more. I walk into my room to check if they’re there, but nothing.What the fuck?So locking me up in here wasn’t enough he has a whole collection of cameras set up to spy on me, too?
The weight of the ring on my finger seems heavier than ever. I lift my hand up to the light and the diamonds glisten and gleam, almost taunting me. I’m about to pull the ring off when I stop halfway.
I push the ring back down my finger. And then I promise myself to only take it off when I’ve ruined him. To only take it off when I’ve ruined Torren Costa.
He clearly gave me my own space which clearly means he values his space. So the first way I can get to him is by encroaching that space. I figure it’s time to do a little unpacking. I fill his place with tampons, perfumes, shampoos, body washes.
Looking deliberately ugly, dressing down and being non-sexual doesn’t get to him or drive him away from me. I remember the look on his face at the engagement, where she was forced to dress up. The opposite of these things get to him.
My strategy of dressing hideously to that lunch was never going to work.
Why? Because he saw me covered in car grease and decided to marry me.
He’s not bothered by my messy self. In fact, it fuels him.
It makes him want to stay away. He doesn’t like Ana because she’s the epitome of femininity.
A distraction. So me dressing down isn’t going to work.
From now on, I’m going to wear what I want to wear.
Frustrated, I collapse on a couch in the lounge.
I find myself staring at the ceiling, ashamed of myself for craving company. I’ve never felt so alone. And then I get angrier.
Ana was right. Swallowing my pride is killing me. I won’t do it. Won’t change myself or make myself smaller. If he wants me as his wife then he can have me. Ana really shouldn’t have taught me all those rules. Because I’m going to break them all. One. By. One.
An idea sparks in my mind, and before I can douse the flames of it, I rush to my room and find the discarded vibrator, then walk out to the lounge, plopping down on the couch, right in the view of the camera.
This is insane. But I’m so frustrated. And it makes sense. He wanted me to use it, right? I’m fuelled by another bout of rage as I lay back on the couch, perching my legs on the couch. My breath hitches. And I’m only half ashamed to admit it, but—I’m turned on.
My hand is clutched around the vibrator, and I tuck it under the waistband of my skirt. I make eye contact with the camera, and my breathing turns heavier as I realize what I’m about to do.
Blood pounds at my core, and my sex is already throbbing.
I’ve never done something like this before, but before I can stop, I switch the vibrator on.
And I can’t help the slight gasp that escapes my lips.
I close my eyes and arch my back, and all that flashes in my mind are dark gazes, rough touches, and pure hatred.
Oh God. The vibrator is tiny, smaller than my hand—but strangely powerful, and because it’s so small, I can use my fingers too.
I flick the vibrator around in a circle and a shudder runs down my spine.
My breathing grows heavier by the second.
I’m so close I can feel it — a delicious sweetness on the tip of my tongue, like butter melting on toast. And then I climax, and my back arches right off the couch, and I have to hold down my skirt.
A last shudder rolls through my body, delicious and satiated.
The grin I pass the camera is genuine.Oops.