Chapter 39
The Flame
At first, I ignored the knocking, pulling the blanket tighter around myself and squeezing my eyes shut. I had been dreaming of a life outside this place. Where I was safe. Where no one knew me. I wasn’t ready for reality to bleed back into place yet.
With every passing second, with every blink back into my nightmare existence, I was becoming more and more aware of every muscle in my body and how badly they ached.
My skin felt bruised from head to toe, my throat was sore from screaming, and my entire body seemed determined to remind me of every stupid decision I had made over the previous twenty-four hours.
Unfortunately there were far too many of them to count.
The knocking came again, louder this time, followed by a third sharp rap that rattled the door hard enough to make me flinch.
“Go away,” I muttered into the pillow. It wasn’t Silas. He wouldn’t have had the decency to knock. And I wasn’t interested in seeing him, nor anyone else, so I didn’t care how rude I sounded.
Shockingly, whoever was outside failed to listen.
The door opened.
I rolled onto my back with a groan and immediately regretted it as pain shot through muscles I hadn’t even known existed. Honestly, how many muscles could one person possibly possess? Because I was rapidly discovering new ones every few seconds.
When I focused on the doorway, I saw a new guard stood glaring at me.
“Can I help you?” I practically spat at him.
He wasn’t one of the familiar faces that occasionally accompanied Silas around the property. This man was older, broader, and looked as though smiling would physically pain him.
After last night, I wasn’t in the mood to see any man. Yes, it was unfair to tar them all with the same brush, but it had been Silas, a man, who had violated me, and it wasn’t making me feel very favourably towards their sex.
“Good morning to you too,” I said dryly when he didn’t reply to me.
Clearly another member of the Falcone School of Communication.
Wonderful.
“Mr Falcone requires your presence.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound came out slightly hysterical, but I felt it was justified given the circumstances.
“Tell him I’m disinclined to acquiesce his request,” I said, channelling my inner Elizabeth Swan.
The corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly, but he didn’t reply to me. He simply stepped further into the room, carrying a large white garment bag, which he placed carefully across the armchair near the window before returning his attention to me.
My stomach immediately dropped.
No.
Absolutely not.
There was no chance in hell that was what I thought it was.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked, already knowing the answer. The guard’s expression remained stubbornly blank.
“Seriously,” I said, my voice bordering on hysterical. “What the fuck is in the bag?”
His eyes shifted toward the bag. Then back to me.
“A gift. Are you disinclined to acquiesce his gift, too?”
I didn’t bother dignifying that with an answer. I pushed myself upright and crossed the room, ignoring the protests from my body. The zip slid open beneath my fingers, and several layers of white fabric spilled into view.
For several seconds I simply stared at it, feeling sick to my stomach.
“No,” I said simply. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
Silence.
“Tell him I have no need for it, and he can throw it in the fire where it belongs.”
More silence.
Apparently, this was going to be one of those conversations.
I shoved the dress back into the bag and folded my arms across my chest.
“I’m not wearing that. Silas must be out of his goddamn mind if he thinks—”
The guard took a single step forward, and my mouth clamped shut.
“You can put it on yourself.” His voice was low and rough and I immediately wished he hadn’t bothered replying. “Or I can do it for you. Something I wouldn’t be disinclined to acquiesce.”
“Jeez. Learn to let things go,” I muttered.
I didn’t doubt him for a second. Not because I thought he would enjoy the task.
If anything, the man looked deeply inconvenienced by the prospect of human interaction.
But there was something in his expression that made it abundantly clear he had received instructions and intended to follow them regardless of how humiliating the experience might be for everyone involved.
Silas had already violated my body enough himself. It was hardly unbelievable that he’d instruct his guards to do the same.
Fantastic. Just absolutely fantastic.
“Has anyone called for me?” I asked, suddenly remembering exactly what had happened last night.
In fact, now that I was remembering, my gaze wandered around my bedroom.
Why was I in here? This hadn’t been the room I collapsed in. And then, bit by bit, memories started resurfacing—memories that felt like a dream, but I knew had happened to me. Starting with being carried into this room, and ending with Silas kissing my cheek—after shaving me.
Jesus fucking Christ, the man was insane!
“Are you expecting a gentleman caller?” the guard laughed at me, pulling my attention back to him. “Maybe luncheon with the ladies?”
“Go fuck yourself,” I snapped back.
Arrogant prick.
But with the resurfaced memories came a quiet confidence. Despite how horrific some of them were, there was one that gave me hope—Adrien knew where I was. He had answered the phone and heard me say Falcone Manor. He’d asked about Silas.
He knew. Surely he would tell my father where I was, and they would both attempt to rescue me?
The two men might hate each other by now. Frankly, I wasn’t entirely convinced either of them particularly liked me. But my father was many things, and prideful sat somewhere near the top of the list.
Someone stealing his daughter?
Someone forcing her into a marriage? Well, someone who wasn’t him, at least. There was no version of reality where Vittorio Carbone quietly accepted that.
Help was coming. It had to be. All I had to do was buy time.
The problem was that buying time required cooperation, and cooperation was becoming increasingly difficult when faced with a wedding dress and a guard who looked as though he routinely disposed of people for entertainment.
The thought had crossed my mind that I should have rung Marco. But I didn’t want to drag my brother into this shit show if I didn’t need to. Besides, whatever power he had in this world was because our dad gave it to him. He was no match for Adrien, not when it came to taking on Silas.
And, if I were being truly honest with myself, I knew asking Adrien for help would hurt Silas far more than if I had asked Marco.
I looked at the dress again and immediately regretted it.
It was somehow even more offensive the second time around.
Whoever had designed it had clearly been talented.
The fabric looked expensive, the lace delicate, and there were tiny embroidered roses stitched across the bodice that probably took someone hundreds of hours to complete.
It was beautiful in exactly the same way a guillotine might be beautiful if enough effort had been put into decorating it.
“Has he lost his mind?” I whispered to myself. “Why the fuck would he take it this far? Why would he want to marry me?”
The guard raised an eyebrow at me. “Perhaps he loves you and wants you to have his babies.”
“Are you alright, or what? Because I feel like we’re all overlooking a fairly significant mental health crisis from both you and Silas.”
He said nothing, and I was beginning to suspect he had been born looking irritated, and his first words had been laced with sarcasm.
With a sigh, I picked up the dress and carried it into the bathroom. The guard followed me with his eyes the entire way, apparently concerned I might attempt another dramatic escape through the plumbing.
“You’re staying?”
“Until the bitter end.”
“Why did I expect anything else?”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s lost her mind?” he smirked at me again, and my hand itched to slap him.
Of course he was staying. Why would anyone in this house suddenly decide I deserved privacy? But did he really have to be so fucking smug about it?
The bathroom door remained open as I changed, which was humiliating enough without the added challenge of trying to force my body into a fitted wedding dress whilst every muscle protested.
Twice I nearly lost my balance. Once I actually did lose it and ended up hopping across the floor on one foot whilst muttering several creative insults about Silas Falcone and every generation of his family tree.
“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” I barked at the guard after hearing a scoffed laugh under his breath.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. This isn’t the fun house, is it, Isabelle?”
Ugh. I hated hearing my name come from his disgusting mouth.
“Just… turn around and stop being a nuisance.”
“And miss the show? Not a chance. Hurry up.”
I rolled my eyes and turned my back on him instead.
The dress eventually settled into place, moulding itself to my body with alarming precision. It fit perfectly. It moulded to my breasts and cinched my waist, hugging tightly against my skin before flaring at the hips and creating the illusion of a perfect hourglass figure.
It wasn’t even a surprise that Silas knew my exact measurements. Nothing was a surprise at this point.
I turned slowly towards the mirror and immediately wished I hadn’t.
The woman staring back at me looked exactly like a bride.
Her hair fell neatly around her shoulders. There was a blush to her cheeks. The ivory fabric complemented her skin, and made her hair look almost black in comparison.
She looked beautiful.
She definitely didn’t look like she was being marched towards her execution. But clothes always had a magical effect. It’s why Silas only dressed in black, fitted suits. It’s why Adrien always looked polished and perfect. It’s why my mother never went out of the house without a new dress.
If the outside looked good enough, no one looked closer.
I spun away from the mirror, not wanting to see myself a second longer.
“Happy now?” I said to the guard, hiking the dress up and stomping over to him.
“Ecstatic.”
I hated him a little. Legit fucking hated him.
He escorted me from the room several minutes later, refusing every attempt I made to slow our progress.
I tried stopping for water. He ignored me.
I claimed I felt faint. He ignored that, too.
At one point, I deliberately walked into the wrong corridor, and he simply grabbed my elbow and redirected me without breaking stride.
It was like being escorted by an exceptionally judgemental mountain.
My eyes constantly drifted towards the windows, every glimpse of the driveway had my heart jumping. But there was nothing—no black cars, no approaching convoy, no sign of my father or Adrien.
I told myself that meant nothing.
Falcone Manor sat in the middle of nowhere. Rescue missions took time. Planning took time. Even locating a heavily guarded estate took time.
They were coming. They had to be.
The alternative was simply unacceptable.
We eventually reached the main entrance hall, and for one brief, ridiculous second, I genuinely considered making a run for the front doors. The idea lasted approximately as long as it took me to notice the four armed guards stationed nearby.
Apparently Silas had anticipated that possibility.
Arrogant bastard.
The guard beside me guided me towards a set of double doors I had never seen opened before. My pulse immediately quickened.
“What happens if I refuse?”
“You won’t.”
“I appreciate your confidence, but let's just say I do—”
“Then I shoot you and we can all be done with the day.”
Well. That was me told.
The doors opened, and cold air swept inside, making me shiver.
“I’m not escorting you on a sight-seeing adventure, Isabelle. Ooh, the trees are so pretty,” he mocked, his voice raising an octave. “Shut your mouth and get in the car.”
God, I wished I had the balls to grab his gun and shoot the bastard in his dick.