I follow her down the stairs. Even the sun gleaming through the mansion is not enough to lift my sour mood.
I should be ecstatic. I’m allowed full access to the house. I just spent a wonderful night with a magnificent man. I have somebody constantly waiting on me.
But… I cannot allow myself to be. The change in Stonehart’s demeanor last night came without warning.
If the circumstances of my presence here were any different—if , for example I was free to leave the house whenever I wanted—this would be a wonderful start to a glorious day.
But the collar tight around my neck is a constant reminder of the reality of my situation. I can’t delude myself into thinking that just because Stonehart was warm and compassionate last night, anything has changed.
In fact, things are more the same than ever. My whole life is under his control. I am here because of that disgusting contract. And he—I can tell—knows exactly what he’s doing to screw with my head.
In fact, things might even be worse than they seem. I’ve come no closer to unearthing anything about Stonehart that I can use to my advantage. I’ve put a halt to my budding friendship with Rose because I can’t be sure of her alliances. I am more alone than ever before, and I am terrified that I might be losing my resolve.
There. That’s what scares me most about last night. I fell so easily into Stonehart’s arms—not because I wanted to, but because my body told me to. It had nothing to do with the contract, or the obligation I have toward him.
Acquiescing is supposed to be a way of maintaining my freedoms, so that I have the best chance of uncovering his motives. But last night, I forgot all those things. I forgot them as Stonehart exposed me to the realm of pleasure he can bring.
Whoa. I sit down at the table and exhale. This is some heavy shit. Am I just psyching myself out? No, I don’t think so. I am being justifiably cautious. I cannot let my guard down around him like I did last night.
“Orange juice, or milk?” Rose asks. Her voice rouses me from my reverie.
“Oh. Um…” I look down at my food for the first time. There’s a steaming omelet, a few pieces of toast, and a side of grapefruit. “Orange juice would be fine, thank you.”
“One moment,” Rose says, retreating into the kitchen.
The sight and smell of food awaken a ravenous hunger in me—probably prompted by the activities of last night. I grab my fork and begin to shovel it all into my mouth, distinctly un-ladylike.
Rose brings me my glass without a word. She sets it down on the table in front of me. I avoid looking at her. I can feel her eyes on me, and I can’t bear to look up and see her kind face, knowing that I have to shut her out.
“Mr. Stonehart left a note for you,” she says, placing a tented piece of paper before me. “I’ll get out of your way for now.”
The undercurrent of hurt in her voice is too much to ignore. I almost—almost—call out to ask her to come back…
But I lose my chance when she strides out of the room.
You don’t know whose side she’s on, I remind myself. You have no friends here.
If that’s true, why do I feel so bad about letting her go?
To distract myself, I look at the letter. I pick it up and turn it over, finding Stonehart’s familiar slanted writing on the underside.
You will not earn enough TGBs to attend the gala with me at the end of the month.
However, if you show yourself willing, an exception could be made for the day.
- J.S.
And just like that, I’m plunged right back into my role of the captive.
Did last night mean nothing to him? There’s no mention of what we did in the letter. There’s nothing to acknowledge anything we shared.
Of course there isn’t! I tell myself bitterly. You’re a fool for expecting there to be.
The compassion he demonstrated yesterday was clearly an act. He wanted me to let my guard down around him. To become more reliant on him than I already am. To lose any trace of self-sufficiency and lean on him for everything from shelter to sustenance to emotional gratification.
Fuck that.
I crumple the note up in a flash of anger and chuck it away. This is all part of his mind games.
I hate how they’re affecting me.
I push away the rest of my breakfast and stalk out to the sunroom. Every step I take fans the flames of rage building inside.
Most of it is self-directed. How could I be so weak? How could I be so stupid, as to expect last night to change anything?
I know better than that. I’m supposed to know better than that.
And yet, a tiny part of me, deep down, hoped that things might be different.
Am I so eager for affection because I’ve been deprived of human contact for so long? Is that why I succumbed so easily last night? I can’t delude myself into thinking I was acting. It was more than that. It felt…
Real.
Holy shit! Holy shit, Lilly!
I start pacing the sunroom, my mind racing at a hundred miles per hour. Last night was not real. The emotions I felt were not right. They were in no way acceptable.
The ease with which I fell into the trap makes me think I’ve been underestimating Stonehart from the very start. That’s a horrible thing to admit. It lends absolutely no confidence to my ability to judge people.
What happened to the Lilly who prided herself on her psychology education? What happened to the girl who won the Barker Prize for having the best essay at Yale?
Unless… a horrible, sinking feeling forms in my gut. What if the real reason I won that prize had nothing to do with talent? What if—somehow—Stonehart pulled the strings to make me win?
I fall onto the chair as if I’ve been pushed. The thought is ridiculous, of course. I’m being paranoid. Stonehart can’t have influenced the decision of the selection committee at Yale. And besides, if Robin hadn’t found my paper, if Fey and Sonja hadn’t conspired to hand it in on my behalf…
But then again, I’ve seen the things Stonehart is capable of. If he went to all this length just to get me to sign a contract of servitude—a contract that I know is completely superfluous, and would never hold up in any court—how can I be sure he hasn’t been manipulating my life for far longer?
He is one of the most powerful and secretive men in the country. Just how far does his influence spread? Could he have rigged the selection, somehow, to ensure that I was the winner?
That whole proposition just seems so unlikely that if I had heard it at any other time, I would have laughed. But Stonehart told me he owns Corfu Consulting. He must have been the one to tell them to extend the internship offer to me. And the transition into the full-time job. How else would he have heard about the ‘promising young woman’ who’s had her plans disrupted?
The only way any of it makes sense is if he has been manipulating my life from afar for some time now. He owns the company that gave me the job offer. He owns the client firm I was creating a marketing firm for.
It’s more than coincidence. The employment deal made me leave Yale. Ziltech pulling out left me in complete limbo. That made me accept his offer to meet, which led to the dinner, and then the drink…
Oh, God!
The possibility that’s been hovering at the edge of my mind since yesterday comes hurtling into view.
Stonehart asked me why I came to California. He was toying with me. He didn’t say it outright, but the answer is clear:
I came to California because of him.
How long has he been planning my capture? How long has he been working from the shadows? He has a lifetime of experience manipulating people.
And I thought I could compete?
I scoff bitterly. If Stonehart took the time to plan my abduction, I’m sure he’s already planned out exactly how my stay is going to progress. He is a sociopath. Emotions do not play a role in his reasoning.
I read once that the most successful business people do not possess the capacity for empathy. T
hat description fits Stonehart to a tee.
That means last night was not a spur-of-the-moment thing. Not for him. He’d planned it out, just like he’s planned out everything else. He did it to get me into the exact mental state I’m in now.
I’m so frustrated I could scream. What chance do I have, really, to undermine him? Stonehart has all the advantages. And I have… what? A crumbling sense of self-worth? A failing need for independence? A spirit that might be a little harder to break than some other girl’s?
I’m just about ready to cry. Those aren’t advantages. They’re simply character traits. And if Stonehart has been watching me for as long as I suspect he has, he already knows them all.
What’s worse, he’s already accounted for them, and probably decided how to deal with me based on them to boot.
That sinking sense of despair starts to well up inside again. It’s the same despair I felt when I heard the cries of my name getting fainter when I was stuck in that hole as a little girl.
Who am I to Stonehart? What does he want from me? If it’s just sex—I scoff—he could have hired a prostitute for that. Hell, he hired three for us a week ago.
Is it that other thing he talked about: his desire for vengeance? But that can’t possibly apply to me. I’ve never done anything to him.
What about the thrill of control? He’s already conquered the business world. Maybe this whole thing is just the next step for him. The collar, the contract, my overwhelming feeling of helplessness: Maybe it’s just a game. A game he’s playing to get the thrill he can’t find in other areas of his life.
Then… what comes next? A twinge of fear works its way up my spine. When he’s done with me… will he really release me?
Or will he do something worse? When he gets bored with his plaything… could he be willing to kill?
A white blur outside the window startles me. I look up, heart racing… and find a dove perched on the path.
I’ve never seen a dove in real life before. I push myself up and move slowly so as not to startle it. I doubt it can even see me with the reflection from the sun, but I don’t want to take any chances.
I walk toward the glassed wall and come up to it. I kneel down so that I’m on the bird’s level.
That’s when I notice something off about it. Its feathers are puffed up, and while it’s moving its head around, it doesn’t seem keen to take a step anywhere.
Then, right as it turns its head away, I see that one wing is crooked. The bird takes a small step forward, and starts to open its wings as if to fly up—and stops. The ruffled wing does not cooperate.
Immediately, I realize that it must be broken. How? Maybe a hawk? I look up at the sky but don’t see anything up there.
My heart goes out to the poor bird. It makes another attempt to take off. This one ends just as fruitless as the last.
What happens to birds that can’t fly? Where do they find food? They can’t, can they? And whatever attacked it is still out there. The little white bird is, for lack of a better term, a sitting duck.
That seals my decision. I need to help. I look at the glass door. Even if I open it and reach out with one arm, I won’t be close enough. And I can’t just grope around with one hand to try to pick the bird up. It’ll get scared and probably hurt itself even worse trying to get away.
I have to get Rose.
“Stay right there,” I whisper to the dove. “I’ll be right back, and I’ll take care of you.”
I run to the main house with a newfound purpose. “Rose? Rose! Rose, where are you?”
The elderly woman bustles out of one room. “Yes, Miss Ryder?”
“I need your help,” I say quickly. “Hurry!”
Without waiting to see if she’ll follow, I turn away and rush to the sunroom. I smile when I hear her footsteps right behind me.
“What’s the matter, dear?” she asks, anxiety tinging her voice. “Is something wrong?”
“You’ll see,” I say, picking up my steps.
We enter the sunroom. My heart sinks when I look at the spot I’d left the dove and find it empty. But then I notice the bird a few meters to one side. Its feathers look even more ruffled, now, as if it had just fended off another attack.
“There,” I say, pointing to the dove. “I saw it fall from the sky. I think one of its wings is broken.”
“Oh, dear,” Rose murmurs. She follows me to the window. We stop in front of the dove.
It looks so vulnerable. So unprotected. So… alone.
It’s all-too-easy for me to identify with its situation.
“See?” I ask, pointing to the wing. “I think it’s broken. Doesn’t it look that way to you?”
“I’m no expert on animals, Miss Ryder.” Rose presses her nose to the glass as we both squat down. “But I think you’re right.”
“We have to do something, don’t we?” I ask. I look at the door. “I can’t—you know I can’t go outside.” I motion at the collar in a vague sort of way.
Rose looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. She does not break eye contact for so long that it starts to make me uncomfortable.
“Lilly.” She lowers her voice. “Tell me the truth. Are you here because you want to be?”
The question shocks me. I nearly fall back off my heels. “Excuse me?”
Rose makes a small motion with her head toward the ceiling, as if reminding me of the cameras hidden there.
“Are you staying with us of your own free will?” she asks. Her voice is so soft it only just reaches my ears, and our heads are practically pressed together.
I hesitate. This is a dangerous question. I know I have to tread carefully.
I search her face for any sign of insincerity, but all I find is that kind, motherly expression.
I decide on the spot that I can trust her. Rose is not complicit in my capture. She’s not in on it with Stonehart. I don’t know what their relationship is. But, I cannot believe that the woman who has shown me so much kindness can be conspiring to hold me here.
After a long, drawn out pause, I shake my head.
Her expression changes immediately. Something akin to resolve lights up in her eyes.
“I knew it,” she says, under her breath. “I knew it ever since Jeremy first told me about you.”
The break in formality by addressing Stonehart by his first name surprises me. It must be a measure of Rose’s discomfort with the revelation.
She starts to get up. I grab her hand. My eyes are pleading with her as I say, “Please. Don’t tell him I said anything.”
Rose considers me for a moment… then gives a curt not. “I wasn’t overstepping myself with you before, was I?” she asks me softly.
I shake my head. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “No,” I say. My voice breaks. “No, you were wonderful.”
She extends a hand to me and helps me up. “Come on,” she says. “I think I can find a shoebox that’ll make a nice home for our little friend.”
Chapter Six
An hour or so later, I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, looking at the little bird in the cardboard box. Rose lined the sides with soft towels, and we put a makeshift cage on top to allow air and sunlight in while making sure the dove does not escape.
I decided the dove is a “she.” I don’t actually know what wild birds eat, so I had Rose sprinkle a bunch of different seeds from the kitchen on the bottom. In one corner is a shallow water dish. Since the dove’s not fully mobile, I don’t want to give her anything that she might fall into and drown.
On closer examination, I discover that her wing was not broken, only sprained. Or at least, I think it’s sprained. It’s got nothing to do with the bone in either case, and that makes me happy because it means a faster recovery.
I don’t know how Stonehart will react when he finds out that I’ve sheltered an injured bird. I hope he doesn’t take it as some egregious transgression of his authority. My mantra, at least in this situation, is that if it’s not explicitly against th
e rules, then it’s allowed.
Besides, I need something to keep me sane. I have no mental stimulation otherwise. Taking care of the bird gives me something to do. It gives me a purpose more definitive than defying Stonehart.
I put down the scissors that I’m holding and look at my creation. I took a long sock from my closet and cut a hole in the top. I figured if I place it over the dove, it’ll stop her from disturbing her wing as it heals.
I reach down, lifting the metal top, and catch the bird gently with my hands. She’s obviously frightened of me. I can feel her shaking under my fingers.
I bend close to her and whisper, “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I don’t know how much use my words of reassurance are, but they make me feel better, in any case. I cup the dove in one hand and fit the sock over her body with the other. She struggles against the confines a little, but when the sock is firmly fitted, stops trying to fight.
“There you go,” I say, gently placing her back on the soft towel. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s for your own good. You’ll heal faster, this way.”
I look up. The sun is still shining outside. I figure the dove would probably prefer to stay in the light, so I move the box to the armchair and then drag the chair closer to the window.
“You’ll be free again, little bird,” I say wistfully, looking out at the expansive ocean. “You’ll be free again soon, unlike me.”
Chapter Seven
Having nothing else to do, I decide to go down to the basement gym. It’s only early afternoon. But, I make sure to tell Rose where I am, so that she can relay the information to Stonehart in case he shows up earlier than expected. The look Rose gives me tells me she completely understands my caution.
Halfway there, I remember my earlier desire to see if I had any bathing suits.
I turn back to my room, go to the closet, and find exactly what I’m looking for. It’s a skimpy thing made of white fabric that’s a lot softer than anything I’ve ever encountered in swimwear. I see the Norma Kamali tag and immediately it makes sense.
Uncovering You 3: Resistance (Uncovering You, #3) Page 5
