The door to my right opens to a majestic bathroom. Shining tiles line the floor. All the appliances are gilded gold. My eyes take in the titular bathtub. It is already filled with water. I dip my hand in, and am delighted to find it warm.
Soaking in a tub is a privilege I have not had in years. I close the door for privacy—then stumble when I can’t find any way to lock it.
Of course you can’t lock it, you dolt. Stonehart wouldn’t let you bar yourself away.
A shiver crawls up my spine as I remember his words: “The time I make for you is a privilege.”
Suddenly, all desire for a hot bath vanishes. I am to be a sex slave. A pampered sex slave, perhaps, but a sex slave nonetheless.
I am halfway out of the room before I change my mind again. Stonehart said he would leave me alone for a week. That promise gives me a sense of security, false as it may be. I should not worry about him yet.
You have five years for that, a small voice reminds me.
I shake my head. No. No! I have no intention of letting things last that long.
Mustering all my dignity, I disrobe and slip into the water, chin held high. I even pull the door open behind me.
I won’t have Stonehart think I am frightened.
My muscles quickly relax in the luxurious water. There’s a cupboard filled with assorted salts, soaps, and shampoos nearby. The only thing missing is a mirror.
An hour or two later—I lost track of time in the tub—I step out of the bathroom with a lush, thick towel wrapped under my armpits. I could almost imagine I’m alone in a magnificent hotel suite… were it not for the collar around my neck.
I hate that collar. I hate what it represents. I hate what it can do. It will never let me forget that I am a prisoner.
But, because of that, I will never forget my need for revenge.
The door across the hall is closed but not locked. I pry it open slowly—and am greeted by the most amazing powder room I’ve ever laid eyes on.
A waist-high, granite counter top is stocked with enough beauty tools to make a makeup artist blush. Rows of lipstick in every shade fill one shelf. Eyeliner, eye shadow, moisturizers, powders, and all sorts of accessories fill another. All are from the most expensive beauty brands.
If Fey ever saw this room, she would die of pure joy.
Of course, there is also a mirror. I see my reflection for the first time in weeks. I barely recognize the girl staring back at me.
Stonehart was right: I look awful.
My skin is pale from lack of sun. My eyes have dark bags under them. My cheeks are hollow and sagging from poor nutrition. My lips, which have always been so naturally red that I never had the need for lipstick, are now a pallid gray. The usual shine in my eyes is gone, replaced by an empty lifelessness.
Anger flares inside of me. All of it is directed at him. He made me like this. He is the reason I am unrecognizable. I turn sideways to take in my profile. I’m so skinny I’m afraid the smallest gust of wind will blow me away.
Stonehart starved me, deprived me of everything, and then he has the goddamn nerve to call me wretched?
Calm down, Lilly, the voice of reason whispers in my head. Do not react to his words. They are meant to incite you!
I relax my hands so my nails don’t draw blood from my palms. The voice is right. I gain nothing by responding to him this way.
I need to keep my emotions in check. But I will forget nothing he does. I will have vengeance, and I will bring Stonehart down.
I walk out of the powder room without touching so much as a speck. I have no desire for makeup.
Besides, I want to have ammunition in case Stonehart reneges on his word. He said I have seven days to myself. If he breaks his promise, and comes earlier, he will not find a woman looking her best.
I walk back to the room with the pillar. I decided to call it the sunroom while I was in the tub. Better than calling it a prison.
I make an annoyed sound in my throat after thinking of the term ‘prison.’ I promised myself that I would not refer to any part of this estate by that name.
It’s not that I’m trying to delude myself. Not at all. I want to avoid using that term to steel myself in my purpose.
A prisoner has no purpose. A prisoner has no choice.
But a concubine, on the other hand? She always has a choice.
Besides, truly: what better way is there to destroy something—or in this case, someone—than from the inside out?
Stonehart has his own reasons for keeping me here. I suspect they go deeper than his baser desires. But I have my own reasons for staying, too.
Fool! It’s not like you can just walk out!
I shake my head to silence that voice. The only way to keep my sanity—the only way to have some semblance of control—is to make myself believe that I am here for my own reasons. If I truly want to take down Stonehart Industries—and the man with it—I need to be smart. I need to bide my time. I need to ingratiate myself to him, to appear weak, and harmless, and above all, nothing like a threat. I need him to think he is winning.
Because the moment he lets down his guard… this mouse will transform into a viper.
Pleased with my plan of attack, I walk about the sunroom and investigate the areas beyond the other paintings.
I find the sitting room next. It has a small desk and a stool, along with one locked door that I assume is monitored from the other side. I write down my request for breakfast on a piece of paper and slip it underneath, just like Stonehart told me to do.
I walk back out and go up to the final painting. It’s clever, I think, how the architect was able to disguise the doorways with these pieces of art. Judging by what I’ve seen of the structure, this estate was built recently.
I unclasp the latch and pull it open, not knowing what to expect inside…
My eyes go wide and I forget to breathe. Behind painting number three is the biggest room of all. In fact, it might rival the size of my entire Palo Alto apartment.
I walk in and stare in disbelief. This room is a closet. It’s a fully-stocked, giant closet. There are as many clothes here as you would expect to find in the back of a Nordstrom’s or Saks’.
One wall is lined with shoes. There are pumps and sandals, heels and boots. There are oxfords and wedges and platforms, some in rich leathers, others lined with fur.
I pick up a pair at random and slip them onto my feet. They are a perfect fit.
I see a rack of robes tucked away in a corner. I drop my towel in haste and run across, then wrap myself in the first one that I reach. I hug the luxurious fabric to my skin and breathe deep, loving the scent of clean, new fabric.
Feeling, for the first time in a long time, comfortable and cozy, I stroll amongst the remaining racks. I run my hands through the hanging garments. Blouses, jackets, skirts, dresses, stockings, scarves, and a million other pieces of clothing all fill the room.
All of them are for me.
Suddenly, I feel nauseous. The closet has only one entrance that I can see. It’s only accessible from the sunroom.
That means all these clothes were here for me before I arrived.
Holy shit! How long had Stonehart been planning my abduction?
A cold sweat grips me as I sit down hard. Stonehart’s assistant said she’d been looking for me when she called. I assumed she meant that day, but what if the search had been going on for weeks? Months?
The clothes confirm I am not some random victim. No, I am stuck in the middle of some unknown web of Stonehart’s making.
But why me? I wrack my brain but find no answer. What interest can a man of Stonehart’s stature possibly have in me?
I have no family other than my mother, and I haven’t spoken to her in years. I have no sisters or brothers, no cousins, or distant relatives. I don’t even have a boyfriend! I should be completely anonymous as far as Stonehart is concerned.
But, I’m not. Why? How? When did he first take an interest in me?
I have no
idea. But I swear on everything I’m worth that I will find out.
I get back up. The clothes pose a riddle I have no answer for. But if there’s one thing I possess in abundance, it’s time. Time enough to figure this out.
One other thought strikes me as I leave the room: I don’t see any lingerie anywhere.
Chalk up one more personality quirk to my captor.
Chapter Four
I wake up the next morning to the rising sun. Feeling the warm rays on my face after two long weeks in the dark is surreal. A jumble of emotions bubbles up inside: joy, disbelief, excitement.
A few minutes later, I get up and walk into the sitting room, following the smell of food. I find a generous portion of all that I’ve asked for waiting for me on the desk. I carry the plates back to the sunroom, sit down close to the glass, and have breakfast looking out at the magnificent ocean before me.
I have nothing to do when I finish, so I bring out a towel from the bathroom and lie on it on the floor in the sun. The late September rays aren’t as strong as they would have been just a few weeks ago. But I want to soak up as much vitamin D as I can. Doing that always improves my mood.
As I lie there, I reflect on how much things have changed since I signed the contract. I may be only two days removed from my previous, near-death condition, but, already, I feel like a woman transformed.
It’s funny how much a bit of perceived freedom can lift a person up.
Yet, that’s exactly what this newfound freedom is: Perceived. I am not really free. I am completely at Stonehart’s mercy.
He’s given me seven days to recuperate. What happens after, when the contract really kicks in?
I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. Whatever happens, I will face it holding onto my true purpose with an iron grip.
I will be ready for him when he comes. And one day, he will learn that he chose the wrong girl as his plaything.
A bell chimes behind me, startling me to my knees. I whip back and look around, but find the room empty.
It sounds once more, from down the hall leading to the sitting room.
Curious but cautious, I start slowly toward the room. I’ve never heard that bell before, and new things in my surroundings must be approached with due respect.
Halfway there, the smell of freshly-cut strawberries hits my nose. I rush forward, and discover lunch waiting for me.
There’s a huge bowl of berries, accompanied by a tall glass of water. The succulent smell of the fruits is almost enough to make me weepy again. After being deprived of food for so long, each meal is a blessing.
I’m in the process of stuffing a handful in my mouth when I notice an envelope tucked under the glass. I put the berries down, feeling an ominous threat growing in the back of my mind. Carefully, I wipe my hands on a cloth and pick the envelope up.
There are two pieces of paper inside. Both are folded, but I can see through the back. One has handwriting on it. The other has printed text.
I unfold the handwritten one first.
I hope you are enjoying your food today. I want to remind you that freedom comes with a price.
Do not neglect the body shape clause in our contract. Nothing angers me more than sloppiness.
- J.S.
PS: Attached you will find my test results from yesterday morning. I hope they ease your lingering concerns.
PPS: You should know that a pregnancy is unacceptable. I took the liberty of slipping your first birth control pill into your breakfast this morning. The others will be given to you whole. I expect full compliance in this matter.
I stare at the note in disbelief. The bastard drugged me—again! It’s not so much the drug that bothers me. It’s the act of doing it. What else has he been sneaking into my meals?
I crumple the note and hurl it against the opposite wall. My appetite for the berries is gone. In fact, in one angry move, I sweep everything off the table—berries, bowl, and all. The plate and glass hit the floor and shatter.
I leap up off the stool and stomp out of the room. I’m so angry I could scream. I feel like I’m suffocating!
No amount of rationalization can change the truth. I am a prisoner, and I am entirely at Stonehart’s mercy. He can do with me whatever the hell he wants, and I have absolutely no say in the matter!
I pace back and forth through the sunroom, my strides sharp and livid. The ocean outside mocks me. The sunlight reflecting off the glass mocks me. I can see all of it, but it might as well be an image on a television screen for all the good it brings me.
I need to break free. Right now, I need to break free!
I stride to the closest painting. This one does not hide a door. I steady myself beneath it, hook my fingers under the edge, and heave. It comes off its hooks. It’s heavy and awkward, and I nearly lose my balance as it lifts off.
But, I catch myself in time. I stagger over with it toward the giant glass wall. Then, with one great heave, I throw the painting against the glass with as much strength as I have.
I don’t know why I expected the glass to break. Obviously, it’s stronger than that. The painting bounces off and clatters to the floor.
I grip my hair in my hands and scream in frustration. My voice echoes through the hollow room.
Of course the glass won’t break. Of course there’s no way out. And even if I did manage to break a panel, what good would it do? I still have the fucking collar around my neck!
Having nowhere else to go, I stalk up to my pillar, cross my arms, and lean against it, brooding.
***
Eventually, common sense gets the better of me.
I was acting like a child. Trying to break free? A waste of effort. Stonehart obviously took precautions to ensure that escape is impossible. At least, escape in the expected way.
My tantrum came from a place of desperation and hopelessness. I promised myself that I would not succumb to those feelings. Doing so is as good as admitting defeat.
And Lilly Ryder is far from defeated.
I pick myself up and walk back to the sitting room. There, I squat down and clean the remains of my lunch from the floor. I find the crumpled ball of paper and straighten it against my leg. Stonehart wants his actions to affect me. When I react the way I did, I play right into his hands.
I will not give him the satisfaction of getting an explosive reaction from me again.
I place the note back into the envelope. Then, as curiosity gets the better of me, I unfold the second sheet.
It shows the result of an STD test. All came back negative. But that’s not what interests me most.
The date is.
The note said Stonehart took the test yesterday. The date on the sheet reads November 10th, 2013.
November 10th. That means today is the 11th.
I fight off the wave of dizziness that tries to take me. I haven’t been here for two weeks.
I’ve been here for five.
How had I miscounted so badly? The days all blurred together in the dark. But if today is the eleventh, that means I held out for... for a month and a half.
I don’t know whether to feel angry or proud. Angry at myself for my stubbornness. Proud of remaining steadfast in my initial purpose.
In the end, I settle for a mixture of the two. Knowing that it’s been over a month makes so much sense. It makes my stunning weight loss less remarkable. But what kind of blasted ideal of stubbornness, of stupidity, had me fight my war of attrition for five weeks?
The bit of pride I feel for holding out is probably misplaced, but so be it. I can’t help that.
There are other pieces of information of interest to me in the paper. The most shocking is Stonehart’s birthday: June 10th, 1970. The man is forty-three, yet he could pass for a thirty-year-old!
I put that paper back into the envelope. I hate the mocking way he wrote that the test results should “ease my concerns.”
And yet, a part of me—albeit, a very, very small part—does appreciate the gesture. I guess it
might be seen as chivalric, in a twisted, totally sadistic kind of way.
I sit there, alone with my thoughts, when a realization strikes me.
Nothing I do matters until Stonehart makes his presence known.
I need to learn about who he is as a man in order to exploit his weakness. But, I cannot do that without him around.
The real games begin in six days. Until then, I must do everything in my power to get ready.
Chapter Five
One day goes by, followed by the next, and the next again. The food I am given makes my body feel stronger. The sun I soak in fills me with resolve. I have nothing to do, yet the freedom to simply roam with no fear of triggering my collar is enough to keep me from boredom.
I have no idea what Stonehart will do to me when he returns—well, I have some idea, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy thinking about it. No matter what, I will not wait in apprehension.
I will be ready for him when he comes back. He will find me perfectly willing and perfectly submissive.
Of course, that will just be an act that drives me to my true purpose.
Besides, I know how little good resistance will do. Moreover, I know the expectations that come from the contract. I agreed to play his game. I cannot back down now.
Five days into my wait, I catch my reflection in the enormous glass wall at night. I can’t help but smile. I’ve already put on weight, and my cheeks are starting to get their regular glow back. Having access to a bathroom, limitless clothing, food, and sunlight definitely helps. Fresh air would be a nice addition, but I’m in no state to complain.
The night before Stonehart’s expected arrival, I take extra pains to make myself presentable. I soak in the perfumed waters of the tub for hours, making my skin soft and pink. I wash my hair and style it in the most elegant fashion I know. I’ve already picked out what I’m going to wear, and laid it out on the floor for after my bath.
I apply some blush to my cheeks, eye shadow to my eyelids, and a tiny bit of lip gloss. Nobody who saw me a week ago would ever guess I am the same person today.
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 10
