Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  Swayed but undeterred, I wander out to find Rose.

  But I don’t see Stonehart’s housekeeper anywhere. Disappointment fills me. I was looking forward to the opportunity to chat with her without Stonehart around.

  It looks like I won’t get the chance today. Maybe tomorrow?

  I spend the evening in the library, reading a short children’s book. I found it half-hidden behind a corner shelf. I wouldn’t have ever noticed it if I hadn’t dropped the book I was holding and bent down to pick it up.

  The cover is worn and some of the pages have small rips on the edges. The book is unlike anything else in the library. I would have never expected to find a children’s book in here.

  It’s about a little dragon that was born with brilliant white scales, instead of the dark green ones of his brothers and sisters. They all make fun of him for it. But, in the end, the dragon king acknowledges the white scales as the epitome of beauty, and the white dragon wins the praise of all his siblings and peers.

  It’s a charming story if you ignore the heavy-handedness of the message behind it. However, that is not what intrigues me most.

  It’s the fact that this was Stonehart’s book that has me curious.

  Most likely, he never thought I’d find it. He probably hid it in here long ago and forgot all about it. For better or for worse, it’s all I have about him at the moment. It’s the only real piece I have of Stonehart’s history.

  I go to bed and dream about getting through those two locked doors to his office.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next day, I wake up hoping to see Rose. But when I stroll into the main part of the mansion, I find it eerily quiet.

  “Hello?” I venture. “Is anybody here?”

  Getting no answer, I sit at the kitchen table and wait for breakfast. Today might be the day I meet Charles for the first time, if he’s the one to bring it to me.

  But after a good half hour, nobody comes. I decide to check out the kitchen myself.

  I find it just as empty as the rest of the house. That’s strange, I think. Did Stonehart give Charles and Rose time off?

  I’m still not certain about either of their living arrangements. There are so many damned rooms in this place that any of them might easily be theirs. Somehow, though, I get the feeling that Stonehart and I are the only permanent residents here.

  Where does Rose spend her nights? I don’t know.

  I open the fridge and stagger back at the amount of food inside. It’s fully stocked. Not only that, but the interior contains four times more space than any fridge I’ve seen before.

  Everything here is larger-than-life.

  It’s a strange sensation to be making my own breakfast, I reflect, as I pull out a frying pan and crack open a few eggs. I haven’t had the chance to do it in forever.

  It feels good to make food for myself. It offers the illusion of self-sufficiency.

  It’s the closest I’ll get to independence here.

  After finishing my meal, I bring the dishes to the sink, wash them, and return them to the cupboards. Then, I stand back, tap my foot, and look around the monstrous, sunlit kitchen .

  It’s an impressive space. Everything is gleaming, silver steel. The appliances are spotless; the floors are shining. If I had more culinary talent, I would have enjoyed spending time in here.

  But, I have more important things to do. There are secrets in this house—there must be—and I’m intent on ferreting them out.

  A burst of inspiration hits me. Secrets. In the surveillance room. I’m definitely allowed in there, and maybe the video feeds will help me discover something I can use to my advantage. At least, I’ll be able to see if Stonehart brought any other women back to his house.

  Shit. I bring my hand to my forehead and rub my temples. How petty do I sound? Who cares if Stonehart brings other women here? I certainly should not.

  Those thoughts imply emotional attachment. I need to steer clear of that dangerous trap.

  Once again, my plans are foiled when I find the secret entrance on the wall in Stonehart’s bedroom closed. I trace the thin outline with my fingertips. It doesn’t budge—no matter how hard I try to push it open.

  Maybe there’s a button somewhere, like the one under the table in the hall. I scour the room but do not find it. I give it another sweep, making sure to double-check any suspicious-looking crevices and hiding places.

  Nothing.

  I grind my teeth in frustration. It’s almost like Stonehart doesn’t want me to find anything I’m not supposed to see.

  I spend the remainder of the day in the library.

  ***

  The third morning, I wake up with the resolution to go outside. I need to get the lay of the land if I intend to break out.

  I roll my eyes at the thought. The collar guarantees I can’t go anywhere Stonehart doesn’t want me to.

  But when I get out of bed, I find heavy rain pelting the ground outside.

  I groan.

  It’s amazing how little there is for me to do in a house this size. You’d think that having an enormous estate at your disposal would ensure you’re never bored.

  That is definitely not the case.

  Aside from distracting myself by cooking some barebones meals, and with no inclination to read, I don’t have much to do to pass the time.

  ***

  Rose is nowhere to be seen by day four. Neither is Charles. And the weather just keeps getting worse and worse.

  I spend the remainder of the week in a state of disquietude and increasing anxiety.

  I wake up one morning with the realization that seven days have passed with me on my own. What have I done with them?

  Absolutely nothing.

  A crazy idea occurs to me that night. If there’s nobody here… and I have full access to the kitchens, where I spotted some impressive chef’s knives before… what’s to stop me from simply sawing the collar off and making a run for it?

  The idea is so obvious it’s a wonder I didn’t think of it before. I fling the blanket off and rush to the kitchen.

  The lights, triggered by motion sensors, all turn on automatically as I run through the house.

  I rip one drawer open and pick up the most evil-looking knife. The blade is sharp and thin. I heft it in my hand… and hesitate.

  The collar is pretty tight. I’d need to wedge the knife in right against my skin. What if I cut myself?

  But that’s not such a big concern, in the grand scheme of things. More distressing is what Stonehart would do if he discovered I tried—and failed.

  Carefully, and with the utmost control, I lower the knife into the drawer.

  Then I return to bed. Under safety of the covers, away from the cameras, I explore the collar with my fingers. It’s slightly flexible, and deceptively strong. Even if I managed to jam a knife in there, I don’t think I could saw it open.

  Besides, it feels like there’s a metal ring underneath the coated plastic. That would make sense. It could be the battery. And it would mean that my effort to slice through it would have been futile.

  All it would have done is incite Stonehart’s wrath.

  With those uncomfortable thoughts running through my head, I drift off into another uneasy sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nightmares haunt my dreams. Nightmares about snakes, and collars, and Stonehart. Always, he is at the heart of them all.

  I wake up tangled in my sheets and drenched in sweat. I remember fighting something in my dreams… but what, I can’t be sure. The memory is quickly fading.

  I waste another day stuck indoors because of the rain. Tomorrow, I promise myself, I will go outside, no matter what the weather.

  Bored, alone, and increasingly uneasy, I start to doubt whether I’ll gain any benefit from the two-week break. It’s a weight off my shoulders not to worry about what Stonehart will ask of me next, to be sure, but I’d envisioned that time apart would be, well, different.

  I thought that with him
gone, and with unfettered access to the house, I’d be able to dig something up that could arm me against him.

  I was wrong. The children’s book I found the first day is the only thing I have, and that’s not much use. All it does is confirm that Stonehart did have a childhood, no matter how hard that is to imagine.

  He told me that story about growing up and being neglected for being born last. He spoke of the revenge he exacted on his father.

  He wouldn’t have told me that if it wasn’t important. I suspect that building Stonehart Industries from the ground was predicated on proving to his family that he was worth something.

  Well, he certainly did that.

  I know just as little now as I did when he left. That’s incredibly frustrating.

  “Stonehart, Stonehart, Stonehart,” I mutter, staring at the locked doors of his office. “You are as much a mystery as ever.”

  I sigh, turn back, and retreat to the library.

  ***

  The next morning fills me with a renewed sense of purpose. I slept poorly again, but my decision to go outside rain or shine outweighs the grogginess of my brain.

  Imagine my surprise and delight when I find a glorious, sunny day out there.

  I dress quickly and bolt out the door. The fresh air hits me and I take a long, deep breath. It tastes sweet.

  I look around, trying to decide where to go. I settle on north. I’ve never been to that part of the grounds before.

  After walking for a good twenty minutes or so along the cliffs, I come across a path leading into the evergreens. Curious, I wander down the paved surface... and discover a marvelous guesthouse nestled in the foliage.

  It’s bright and modern with cedar beams and lots of glass. It looks like a smaller—much, much smaller—and more compact version of the main house.

  But still so much bigger than anything I’d ever be able to afford.

  I walk to the front doors, wondering if they’re unlocked. Suddenly, I feel a sharp tingle under my left ear.

  I stop immediately and tense up. No…

  I take a step back. The tingling disappears. I step forward—and the slight warning from the collar comes again.

  Unnerved, I turn around and walk briskly to the nearest tree. Stonehart doesn’t want me going to the guesthouse.

  Why?

  At that moment, I see a shape move past one window. It takes me an extra few seconds to realize that it’s Rose. She’s wearing a bathrobe. I’ve never seen her in anything other than her housekeeping uniform.

  She’s gone in the blink of an eye. I want to call out and somehow get her attention, but I doubt she’ll hear me through the walls. Besides, it’s very early morning. She’s probably just getting started with her day.

  A day that includes a visit to see me? I wonder.

  Well, even if I came close to activating the collar, the morning hasn’t been a total loss. I solved the mystery of where Rose goes when she’s not in the main house.

  The question is: Why hasn’t she come to see me for an entire week?

  It could be as simple as Stonehart forbidding her to. But he seems to trust her. At least, as far as he trusts anybody.

  I jump when the garage door noisily lifts open. I watch, out of view, as a black Rolls Royce pulls out. I see Rose in the passenger seat, still wearing that bathrobe. A slightly older man I’ve never seen before is driving.

  Maybe Charles?

  Then it hits me: What if Rose and Charles are husband and wife? I’ve never seen her wear a ring, but lots of married women don’t—especially ones who’ve been in the relationship for a long time.

  That would explain a lot. If Rose lives on Stonehart’s property with her husband, it gives Stonehart control over both their lives. She seems happy enough. It’s not the type of control Stonehart exerts over me. But, it could be the factor that ensures neither she nor Charles blabs about me.

  The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Of course, it could just be hogwash. However, I like imagining that Rose has a man in her life who makes her happy.

  At least that makes one of us.

  I look in the direction the car went. I’m not sure if walking after it will put me in danger of crossing the newfound boundary of my collar. Neither do I know if continuing north, across the lawn of the house, is such a good idea anymore, either.

  Just to be safe, I decide to turn back.

  I end up wandering the rest of the property, safely away from the guesthouse, for hours. I have no real purpose.

  After another hour or so, I stifle a yawn. I wish I had brought a book with me. It’d be nice to read out here.

  I look up at the sky. The sun is still bright overhead. I wonder what day it is. It must be sometime in November now, surely?

  Growing up on the East Coast, I’ve never had a November where I could walk around outside in nothing but a light sweater.

  I turn back to the house, yawning again. After two nights in a row of bad sleep, fatigue is catching up to me. Maybe I’ll go inside and take a quick nap…

  ***

  I wake up hours later with a start. I look around, confused for a moment, trying to place myself. Then, remember what happened.

  I fell asleep on a couch in one of Stonehart’s unused rooms. I just sat down and leaned back, closing my eyes for a breath…

  And the next thing I knew, I was fast asleep.

  I look out at the dark window. At least, I try to. I don’t see anything except my own reflection. Christ! I’ve been asleep for hours.

  My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day.

  Not like it’s the first time, I think ruefully, then stretch out and wander to the kitchen.

  As I walk through the halls, I wonder what it was that awoke me so suddenly. Had I heard some noise? Yes, I think so… maybe a bang or a door shutting?

  But the house is dark. The lights are off everywhere. Nobody is here other than me.

  I open the fridge and am immediately surprised to see it re-stocked. Had Charles or Rose come in when I was sleeping? That would explain the banging door…

  But if it was Rose, why didn’t she wake me?

  I reach for a jar of peanut butter. The meals I’ve been making myself in Stonehart’s absence haven’t been exquisite. But, they have been blessedly simple. Sometimes, simple if all your soul wants.

  I’d kill for some simplicity right now, I think as I spread the peanut butter over a piece of toast. I bite into it. Even with nothing to do and nowhere to go, my thoughts are a jumble.

  The clock on the wall tells me it’s a quarter to ten. This would usually be the time I go to bed, but that long nap has me wide awake. And—thank God—it came without nightmares.

  I end up reading until the early hours of the morning, before dragging myself to bed. At that point, although I’m already tired sleep is still a long time coming.

  When it arrives, it is filled with nightmares.

  Chapter Eighteen

  More useless days pass. The only accomplishment I hold claim to is finishing a few books.

  I’ve fallen victim to an uneven schedule. I don’t sleep all night because of my dreams, and then make up for it with prolonged naps during the day. Sometimes, I find myself drifting off as my eyes slide lazily down the page of my book, not taking in a single word of what’s written there.

  I wake up hours later surprised at how long I’ve been out.

  Rose does not come to see me. It’s disappointing. I would have thought she’d jump on the chance to talk without Stonehart around. It even hurts, a little, to be neglected by her this way, especially now that I know how close she lives.

  The only explanation I can come up with is the same one I had before: Stonehart forbade her seeing me.

  The day before Stonehart’s arrival, I spend an hour in my closet picking out what to wear. One hour turns to two, then three, and before I know it the whole day has disappeared in some vortex of cloth and fabric.

  I lay out the clothes I�
��ve finally settled on for tomorrow morning. I don’t know what time to expect him. So, I think it’s better to be ready as early as possible.

  When I lie down to sleep, my nerves keep me awake. I’ve gotten so used to being without Stonehart that I’m not sure how I’ll react when I see him tomorrow. What’s more, that private gala is in two days, and I still don’t have anywhere near enough TGBs to go.

  Is it off the table? Could he just take me anyway? I don’t know.

  After tossing and turning for hours without getting a minute of sleep, I give up and get out of bed. I pour myself a coffee in the kitchen and settle down in a second-floor room situated in front of a spectacular view of the sea.

  I watch the sunlight creep over the lawn, minute by minute, lessening the shadow cast by the enormous house. When it’s bright enough for birds to start singing, I go to the bathroom, shower, and begin my wait.

  I’m restless and sleepy at the same time. I can’t sit still. My thoughts are running rampant at a hundred miles per hour. Nor can I sleep. I can’t risk missing Stonehart.

  A few hours go by. I spend then pacing the entrance hall. Every sound makes me whip back to the door. None of them predicates Stonehart’s arrival.

  I need to relax. I know I’ll get a warning when I hear the limo pull up on the gravel outside. But the caffeine has me wired and anxious.

  I decide to make another coffee. I’m too far gone to rest. Maybe pumping more stimulants in my system will get rid of the fatigue lurking at the corners of my eyes.

  I drink one cup. Then another. Then one more. I’m all jittery now, but better that than half-asleep.

  The hours drag by. Have I miscounted the days? Maybe he’s arriving tomorrow.

  But, no. I kept track of each day on a piece of paper. Stonehart said he’d be gone for fifteen days. Today is his return.

  Three p.m. comes and goes. Then four. Then five, and then six. Still, there’s no sign of Stonehart. I know that every hour that goes by brings me closer and closer to his imminent arrival.