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I like the idea of keeping her in this room forever. Where she is safe. Where she is most lovely and delicate. But my Bella is not a rose, and she cannot grow in this room.

Nothing else can grow in this room.

Surrounded by such beauty, this room has opened her eyes to the monster that I am. It has served its purpose. And now it is time to move forward with my plan.

She looks up, startled, and her fingers curl around the book. Her knuckles pale and rigid, her lips scarlet red.

"Javi?"

I don't have her breakfast, and she wonders what this could mean for her. What fresh new hell I might possibly have planned. My Bella is so smart.

"Come, my sweet."

She doesn't move.

"What's going on?"

"I want to show you something."

She does not give in easily. It happens gradually. Inch by inch, second by second. Until she finally sets her book aside and rises to her feet.

She is in a pretty dress today. Pale white and lace.And I wonder if she wore it for me. And then I wonder if I have forgotten who I am.

She steps beside me, so small and fragile. I worry that I will break her when I see her this way. When I see the size of her next to me. This is why I must control myself.

I walk towards the door to the conservatory, and she follows, hurrying along beside me. She takes three steps for my one, and I'm uncertain how to handle this, so I let her rush along beside me.

When we reach the door, I pause. She looks up at me. Nervous. Eyes filled with restrained hope.

"I am going to show you Moldavia," I tell her.

"Okay,” she whispers.

"Do not try to run from me, Bella," I warn. "I should not have to remind you of the consequences of such an attempt."

She nods.

I don't know what she is thinking. If she plans to attempt escape.

I am uncertain. But I unlock the door anyway and leave her to follow me. She is quiet while we walk, her eyes soaking up everything around us. Her fingers reach out to brush the ornate details of each table and piece of art that we pass.

I show her the rooms without telling her what they are. Without speaking at all. I allow her to look through them, one by one. To become familiar.

I want her to feel at home here. I want her to experience these comforts and believe that she is safe. Secure. The way she feels right now.

It is exactly what I intended to do. But I did not expect it to be so easy on my part. Or that I would enjoy watching her luxuriate in the comfort. Watching each day pass as she reads and settles into her prison and her life here with me. Enjoying the food I bring her that she doesn’t have to earn. Enjoying the clothing and gifts I bestow her.

It should not feel good to give her these things. It should not affect me at all. But it has. And now, I know that it is time. I must stop this from going any further. I must remind her who she is. And more importantly, who I am.

She is pleased with the house. She enjoys each room that I show her.Until I lead her to the one that she knows best.

It is well lit now. The bucket is long gone, and the floor clean. But it still possesses the same lingering effect. She stares at it, and her fingers tremble.

For a moment, I find myself wishing she would be stronger. That she would not be afraid, and she would simply sing a song for me. I miss hearing her voice.

"Play for me," I demand.

She blinks, startled, and then turns to me slowly.

“You can’t be serious.”

She tries to edge backward, but I take hold of her arm.

"This is what you do," I tell her. "You sing, and you play."

She turns up her chin and tries to look tougher than she feels right now.

"No."

This is exactly the response I wanted. The one I anticipated. And yet, I feel disappointed.

I know what I should say next. What I need to do next. But it does not happen the way it should.

"Why do you let it bother you?"

"What?" she asks.

"What they say about you?"

Her face is sharp now, all her softness gone. I do not like this.

"Why do you lock yourself up here and speak to nobody?" she challenges.

I don't reply, so she takes it upon herself to answer for me.

"Because of what they say about you. That you are a murderer. That you killed your own..."

I slam her against the wall and wrap my hand around her throat before I can stop myself. Before I can breathe. My temper is running hot, and she is not backing down this time.

"Did you do it?" she wheezes. "Did you kill her?"

I squeeze a little harder.

"Shut up."

"Will you do the same to me?"

There are tears in her eyes now. And this time, they do not make me hard. My fingers fall away from her throat.

We are both quiet. Breathing hard. I can hear the drum of her heart. See the vein pulsing in her neck. I can smell her fear. And her sadness too.

"Do not provoke me," I bite out. "I told you not to provoke me."

"It's not my fault you can't control your temper," she snaps.

Her lip trembles and one of the tears spills over her eyelid and down her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb before I have given it any thought. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. Eager for the brief moment of comfort I have provided her.

I want to do more. I want things that don’t make sense. I want to hold her. Kiss her. Lay with her. It has to stop. It has to stop now.

I grab her by the arms and drag her down to the dining room. Her vulnerability flees in the presence of fresh terror.

“Javi?”

Her Javi is gone now, and only the monster remains.

I don’t tell her so. I don’t need to. She will see for herself. This temptress who thinks she can fool me.

I hoist her up onto the table, and she tries desperately to scramble away. She is fast this time, wiggling around as I bind her wrists to each leg of the table.

It occurs to me that I have spoiled her. I have let her get away with too much. I pull out my knife and slash the full length of the dress, halving it from top to bottom. Then I slap each of her tits hard until she calms down and obeys.

“Javi,” she pleads through teary eyes and broken breaths. “Please…”

My only response is to bind her ankles next. So soft and slight and delicate. I pause only briefly to appreciate them, and then I snap myself out of it.

I remove the scraps of material from her body and toss them aside. Leaving her naked. Vulnerable.

Mine.

Just the way that I like her.

She looks so angelic when she cries, and I have forgotten how much I enjoy this. I was wrong to think anything had changed. That it could be any other way with her. Because this… this is what I need. What I want and what I will have.

I lean down to kiss her, and this time, the flames are back in her eyes. She bites my lip and makes me bleed. My lips smear the blood onto hers, forcing her to taste it. And then I pinch her nipples and make her cry out one last time.

“Tonight, beauty.” I stroke her cheek. “Tonight, you will receive your punishment.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HE LEAVES me for six hours before he comes back this time. I know because I count each chime from the bell on the clock.

I am cold. Dazed. Bitter. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand why he keeps doing this to me. Or what I’ve done to warrant this punishment.

When I see him again, I tell him as much. But he has grown cold again. Closed off again. Unsympathetic to my plight.

“I have to pee,” I tell him.

He doesn’t care. He forces my mouth open and reinserts the ball gag that I thought was long gone, tapping me on the lips.

“Until I have a use for it.”

And then he moves down below me. Touching me. Groaning at the moisture he feels there. I try to mumble around the gag to tell

him again, but it’s no use. He can’t understand, and my words don’t matter, anyway. Not to him.

He pushes something inside of me, and it isn’t his fingers. The resulting struggle I offer up is hindered by my restraints, and Javi just grabs me by the thighs to hold me in place.

“Stop,” he commands. “Or you won’t like what comes next. I’m being gentle with you. But that can change very quickly, Bella.”

I don’t understand what he means until he pulls the plug out of me and pushes it against something else. Somewhere he’s never touched before.

I shake my head frantically, trying desperately to clench my legs together, but he slaps my thigh and makes me open for him.

“Be a good girl,” he says. “And it won’t be so bad.”

The reality is that he’s right. It doesn’t matter what I do or how much I fight, it’s going to happen either way. So I try to do as he says and relax.

He slips the plug inside of me, and it burns. It’s too large, and my body is not accustomed to such an invasion. Not there.