Devil's Captive (Fallen Dynasty 1)

I looked around the room and was hit with an immediate feeling of sadness. The room was nice, but it wasn’t home. There were no pictures of my father—no pictures of my mother, who passed away when I was five years old. Belle was no Maria—there was no sign of warmth in her—at least from what I saw during my limited interaction. She was as cold as the manor itself.

Instead of pictures of my family, I get to stare at a huge painting of the devil himself.

I stared at the painting for a moment. Those eyes—the artist captured them perfectly. They were enough to make me look away when it felt like I was actually making eye contact with Devlin instead of an image splattered on canvas. The was too bad the man beneath that gorgeous exterior had a soul as dark as his manor—if he even had a soul. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of deal he would want to make with me, especially if he was offering to help my father. There was a time when I would have believed his intentions were honorable, but I knew the truth—Devlin had no honor.

It’s only five o’clock. What am I going to do for the next three hours?

There was no television in the room, no books on the shelves—there wasn’t even a magazine that I could flip through. I didn’t like being alone in the silence. It made me think about the direness of my situation. I needed to find a way to relax—some way to stop thinking about the deal Devlin was going to offer—some way to stop my mind from spinning out of control as I contemplated the worst-case scenarios.

I knew that Devlin would like nothing more than to get his hands on my father’s company. That was the most likely worst-case scenario. Devlin didn’t have any personal interest in Cabot Enterprises, but he would love nothing more than to rub it in his father’s face and show him he did something Dominic Windsor couldn’t. I also knew that my father would rather rot in jail than ever see a Windsor sitting at the head of Cabot Enterprises—but was I brave enough to turn down any offer that could help buy his freedom?

Cabot Enterprises was already falling apart. Even if my father was able to prove his innocence and get out of jail, I wasn’t sure the company would ever recover. Business relationships were partially built on trust and partially built on reputation. The charges against my father would put a strain on both of those, even with someone like Mr. Hawthorne, who had been his client longer than I had been alive.

I need to find a way to relax—at least get out of my own head before this whole situation drives me to madness.

I walked over to the bathroom door and stared at the large bathtub. I hadn’t had anything more than a quick shower since my father was led away in handcuffs. A soak would definitely help me relax.

I started the water and looked over the different options for scented soaps and oils. I found a nice lavender oil and added it to the water, along with some vanilla soap. The scent reminded me of home, and if I closed my eyes, I might even be able to convince myself I was there and the nightmare I was living was nothing more than a bad dream.

I stripped off my dress, along with my undergarments, and laid them out on the bed. I would have to wear them again when I went to dinner, and I didn’t want the dress to get wrinkled. Once the water was ready and I sank into the warmth, I realized that the painting of Devlin was positioned in a way that it was directly in my line of sight from the tub. I would have closed the door if I realized that was the case. It was too late for that, so I just closed my eyes and tried to enjoy my first bath in days.

At least the tub is comfortable.

Even with my eyes closed, I could see the painting in my head—like the perfectly painted eyes were haunting me. Before I knew Devlin was the devil himself, I was attracted to him. He teased my thoughts, even though I knew he was too old for me. I tried to fight those thoughts—the ones I had managed to ignore since the night I found out the truth about him, but they returned as I lay there in the tub. It felt like his gaze was on me. I found my hand moving beneath the surface of the water—resting against my inner thighs—wanting to move higher. I resisted the urge for several minutes, and then I just gave in. My emotions had been in so much turmoil—I needed pleasure—I need to feel something besides chaos.