The last thing I see is Lucian’s stupidly handsome face looming above mine.
Where are they? That’s the first thought that goes through my head when I open my eyes, what has to be hours later. My body tenses in preparation for what’s to come. As it turns out, there’s no need for that because I’m back in my bed.
I shake my head. No, not mine. In Lucian’s house. I have to stop thinking of it as mine—especially after last night. It feels like it happened to somebody else, not to me. No way could I have lived through something like that. The humiliation, the pain, the helplessness. The sense of being completely ignored and disregarded. I trusted Lucian, and I was stupid to do that.
I look down at my body, almost expecting to find it dirty and bruised. Instead, I’m dressed. I’m guessing Lucian cleaned me up and put my pajamas on me. He even tucked me in like he did back at my place. Like he got tired of playing with his toy and put it back for safekeeping. Did he kiss my forehead this time? I run the back of my hand over it, disgusted.
My eyes land upon a note on the nightstand: Three down, one to go. Bile threatens to race up into my throat, and I crumple the note in my fist.
Funny how the note I got with the dress and shoes excited me a little. It made my heart beat faster, made me bite my lip in anticipation. I can’t pretend I haven’t enjoyed our time together so far—at least, that was the case until last night. Last night was a totally different situation, and I don’t think I can go through that again.
The only problem is, will he care? I don’t even know if I have the guts to say it out loud. What will he do? How will he react? I’ve seen his temper. I’ve seen that look in his eyes that makes me think he’s going to kill somebody.
I don’t want him to look at me that way, God knows. But I also know I can’t go through it again. My body, my soul, it’s too much to handle.
And I’ll hate myself if I don’t at least speak up. I have to. I owe myself that much. Even if it pisses him off. I at least have to remind him that I’m a human being. I’m not just a few holes that can be filled whenever.
Screw the bath today. I’m not in the mood for a long, luxurious soak. Showering takes effort—even after sleeping for hours, hours in which I don’t think I moved once—because I’m ridiculously sore all over. It takes longer than it should to wash and shampoo my hair. Even keeping my arms over my head takes effort. It’s as though I’ve just been through a strenuous workout.
The items in the vanity don’t strike me as nice or thoughtful anymore. They were always tinged with uncertainty, anyway, seeing as how they must’ve come my way after somebody broke into and went through my apartment. Now I can’t bring myself to touch them. All of this is like some big, gorgeous wedding cake full of poison.
Once I’m dressed, I make it my mission to find one of the guards. They’re so sneaky, all of them. None of them is exactly a small guy, either, which makes it even stranger to me that I rarely see or hear any of them. I only feel myself being watched.
I finally run into one of them outside, where it looks like he’s waxing one of Lucian’s many cars. “I need to see Lucian.”
It’s not so easy to stand up straight and tall with my chin raised when he looks at me. I might as well be a bug he wants to squash under his shoe. “What?” he grunts.
“I said, I need to see Lucian. I need to get in touch with him. Can you take me to him?”
He finally stops what he’s doing long enough to look me up and down. One of his eyebrows arches. “You know what you’re asking me?”
“Of course, I do. I need to talk to him. Can you take me to him?” I then look to the right and left at the other cars waiting to be waxed. “Or I could take one of these myself. I do know how to drive, even if my car isn’t here.”
“No, that’s not gonna happen.” He folds his massive arms over an equally massive chest. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
“Thank you. Please, tell him it’s very important. I have to see him right away.” I can only hope he does what I ask, that he doesn’t treat this like it’s some kind of game. I can see how it would be easy to do that—to pat me on the head and send me on my way, knowing my word means nothing around here. Lucian is the one calling the shots. I might as well be a toddler who can scream and kick all she wants but who’s never going to be treated as equal.