Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 1)

How did I get here?

My feet pause at the bathroom as my head runs rampant with thoughts.

I don’t even know his name.

Am I meant to know his name?

I read books, it’s what I do. But they’re fiction books, not real life. I prefer to get lost in a world that isn’t my own. It becomes a nice escape. It’s why most of my clients are authors, actually some of my favorites, which I never fail to read when they release a new book.

Shit.

I can’t lose my job.

I can’t go back to the person I was before.

Pushing open the bathroom door, there’s a towel and a set of clothes sitting on the counter. I run my fingers over the fabric and feel the silk beneath them. It’s not a man’s outfit, of that, I am sure. It’s a woman’s dress, but is it there for me? It can’t be. Can it?

I almost choke when I see the shower. I’ve seen double showers before, I’ve even been in one, but I’ve never seen a waterfall version in my life. Stepping in, I turn the water on and smile as I watch the water leave the showerhead. Putting the rest of the croissant in my mouth, I tear off my dress and drop it at my feet before I step in and have the hot water spraying my body. It’s like a massage I never asked for but greatly appreciate. Putting my head under the spray, I wipe at my face, washing off the makeup left over from last night.

“So, you can listen?”

Oh, my god! I jump at his voice, my hands falling to my chest to cover myself. Keeping my back to him, I look over my shoulder and use my hands to cover as much of myself as humanly possible.

His eyes look hollow, like he has no care in the world, as he stares at me with not an ounce of shame. It’s like looking into the pitch-black sky on an overcast evening. I cough to bring his attention up from roaming my naked body, to which he only gives a slight smirk before he pushes off the counter and strides over to the shower. It has no doors, and I try to turn my body to maintain some sort of modesty, to which he only shakes his head.

“You have nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“That may be the case, but it doesn’t mean I want you to see mine,” I bite back at him.

He makes no move to leave.

“Have you eaten?” His voice is dark but alluring all at once. However, beneath it, I have a feeling there’s nothing but emptiness.

“I had a croissant.”

He nods, closes his eyes, and tilts his head down to the floor at my feet. I sigh heavily, which brings his attention back to me.

“You’ll eat with me. Get dressed.” Then he leaves.

Quickly dropping my hands, I reach for the towel, wrapping it around my body before I step out. When I glance in the mirror, I see the black mascara is still smudged, giving me panda eyes. I wipe at it with the towel and decide to put on my dress from last night, but then my eyes land on the new one on the counter.

He didn’t say it was for me, but I don’t know who else it could be for. I pull it over my head and let it fall down my legs. It touches the floor and has a split up each side, thin spaghetti straps hold it at my shoulders, and a sunburst pattern coats the material.

It fits me perfectly.

Walking out with the towel and my dirty clothes in hand, I find him standing at the door speaking with the boy who came in to bring me food. When he spots me, those dark eyes skim me once again before he turns and strides out.

“Follow,” is the bark of command that floats over his shoulder. I do as I am instructed, quickly and quietly making my way to the door. The boy reaches for my clothes, removing them from my hands.

I wasn’t always this way. Meek. Blindly following orders. I had a backbone growing up. I even stood my ground.

Some of the things I did for money would make your stomach turn, but I changed. I changed for Dillan. To be the perfect woman for him, and now look at where that’s gotten me.

He never appreciated me anyway.

Saying it’s all Dillan’s fault would be a lie.

I changed for him, yes, because I wanted to make my husband happy.

After we got married, we tried to have kids, and I stopped working at a law firm as a secretary to do all the things he wanted. Turns out, my body doesn’t like to hold babies.

I miscarried every time.

Four times, to be exact.

Shattering.

Devastating.

Every single time I lost a little more of myself.