The air is knocked out of my lungs, and I jolt awake, choking on a sharp gasp as my body registers the crushing weight pinning me to the mattress.
My room is dark, the faint glow from the camera’s blinking light barely illuminating the outline of a figure above me. I blink rapidly, trying to focus, and then I see it–his eyes, wild and full of fury, and the flash of a knife pressed against my throat.
Callan.
“No one,” he hisses, his voice low and venomous, “no one humiliates me in front of a whole room and gets away with it.”
My body freezes, panic roaring through me as his weight holds me down. I try to move, to push him off, but he’s too heavy, too strong. The cold blade of the knife bites into my skin, a sharp reminder of how real this is.
“I should’ve dealt with you the first night,” he sneers, his breath hot against my ear. “Would’ve been easier. But now?” He presses the knife a little harder, just enough to sting. “Now, get to take my time.”
“Get off me!” I manage, my voice shaking as I twist beneath him, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, and the weight of his body makes every breath a struggle.
He chuckles darkly, the sound making my blood run cold. “Scream if you want,” he says. “No one’s coming. They’ll all be asleep, and by morning, they’ll find what’s left of you.”
I thrash harder, desperation clawing at my chest as I feel the sharp point of the blade nick my collarbone. Warmth trickles down my skin, and I bite back a cry, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with malice. “You made me look weak. But now, I’m going to remind you who’s in charge here.”
His words blur together, drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears. I twist again, my hands scrabbling at his arms, his shoulders–anything to push him off.
Then, without thinking, I jerk my head forward, slamming it into his with all the force I can muster.
He grunts in surprise, the sound mingling with a curse as he flinches back, just enough for me to shove against him and wriggle out from under his weight.
I don’t think. I just run.
The door to my room is ajar–he must’ve left it open–and I dart into the hallway, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor. The corridor is dimly lit, silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing.
I don’t dare look back.
I turn a corner, then another, my heart pounding in my chest as I listen for his footsteps. The mansion feels endless, a labyrinth of identical hallways that twist and turn in every direction. My legs burn, but I don’t stop.
Then I hear it.
The sound of his voice, distant but unmistakable, cursing loudly as he searches for me.
My panic spikes, and I reach for the nearest door, turning the handle without thinking. It swings open, and I slip inside, shutting it quietly behind me.
The room is different from any other I’ve seen here. It’s large, luxurious, with dark walls and a massive bed draped in black sheets. A sleek desk sits in one corner, a leather chair pushed neatly beneath it. The scent of leather and something faintly spicy lingers in the air.
But I don’t have time to take in the details.
From somewhere deeper in the room, I hear the faint sound of running water. The shower. Someone’s in the washroom.
I hesitate for half a second, weighing my options, but the sound of Callan’s footsteps in the hallway makes the decision for me.
Whoever’s in here–whoever owns this room–is better than Callan.
I scan the space quickly, my eyes landing on a large, dark closet against the far wall. Ldart across the room and slip inside, pulling the door closed behind me.
The scent inside is stronger–leather, musk, and something sharp and clean. My hands brush against neatly hung clothes, and I crouch down, pressing myself into the corner as tightly as
I can.
I hold my breath, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure it’ll give me away.
Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me.
From outside the closet, the sound of the shower continues, steady and unbroken. For now, I’m hidden.
But Callan is still out there. And if he finds me before whoever owns this room steps out…
Chapter 23. Paige
I bite down on my lip, my fingers curling into the fabric of the clothes hanging above me.
I can’t let him find me.
After a while, I glance toward the door, my chest tightening. What if I leave?
Really leave.
Slip out into the corridors, find an exit, disappear into the night. It’s reckless–probably suicidal—but what other option do I have? I’m already marked for death.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I push the closet door open, just enough to peer out into the room. The shadows stretch long across the floor, illuminated by the faint glow of the bathroom light spilling through the cracked door.
No one’s there.
I step out cautiously, my bare feet silent against the cool floor. The air is heavy with heat and the faint scent of soap, the steam from the shower lingering in the corners.
The door to the hallway feels impossibly far away, but I inch toward it, my every step careful and deliberate, My eyes flick to the bathroom door–still cracked open, the sound of water continuing, steady and unbroken.
Almost there.
hold my breath as I reach for the door handle, my fingers trembling slightly. One twist, and I’m free. One twist, and I can run, keep running until I-
A hand grabs my wrist, strong and unyielding, pulling me back with a force that knocks the breath out of me.
I gasp, my other hand flying up instinctively to push away, but it’s too late. I’m spun around in one swift motion, my back hitting the bed with a soft thud.
The room tilts as I land, the air rushing from my lungs, and when I look up-
Shock floods through me, freezing me in place as I stare at the figure standing over me.
