Page 55 of Controlled

My curiosity was piqued, and I headed to the top of the stairs, peeking over the banister. It was impossible to see anything other than confirming I was on the third floor. That gave me more willies about the fantasy. I backed into the room, closing the door once again, preferring to be very much alone.

With my ugly thoughts and horrible fantasies.

Someone had tried to kill me. Or us. I wasn’t certain but I did remember seeing the black SUV rolling down the street, a single blip of a weapon being stuck out the window. But I’d frozen, incapable of knowing what to do.

Everything about the house screamed opulence but all my mind could think about was he’d soon place me in a dungeon. My thoughts might be bordering on dramatic given I’d also seen new clothes inside the closet, all my size and several with price tags still attached.

The man had spent thousands on me in addition to bringing me my most precious things. Even my fun little watch collection. And my dance clothes. It was crazy that he’d gone to so much trouble, including making the bedroom appear as if it were meant for a queen.

Books. Music.

A comfy chair.

A thick comforter.

Fluffy pillows to die for.

My God, the makeup alone cost in the thousands, all from Sephora. Instead of selecting anything new, I grabbed the rattiest pair of jeans I could find and a tee shirt that had seen better days. As I slipped into them, I couldn’t help but speculate on why he hadn’t tossed them out, telling me later they weren’t good enough.

I could tell the man was a perfectionist.

And a weirdo.

When I was dressed, I searched through the drawers in the bathroom, continuing to be shocked at the lengths he’d gone. Perfume straight from Paris. A box of jewelry. At least I managed to find a good old-fashioned ponytail holder, slapping my hair into it. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I made faces.

I looked gaunt, the combination of fear and sadness in my eyes daunting.

There were some scrapes and a couple of bruises, but I marveled at the fact I was still alive. And I had a very bad man to thank for it. Groovy, as my friends would say in jest.

My thoughts drifted back to Jonas. I’d forgotten Marcia had alluded to the fact it had appeared he’d killed himself. I hated to admit it, but that was entirely possible given the way his father had acted toward him.

But I still found it tough to believe.

After giving myself a nod of approval, I opened the door again, determined to make it downstairs. I was stiff and sore, hating the fact I could still smell Creed’s intense fragrance all over me. When I was finally on the first floor, the thumping sounds seemed louder.

What was he doing, beating people inside one of his massive rooms? I peeked around the giant foyer, the look exactly as I would have expected for a billionaire to own. Everything was modern and avant garde from the stunning crystal chandeliers to the incredible colorful art on the wall. Even the marble I was standing on was unusual in a fabulous hue of turquoise.

I ran my hand over the banister, staring up at the curved staircase before thinking about racing through the front door. Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t be allowed, the security system I noticed giving away my treachery or some gun-toting soldier chasing after me.

How many men had I seen carrying loaded weapons the day of the attack, whenever that had been? Time meant nothing right now. I moved through the house, surprised when I didn’t see a parade of employees working on the property. The house was pristine, not a speck of dust anywhere that I could see. And I doubted a powerful man like Creed handled a single minute of housework in a week.

I wondered if he even changed the toilet paper? Christ. I was losing my mind or had hit my head harder when he’d tackled me than I’d originally thought. I found the kitchen, whistling as soon as I walked in. I wasn’t entirely certain anyone had used it to prepare food before. Like ever.

Unable to resist, I opened the fridge, shocked to find it fully stocked with all kinds of goodies. But nothing I wanted, my stomach feeling squirrely.

I grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter instead, half expecting it to be wax, pleasantly surprised how juicy it was as I bit into it.

As I walked through the rest of the house, I was drawn to the beauty of the area outside. The man had spared no expense on landscaping, the grass rolling gently toward the water as green as I’d ever seen. I wanted to walk outside, to be bold and daring, but I was nervous about everything, feeling my boundaries even though there weren’t any bars on the windows or doors.

At least that I could see.

My nerves a wreck, I continued glancing into the various rooms, shocked every time I walked into one of them. From the floor-to-cathedral-ceiling fireplaces in three of them to the leather sofas that were plush like butter, and the vast array of open space, I was in love with his decorating style.

But I was forced to remind myself this wasn’t my home and never would be. It also had a far too perfect appearance, as if no one really lived here.

As I headed into the hallway, the thumping drew my attention again. It was coming from another wing of the house. Who lived like they owned an art gallery? I nibbled on my apple as I ventured toward the noise, noticing there was an office, a full bathroom, and a men’s playroom complete with a pool table and a bar. At the end of the hall was an open door, men in jeans passing by.

Now my curiosity was enough to kill a cat. I was close enough I could tell there was a full-fledged construction project going on when I heard a deep voice behind me.

---