Page 29 of Split

“I’ve always been interested in human behavior,” I mumble, running my fingers along the dusty spines. “Split personalities, things like that.”

“Most of the educational texts are in the library,” Roman replies flatly. “But if you want fiction, I’d suggest Jekyll and Hyde.”

I turn to look at him over my shoulder curiously, meeting his impassive stare.

“Second shelf from the left, third one up,” he murmurs before dropping his gaze back to his phone.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, pacing over to the shelf he indicated and fingering the spines as I read the titles. I locate Jekyll and Hyde easily enough, snatching the book up, turning around, and clutching it to my chest as I stride past him toward the door. I’ll find somewhere else to read for the afternoon, far away fromMister Volkov.

“Your test results came back clean,” he comments absently, his voice a dull monotone.

I stop in my tracks, arching a brow. “Oh?” My heart pounds faster and my palms turn clammy. “So, what, now you get to have your way with me?” I grit out, suddenly wishing the one guy I slept with wasn’t a squeaky-clean virgin like myself. I’d gladly take some minor, easily curable STD over the news that my monstrous husband just got the ‘all clear’ to fuck me.

He makes a scoffing sound in his throat, his emerald gaze flickering up to meet mine. “I’ll do whatever I like with you,wife.”

I flinch back, clutching the book tighter to my chest as my brows pinch together in frustration. “And what, I just don’t get a say?”

“I thought that was understood?”

I grind my molars, bile crawling up my throat.Who the hell does this man think he is?

My husband.That’swho he is, and he’s also a man who’s accustomed to getting what he wants, which means I’m royally screwed. Or Iwillbe, whenever he sees fit. Right now, there’s nowild lust in his eyes; no feral hunger for my flesh. He’s looking at me as if I’m just another piece of furniture.

“You can go,” he grumbles dismissively, turning his attention back to his phone.

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I pivot toward the doors and hightail it out of the study, mentally cursing a god I no longer believe in for the nightmare my life has become.

14

My eyes pore over the aged pages of Jekyll and Hyde as I pick at my salad the following afternoon, barely able to absorb the story while my thoughts continually drift to my escape scheme.

The hedge maze is a bust. I get so turned around in there that I can’t tell my ass from my elbow, always winding up right back where I started. Not to mention the fact that even if I were able to figure it out, I still don’t know whether a path to freedom lies on the other side. It could just be a waste of time; a pointless distraction.

I know from our trips to and from the estate that we’re miles from civilization. The forest around the manor is thick, and it’s getting colder at night as winter approaches. Simply trying to make a run for it would be suicide– I wouldn’t last a single night out in those woods alone.

No, the only sure way to rid myself of Roman for good is by getting close to him, first. I need to find out what makes him tick; unearth the skeletons lurking within the manor’s many closets. If he thinks I’ve accepted my role as his docile, obedient wife, maybe he’ll let his guard down and give me somethingthat’s worth bartering for my freedom over. Which also means it’s time for me to strap in and brace myself for what’s to come.

Getting close to Roman means playing the long game, and I’ll need to toughen up if I have any prayer of surviving it. Of survivinghim.

“Are you all finished, ma’am?” Clara asks, startling me from my tangled web of thoughts. I jerk my head up to find her hovering in the doorway of the parlor, eyeing my barely-touched plate with judgment. “Was there something wrong with the salad?”

“No, it was delicious,” I insist, flipping my book closed and pushing up from the chair. “I’m just not very hungry today, that’s all.”

“But Mr. Volkov…”

“Doesn’t need to know,” I finish for her, frowning.

She stares at me for a long moment, then finally concedes with a curt nod, her Mary Jane’s clacking against the marble as she comes over to collect my plate.

I tuck the book under my arm, breezing past Clara to head for the study. Maybe a change of scenery will allow me to get lost in the story rather than daydreaming about escaping this hellhole.

It’s overcast outside today, and the dreary weather makes the hallways of the manor even more dim and ominous looking as I navigate through them toward the back of the house. It’s always so quiet in here; so devoid of life. A shiver creeps up my spine as a feeling comes over me that I’m being watched, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end in warning. I look back and forth to verify that the corridor is indeed vacant, yet I still can’t shake that prickly feeling.

I swear this place is haunted.

My heart pounds as I pick up my pace, turning a corner sharply only to discover that I’m not alone after all. It isn’t aghoul or an apparition coming toward me from the opposite end of the hall, though– it’s a very real, veryhandsomeman.

I’ve never seen him before, but he’s almost as tall and imposing as Roman, and just as impressively built. The fabric of his well-tailored black suit clings to his broad chest, straining over his thick shoulders and biceps. A tattoo peeks from underneath his shirt collar, inky swirls crawling up the side of his neck and brushing just below his left ear, where his blonde hair is shaved short on the sides and worn longer on top. He’s undeniably attractive, but I know all too well that the devil bestows the most striking beauty upon his most sinister soldiers.

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