Page 29 of Vow of Vengeance

Heaviness sinks in my chest. I drag my body upright, raking my hands through my hair. Now I’m imagining her in the night as well as the day.

I’m in grave danger. I’m falling. This time, when I land, I’m not hitting the ice.

This time, I’m hitting rock bottom.

And I fear I’ll be destroyed.

CHAPTER 10

Ophelia

My toes pinch soft fibers,digging down to find the bottom of the carpet. It’s so thick and luxurious, I can’t. Knowing the plug will be out soon, I ignore it as best I can as I sit on the green velvet chaise, waiting for Gian to finish. The sound of running water and Gian humming quietly to himself calms me.

Gian and I became fast friends, and as cold as my captor seems, I will need a confidant. Gian comes out of the bathroom, smiling at me.

“All done. Enjoy.” He bids me goodnight and leaves me with a soft kiss on my cheek.

He closes the door behind him, and I welcome the silence. Finally alone, I stand, my muscles clenching the toy. I should undress and get this thing out. A thick, white terry robe is laid out on the bed, a gold braiding sewn down its edges. I run my fingers over the plush fabric, finding an emblem on the chest, a large “V” in the center of a circle made of a pretty design.

“V” for the Villa—my new home.

The word “home” brings up feelings and memories—my mom and grandparents sitting at the table with me, Grandmascooping too-large portions of her famous shepherd’s pie onto my chipped china plate, one from the set she’d brought over from Scotland, calling the china an heirloom. Grandpa is teasing that the pearl necklace I wear is the only thing of value we own. I laugh along as Grandma playfully hits him on the shoulder with her wooden spoon, feeling warm but guilty for wanting more than the smallness of this apartment, this table, my family.

I love them all, but as I mature, I want more. I should have been more grateful. Is this my punishment?

Push it down, Ophelia. Too much.

I take off my clothes, and the cool air chills my skin as I slip my arms into the robe and try the belt tightly around my waist. I glance down at the Villa emblem lying against my chest. The Villa—not home, but where I’ll be staying.

For now.

I run my fingers over the pink velvet coverlet as I move further into the room, toward the gleaming white door inviting me in. How is it possible for a bathroom to be even more beautiful than a bedroom? The tile is like ice under my bare feet as I walk over the snow-white tiles to the Olympic-sized pool of a hot tub bath—oval, deep, with porcelain as white and spotless as the floors and the tiled walls.

It’s filled with steaming water and frothy foam, with red petals scattered over the sparkling bubbles. Leaning down, I inhale the scent of lavender and rose.

Losing the robe, I ease into the tub. My hands grip the cold porcelain as I sink further into the warm water. “Oh, my God—that feels glorious.” I’m moaning as each inch of me disappears under the heavenly-scented foam.

I lean the back of my head against the tub's edge, staring up at the ceiling. There are no water marks or stains. The bubbles tickle my skin as they froth around me, only my head and shoulders exposed. I’m alone and relaxed for the first time since Carter climbed into my window tonight.

So why am I glancing at the bathroom door, listening for footsteps?

Am I… hoping…

Forhim?

“Don’t be silly.” I roll the back of my head right, then left against the porcelain. My shoulder is sore from where the seat belt dug into me, snapping me back against the seat earlier tonight. I sink deeper into the warm water to soak it up.

I think about his ex and the image of her screaming into the night, the headlights eerily illuminating her face. He probably made her that way. And if they had a baby together… if he has a child… I didn’t agree to this marriage in the first place, but if you add in a baby and an ex who almost ran us off the road, I’d be foolishnotto run for my life.

The man stole me from my home, spanked me, put athingin me, and… I raise my hand out of the water, breaking the surface. Spreading my fingers, I watch the bubbles glide down over my skin.

He’s done all these things and more to me?—

And I’ve never felt more alive.

I chastise myself, berate myself.

I tell myself he should be here to remove his torture device himself. I’m listening for his approach because I don’t want to be the one to have to do it. I am lying to myself, pretending I’m looking at the door again because I don’t want to figure out how to get rid of the toy alone.

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