Page 35 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

“Wonderful, if you may excuse me.”

The sound of closing doors is music to my ears. While the grand tour had offered a fleeting escape, I would have much preferred to explore in my own time. I slip out of my heels, my feet dragging toward the open archway that leads into a closet and bathroom. True to promise, the bathtub isfilled with warm, bubbling water, delicate petals floating atop it. Yet, it’s the closet that catches my attention, an opulent display of clothes, shoes, and accessories, each piece more glamorous than the last.

Talk about wealth and etiquette.

With each step, I pop a button on my blouse until the silk falls to the floor, followed by my skirt. In nothing but my sheer lace, I stand before the display of diamonds, neatly arranged under a glass dome. Temptation is the devil’s vice and honey. Nothing comes between a woman and her gems. I slide open the crystal box and lift a ruby necklace from its resting place. This must have cost a soul. The diamonds catch the light, shimmering like a star. I carefully remove Papa’s chain from around my neck, the cold metal lingering on my skin for just a moment before I replace it with the ruby necklace. The warmth of the jewels stands in stark contrast to the emptiness left by my chain, the one I’ve always kept hidden from Callum’s insatiable greed. It’s the only piece of my father I have left, and I won’t let it fall into the hands of those who would take it without a second thought. With a sigh, I clasp the necklace, its deep rubies gleaming against my skin, their allure impossible to ignore.

Once upon a time, l knew what wealth tasted like. Before Callum stole it all.

As I turn toward the mirror, the absence of Papa’s chain settles in my chest like a heavy truth. The emptiness around my neck pulls at my heart, but I quickly push the feeling aside. Papa’s memory, though precious, always stings. The ruby necklace, however, is a symbol of something more, a quiet rebellion against the nightmares that seek to claim what’s mine.Against Sebastain.

For a moment, I stand there, admiring myself. The dark gleam of the jewelry flickers under the light, teasing and tempting.I trace my fingers along its smooth surface before stepping away from the mirror and sinking into the warmth of the tub. The water surrounds me, soothing the burn of my thoughts. It feels as though the heat could erase everything—the scars, the memories, the torment. I close my eyes, allowing the warmth to seep into my bones, wishing I could stay here forever, suspended in comfort.

But hunger gnaws at me, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since last night. Reluctantly, I slip out of the water, the heat already beginning to fade as I change into a soft satin dress that clings to my body. The fabric is a fleeting escape from the harsh reality waiting outside these walls. I slip into heels, my steps light but purposeful, as I make my way to the gardens, where the cool air brushes against my skin.

I make a few wrong turns, but with no one around to witness my lack of coordination, the liveliness in my stride only fades when I meet his eyes the moment I step outside. It’s as if the flame of my confidence is snuffed out all at once, its warmth slipping away under the heat of his gaze. I hesitate, caught in the intensity of his stare, and a smirk slowly tugs at the corners of his lips. It’s a quiet victory that cuts through me, both bitter and oddly satisfying. His pleasure in my discomfort bites, but there’s something in it that makes me feel alive in the most painful way.

I close the distance between us, each step weighed down by an unspoken tension that clings to the air. He may pretend to play the part of a gentleman, but the gesture is hollow. Without a word, he pulls my chair out for me, and I take my seat. The act feels so familiar, like a ritual we’ve performed countless times before, one that never truly changes, no matter how much we try to deny it.

“Thank you.”

The garden stretches wide and open, its gentle slope leading down to a river, its waters shimmering with a cosmic-blue hue. A cluster of cypress pines stands tall beside us, while on the other side, a thicket of serene beeches forms a quiet barrier. Trees weave through the center of the garden, their branches casting a labyrinth of clawed shadows across the grass. The sun spills its golden glow over everything, lending the scene an almost ethereal quality.

Before me, a bowl of white bean basil soup and a Caesar salad are placed by one of his staff, though the table is already scattered with wine, bread, and cheese—an array of indulgence.

“Red paints you devastatingly well.”

“Is it your favorite color?” My finger brushes over the rubies. Eyes resembling a sea stare at me intensely, I almost want to cower to them as he reaches out for the wine bottle and pours the ironically cardinal liquid into my champagne glass.

“You may sing like a bird, Wild Rose. I know you have words hanging on your tongue.” He sits the bottle down.

“Maybe I prefer my silence to speak for me.” I grab the glass and sip the wine, its bitter sweetness runs down my throat effortlessly.

“I’ve been good, Odessa. Do not let me break that pattern too quickly, it would be such a shame.”

I would love to know what this man does when he isnotbeinggood.

“I want the cameras in my bedroom removed.”

At first, I hadn’t puzzled the grating feeling that marred a trail of goosebumps on my skin until I found a diminutive dot in one of the bathroom vases. It was a clown ask on my part, to be prudish over a few cameras but willingly leavemy door open for him to watch me at night. But I want what I want, and an explanation is not worth either of our time.

“Demanding, are you?” he leans back into his seat, and I glimpse the silver chain peeking from the two popped buttons on his charcoal shirt.

“I’m simply shuffling the same deck of cards you play me.”

The way the stupid material clings to his muscled arms makes me want to stare hard, maybe even take a picture.Itlasts longer.His cold azure eyes cause chaos to bloom in my blood, muddling my thoughts and holding me hostage to his ploy.

“That almost sounds like an insinuation that I’ve made you a witness to the tricks and taunts I’m holding to my chest.” His lips stretch into a devious smile.

“This is not supposed to be a gilded cage, Sebastian.”

“If not a cage, then what Odessa?” he drawls.

“It’s an agreement, and you’re my bo?—”

“No,Wild Rose, this is not business. Not when we know what keeps us awake at night, and no, I much prefer a choker than a cage. That way I can always drag you back to me, when you are off wandering in the woods.”

He couldn’t have possibly been the one watching us that night, could he?

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