Page 59 of Ruthless God

“As I said,” she murmurs, voice smooth but edged with steel. “Play by my rules, and we won’t have a problem.”

I hold her gaze, jaw tight. I should say something. Push back. Challenge her. But something about Agnes tells me she’s not just issuing a warning. She’s making a promise.

And I have the distinct feeling that if I break her rules?

She’ll enjoy making me regret it.

13

Cecely

A week crawls by. Seven days of staring at the same four walls, pacing the same polished floors, and memorizing every inch of the gilded prison Claudius calls a room.

I could tell you how many tiles there are in the bathroom.

Eighty-four.

I could tell you that the chandelier flickers slightly when the wind outside picks up, casting dancing shadows along the ceiling.

I could tell you that the closet smells faintly of lavender and cedar, that the silk sheets are cool to the touch at night but suffocating when the nightmares set in.

That the ocean view from my window is both a blessing and a curse because it’s a reminder that there’s a whole world out there, just beyond my reach.

I could tell you all of that because there is nothing else to do. No books. No TV. No phone. Just the sound of my own thoughts, the occasional knock when someone brings my food, and the steady, infuriating absence of Claudius.

The man who put me here.

The man who hasn’t spoken to me since.

And the worst part?

I don’t know if I hate it more when it’s quiet. Or when I hear footsteps in the hall. Because every time I do? I wonder if it’s him.

But, as far as prisons go, this one isn’t bad. I stretch out across the plush bed, sinking into the obscenely soft bedding. It’s got to be at least a thousand thread count. The kind of sheets people with stupid amounts of money sleep on, but I never would because I had other things to do with my money.

A girl could get used to this. Or at least, she could if she wasn’t a damn hostage.

Just as I’m starting to relax, the door swings open without warning. Claudius strides in like he has every right to be here, like this is just another part of his domain. A panicked noise leaves my lips as I scramble to cover myself, yanking the sheets up.

“Have you heard of knocking?” I snap, my pulse spiking.

He doesn’t even pause.

“You’re in my house.” His voice is cool, unaffected. “Why in the fuck would I knock?”

I glare, gripping the sheets tighter. “Because this is my room. I could be masturbating for all you know.”

His gaze drags down my body, slow and deliberate.

Too deliberate.

His lips curl slightly. “If you’re worried about me seeing something, then perhaps you shouldn’t sleep in the nude.”

My pulse jolts, but I refuse to let him have the upper hand. I sit up, tossing the bedding aside in defiance.

“And maybe you should learn to knock, because I like sleeping nude.”

His jaw tics.

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