Page 58 of Ruthless God

On the outside.

Crap.

She wasn’t kidding.

“This is your room,” Agnes says, her tone final.

I stare at the lock. At the solid iron bolt that could easily keep me inside. This isn’t a room. It’s a cell.

Cautiously, I open the door.

I brace myself for something bleak. A cold, barren space that screams prison cell. What I find instead?

Luxury and opulence.

A massive bed sits in the center of the room. The dark mahogany frame carved with intricate designs holds the mattress covered in plush bedding. It’s so thick it looks like it could swallow me whole. A matching dresser stands against the far wall, sleek, modern, and polished enough to reflect the glow of the chandelier overhead—a crystal masterpiece that casts a soft, golden light over the space.

And then there’s the window.

Large. Expansive.

It stretches nearly from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the island. Rolling green jungle, jagged cliffs, and beyond that, the endless blue of the sea.

For a second, I almost forget why I’m here.

Almost.

But then my gaze drifts back to the door.

The lock.

The beautiful prison I’ve just stepped into.

I swallow hard and step inside, testing the feel of the soft rug beneath my feet as I glance toward the side doors.

I push open the first door and find a bathroom that belongs in a five-star resort. A freestanding bathtub sits beneath another window, its curved porcelain edges gleaming under the light. To the side, there’s a walk-in shower, lined with marble walls and gold fixtures. It’s the kind of shower that probably has more settings than I’d know what to do with. The vanity? Double sinks, sleek and modern, with an oversized mirror that reflects the soft glow of built-in lighting.

Everything about it screams comfort.

Everything about it contradicts the fact that I am very much a prisoner.

I move to the next door. The closet.

It’s even more absurd. It’s bigger than some apartments, with floor-to-ceiling shelving, rows of drawers, and a center island that looks designed for jewelry or accessories.

And the clothes?

All my size.

Dresses, blouses, jeans, even shoes…like someone had planned for me to be here. Like they expected me.

My stomach twists. I turn back toward the room, my eyes scanning over the beauty, the wealth, the suffocating perfection of it all. This place is a gilded cage. And Claudius? He’s the one who locked the door.

I step out of the closet, my mind still reeling from the sheer extravagance of it all. And then I hear it. The soft click of a door closing. My pulse kicks up. Agnes is nowhere to be seen.

For a second, a horrible thought grips me. Did Agnes just lock me in? Panic lurches through me, and I run across the room, reaching for the handle, twisting it. It opens.

My chest rises and falls too fast and adrenaline courses through me. I come face to face with Agnes. She gives me a long look. It’s meant to remind me exactly where I stand.

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