Page 103 of Avidian
Stay calm, Kat. For now.
Once I’m dressed in the black dress and tights Orin tossed at me—hardly ideal for an escape but precisely what Marco would expect—I try to steady my breathing. It’s not a practical choice,but Orin knows Marco likes his “pets” presentable. My skin still feels grimy despite wiping it down, but there’s no time to linger. I quickly braid my hair to the side, tying it off with a frayed ribbon from the pile of clothes. A poor attempt to look polished when I still feel like a caged animal.
“You clean up nice, parasite,” Orin says. He motions for me to go ahead of him, always so happy when he gets to order me around.
I fight the urge to spit some retort back at him, opting to stay silent. My pulse hammers in my ears as I move toward the stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last.
Orin’s presence behind me feels like a weight pressing down on my spine, his eyes burning into the back of my head. I want to run. I want to bolt, fight, scream, make him bleed for everything he’s done. But not yet.
Not yet.
As we climb the stairs, my thoughts race. I’ve tasted freedom now—felt what it’s like to be beyond their reach. I can’t stay here, not after I’ve known what it’s like to be more than a pet here.
When we reach the top of the stairs, Orin opens the door, reaching past me and gesturing mockingly like he’s some sort of gentleman. “After you,” he drawls, his grin widening when I brush past him.
“Can we stop at my bathroom, please? I really need to go. And look—” I gesture at myself, throwing in a touch of exasperation for good measure. “I don’t even have shoes. Marco won’t approve of this sloppy look.”
Orin narrows his icy blue eyes, as if deciding whether to indulge me or not. Then, to my surprise, he nods once, motioning for me to lead the way.
“Fine. Make it quick,” he says, following me into my bedroom. He sits on the edge of my bed, his sharp gaze tracking my every move as I step into the adjoining bathroom.
I close the door with a soft click, exhaling a shaky breath. At least he didn’t follow me in here to watch. Small mercies, I suppose.
The bathroom feels impossibly small under the weight of my nerves. I glance at myself in the mirror. I don’t look as bad as I feel, but the cut on my forehead tells a different story. My eyes are tired, the kind of tired that doesn’t fade with sleep, and my cheeks are still smudged with traces of grime.
I quickly use the toilet then grab my toothbrush. I know hygiene should be the least of my worries right now, but I can’t shake the need to brush my teeth. I feel disgusting, like layers of this place are clinging to me.
As I brush, my mind starts to churn. I don’t have much time. I rinse, pat my face dry, and open the door, moving to my closet in a hurry. Orin watches me with a lazy smirk, his amusement barely hidden.
I grab a pair of black loafers—polished enough to meet Marco’s standards but far more practical than heels. They’ll pass inspection, and more importantly they’ll be easier to run in if it comes to that.
I slip them on quickly, avoiding Orin’s stare as I straighten. “Ready,” I say, my voice steady despite the anxiety building in my chest.
“Good. Let’s not keep my father waiting.”
We walk through the halls toward Marco’s wing of the house, and everything looks as it always does. Security guards stand at key points, their postures rigid and alert, while the usual servants move about, heads down, carrying trays or tending to the decor. It’s unsettling how normal it all seems—like I’ve stepped back in time to a life I no longer fit into.
Calling this place home feels wrong now.
When we reach the large double doors to Marco’s private rooms, Orin knocks. The sound echoes in the marble hall. Amoment later, the door opens, and to my surprise I’m met by a tall man with deep-blue eyes and slicked back hair, it’s Gary—the more level-headed of Marco’s sons.
He spares me a glance, the expression on his clean-shaven face tight, before stepping past us without a word. He doesn’t even acknowledge Orin. His shoulders are rigid, and the irritation radiating off him is evident as he storms down the hall.
“There she is.” Marco’s voice draws my attention. “It’s been too long, my little demon.”
I step into the room, every nerve on edge. Marco’s suite is as grand as ever, ostentatious like the rest of the estate. The white marble floors gleam under the warm glow of the chandelier, and the walls are equally pristine. A massive bed dominates one side of the room, draped in gold and cream silks, while a sitting area flanks a gold-trimmed fireplace. It’s immaculate, controlled, and deeply unsettling.
I take a few hesitant steps forward, my footsteps swallowed by the soft rug beneath me. The heavy doors close behind me, the sound final, and Orin lingers long enough to earn a pointed wave from Marco.
“Leave us,” Marco says, not even sparing him a glance.
Orin doesn’t argue, his retreating footsteps fading quickly down the hall.
I’m alone with Marco.
“Come, sit.” Marco motions toward one of the large leather chairs in front of the fire, his tone smooth, almost too casual.
I hesitate but force my feet to move, crossing the room to the chair. He watches me with the calculated gaze of a predator as I lower myself into the seat, sinking slightly into the expensive cushion.
