Page 99 of In Control

I’ve been strategising in my head all afternoon, determining what I would do when he opened that door. The man isn’t an alpha, but he’s tall and well-built. If I ran at him now, I’d bounce right off him, and he’d probably snap my arm in two if I swung at him.

I’m going to have to use my wits and my charm. The two assets I’ve always relied on.

“Yes,” I say. I should add a ‘please’ or a ‘would love to’. Words that suggest I’ve become compliant. He might not believe I’d bend that easily and willingly. Then again, the man has a massive ego. Maybe he would. But anyway, I can’t muster the ability to swallow my pride.

“Excellent. I have had my chef prepare us lobster. I remember that it is your favourite.”

It isn’t. We didn’t date long enough for him to learn anything about me really.

“Thank you,” I manage.

He offers his hand to me and I force down nausea and take it.

Our relationship never proceeded to the hand-holding stage. It was meant to be casual, a bit of fun, like every other one of my relationships.

Until he wanted more. Until he wanted to make me his. I called things off at that point.

That was never going to be satisfactory for a man like Justin Hollows. A man who controls everything, who has everything he wants. He wanted me. He still does.

His hand is cold in mine and his hold too tight on my fingers. He pulls me along a corridor and down a sweeping staircase. The rest of the house lies in darkness, the other rooms bathed in shadow. Doors are shut, windows locked, and I don’t see or hear another living soul.

On the ground floor, he tugs me into a grand dining room, a glass table all laid out with gleaming china, sparkling glasses and polished silverware. Overhead a huge chandelier of cut crystals twinkles and candles flicker on the table top.

He leads me to a chair and pulls it out for me. I stare down at the knife set at my place and take the seat. The knife is sharp, its blade serrated. I could saw out his liver with it.

Justin reaches into an ice bucket and retrieves a bottle of champagne so expensive it could buy me a house. He pops the cork and pours bubbling golden liquid into my glass before strolling around to the other side of the table.

“I thought we should celebrate.” He fills his own glass and I stare at mine with suspicion. I want to escape. I don’t want to have my senses impaired. I don’t want him to drug me again either. “Drink up, Sophia,” he says, lifting his own glass to his lips.

“I don’t feel like it,” I mumble. He was always trying to get me drunk, refilling and refilling my glass every time we went out. It was the first sign.

“Just a little sip. It’s a special occasion.”

If I grabbed the knife, could I lunge for him before he realised? Could I hurt him enough to make a run for it? Would I even be able to open the front door?

He snaps his fingers at me. “Sophia, drink.”

And damn it. If I want to play along for the time being, I’m going to have to.

I lift the bubbles to my mouth and take the tiniest, teeniest sip. It’s enough to satisfy him. He smiles and lifts a silver domed platter with a flourish. A cooked lobster lies beneath, its beady eyes dull. I want to throw up.

“Why have you brought me here, Justin?” I ask.

“To start our new life together. This is your home now, Sophia, our home, one where we can raise our family.”

I shake my head, ignoring his frown, ignoring the danger I’m tempting. Maybe I can reason with him.

“You can’t do this. I have a life. I have friends and family. People who will be looking for me.”

“People who will be so happy for you. Happy you have found the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

“No, I don’t love you, Justin.”

His voice turns sour. “You told me you did.”

“I didn’t. I never told you that. I was always very clear.”

“But I am in love with you, Sophia,” he snarls through gritted teeth, slamming the lid back on the lobster. I repress a jolt, keeping my spine stiff.

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