CHAPTER 15

Jamie stopped trying to plan his escape.

That was the most frightening part.

Every option dissolved the moment he reached for it. Airports required rides. Rides required permission. Permission required conversations he couldn’t finish without Matteo or Enzo appearing, silent and immovable.

The mansion wasn’t locked.

But it might as well have been. A beautiful prison.

Sleep abandoned him entirely. When he closed his eyes, he saw Matteo standing in that cellar, calm and unhurried. When he stayed awake, he felt watched—like something unseen was counting his breaths.

Food lost its taste. His stomach twisted at the sight of plates brought in by staff. He pushed meals away untouched, claiming nausea, headaches, jet lag. Excuses stacked up, thin and brittle.

Lucas noticed.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” Lucas said one afternoon, sitting on the edge of Jamie’s bed. “You’re not even pretending anymore.”

Jamie shrugged weakly, staring at the window. “Not hungry.”

“That’s a lie.”

Jamie didn’t answer.

Lucas leaned closer. “You haven't had any energy to do anything on our bucket list. Did someone do something to you? Are you sick?” He places the back of his palm on Jamie's forehead looking for a hint of fever.

Jamie’s chest tightened.

“No,” he said automatically. Too fast. Too rehearsed.

Lucas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jamie, I know you. You’re spiraling.”

Jamie flinched.

“I miss you,” Lucas added quietly. “ Its like you’re here, but you’re not.”

Jamie swallowed hard, blinking back tears. He wanted to say I’m scared. Wanted to say we need to leave. Wanted to say I think we’re in danger.

But the words stayed lodged in his throat.

Before Lucas could push further, the door opened.

Enzo stood there, expression neutral. “Matteo is asking for you, Jamie.”

Jamie’s heart sank.

Lucas frowned annoyed. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

Jamie stood on unsteady legs. “I’ll… see you later.”

Lucas watched him go, worry etched deep into his features.

It was in the corridor outside the west wing that Jamie first noticed the servant.

He had seen him before—many times—but never noticed him. Middle-aged, average height, always hovering at the edges of rooms. Too quiet. Too attentive.

Their eyes met.

The man didn’t look away.

That night, as Jamie wandered the halls unable to sleep, he found the man again—this time waiting near the stairs.

“You look unwell,” the man said softly.

Jamie stiffened. “I’m fine.”

The man smiled thinly. “No, you’re not.”

Jamie hesitated. Maybe this could be an opportunity “What’s your name?”

“Greg,” he replied. “I’ve been here a long time.”

Something about his tone made Jamie’s skin crawl.

“You should eat,” Greg continued. “And sleep. Before it’s too late.”

Jamie’s breath hitched. “Too late for what?”

Greg glanced around, then leaned in just slightly. “ Before he gets bored of you.”

Jamie’s heart slammed violently. “ What do you mean?”

Greg’s eyes gleamed. “ Men like Matteo don’t keep things they don’t intend to destroy. He’ll grow bored. He always does.”

Jamie’s hands shook. “That’s not true.”

Greg shrugged. “Ask the others who stayed too long. Oh wait...you cant.”

Jamie backed away. “Why are you telling me this?”

Greg smiled again, cold and knowing. “Because you don’t belong here.”

Jamie turned and fled.

By the third night without sleep, Jamie was unraveling.

He paced his room, nails bitten raw, thoughts spiraling faster and faster. Greg’s voice echoed in his head.

He’ll kill you. He always does.

Lucas knocked again.

“Jamie,” Lucas said, alarmed now. “You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie whispered.

“You’re shaking.”

Jamie wrapped his arms around himself. “Luke… if I asked you to leave tomorrow—no questions—would you?”

Lucas stared at him. “Yes. Obviously. But why—”

“I can’t explain,” Jamie said quickly. “Just… would you?”

“Yes,” Lucas repeated. “But something’s wrong.”

Jamie nodded faintly. “Yes.”

They stood there, the words hovering between them, fragile and dangerous.

Then Matteo’s voice cut through the air.

“Jamie.”

He stood at the end of the hallway, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. Watching.

Lucas looked between them. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Matteo said smoothly. “But I need a word with him.”

Jamie felt dread settle deep in his bones.

“I’ll see you later,” Lucas said, uneasy.

Matteo guided Jamie into a side room and closed the door.

“ You spoke to Greg,” Matteo said calmly.

Jamie’s blood ran cold. “I—”

“Don’t lie,” Matteo interrupted gently. “It won’t help you.”

Jamie’s voice trembled. “He said you’d kill me.”

Matteo studied him. “Greg lies to survive.”

“ Is it true?” Jamie demanded, fear cracking his composure. “ Is that what this is?”

Matteo stepped closer. “No.”

Jamie sagged slightly in relief.

Then Matteo added, “But you should understand something.”

He lifted Jamie’s chin, forcing eye contact.

“The moment you stepped onto my beach,” Matteo said quietly, “you became mine.”

Jamie’s breath caught. “That’s not how—”

“It is,” Matteo said evenly. “I protected you. I claimed you.”

Jamie shook his head, tears slipping free. “I never agreed to this.”

Matteo’s thumb brushed the tear away. “ Yes you did. You think I didnt see the way you look at me? You didn’t need to say anything.”

Jamie whispered, “I’m scared of you.”

Matteo’s gaze grew dark possessively. “Good. Fear keeps you sane.”

Jamie’s knees weakened.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Matteo continued. “And no one is going to touch you.”

“Unless it’s you,” Jamie whispered.

Matteo said nothing.

And somehow, that was worse.

He leaned down and took Jamie's lips to his. Jamie almost got distracted by those distrating lips. In defiance he bit down tasting blood. Matteo pulled back without a hint of pain in his expression.

Blood stained his bottom lip, Jamie stared at the injury he inflicted. Without a word Matteo turned and left slamming the door behind him.

For a brief moment Jamie felt like he could breath.

Jamie tried to stay in his room after that.

Tried to make himself small. Invisible.

But fear has a way of drawing attention.

It happened the next evening.

He was halfway down the corridor, headed nowhere in particular, when he heard raised voices echoing from the servants’ wing. Greg’s voice—sharp, desperate—cut through the quiet.

Jamie froze.

Curiosity warred with instinct. Instinct lost.

He crept closer until the voices sharpened into clarity.

“—I didn’t say anything,” Greg insisted. “I swear.”

He was on the ground on his knees with his hands clasped like in a prayer.

A calm voice replied, amused. “You always say that.”

Jamie stepped just far enough to see.

Greg had tears and snot running down his face.

Enzo stood in front of him.

He looked... Almost bored.

Jamie’s heart lurched. “Enzo?”

Enzo turned slowly, eyes locking onto Jamie. A smile tugged at his lips—soft, almost fond.

“Ah,” Enzo said. “Perfect timing.”

Jamie took an instinctive step back. “What’s going on?”

Greg looked up then, eyes wild. “You have to listen to me,” he gasped. “They’ll kill you. They always—”

Enzo sighed. “Still talking.”

Jamie’s pulse roared in his ears. “Enzo, please—just let him go.”

Enzo tilted his head, studying Jamie like a puzzle. “You really believed him, didn’t you?”

Jamie swallowed. “He said—”

“He said what we needed him to say,” Enzo interrupted lightly. “Fear makes people predictable.”

Greg scrambled forward, clutching at Enzo’s leg. “You promised—”

Enzo’s expression hardened.

The movement that followed was quick. Efficient. Almost casual. The gun silent.

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut at the sound—a sharp, final noise that stole the air from the room. A silencer.

Silence followed by a thud of a body hitting the ground.

When Jamie opened his eyes, Greg was no longer moving. A bullet hole in the middle of his skull with blood driping out.

The world tilted violently. He struggled to keep down the breakfast he barely ate.

Jamie staggered back, slamming into the wall. “You— you killed him.”

Enzo wiped his hands calmly. Then he walked toward Jamie.

Jamie shook his head frantically. “Don’t come near me.”

Enzo stopped inches away.

“You see,” Enzo said softly, “ this is why you should not to listen to the help.”

Jamie’s voice broke. “You did this to scare me.”

Enzo smiled.

“Yes. I did.”

Jamie’s legs gave out, and he slid down the wall, breathing in shallow, panicked gasps. “I can’t— I can’t leave, can I?”

Enzo crouched in front of him, meeting his eyes. “No.”

Tears streamed down Jamie’s face. “Lucas—he doesn’t know—”

Enzo’s smile widened just a fraction. “And he won’t. Because you won’t tell him.”

Jamie whispered, barely audible, “ You’re monsters.”

Enzo leaned closer, voice dropping to a murmur meant only for Jamie.

“Now you know,” he said.

Jamie looked at him, hollowed out.

“ You can scream,” Enzo continued. “ You can hate us. You can dream about California and sunshine and freedom.”

He stood.

“ But you can’t do anything.”

Enzo turned toward the door. “ Matteo will see you now.”

Jamie stayed on the floor long after Enzo left, shaking uncontrollably, understanding something terrifyingly clear:

Fear hadn’t been the goal.

Helplessness was.

And Jamie was feeling pretty helpless as tears streamed down his face.