Chapter 10: Kitten

I wake up gasping.

For a moment I can’t breathe. My chest heaves as if I’ve been underwater for too long, my lungs desperately dragging in air that feels too thin.

The room is dark. Quiet.

But the sound is still there.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

I press my hands against my ears, but it doesn’t stop. The phantom sound of a hospital monitor continues to echo inside my head.

My throat feels dry. Raw. Like I’ve been coughing for hours.

Slowly, the room comes into focus.

My bedroom.

The familiar ceiling. The soft glow of morning light pushing through the curtains.

Not a hospital.

Just my room.

Just a dream.

Except it didn’t feel like a dream.

Dreams fade when you wake up.

This one didn’t.

I still remember the blood. The panic. The moment my body simply stopped listening to me.

I inhale and exhale slowly before forcing myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, but the dryness in my throat pushes me toward the kitchen. I need water. Badly.

Before leaving the room, I grab my phone and check the time.

12:30 PM.

Odd. I was only asleep for about an hour, maybe a little more, yet that dream felt like it lasted weeks.

Still half on autopilot, I step out into the hallway. I could probably navigate this entire penthouse in complete darkness if I had to.

That’s when I hear it.

A faint rhythmic sound coming from the guest room.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Right. Anya.

I was supposed to check on her.

But as I get closer to the door, the tapping changes.

Muffled thuds.

A soft bang against the wall.

Then moaning.

Of course.

Typical Anya. She could never resist a chance at intimacy. She’s always been well… how do I say this politely without calling her a wh—

Oops.

My thoughts are savage today. Thank God only I can hear them.

I stand outside her door, about to knock like I’ve done many times before while she’s getting railed by some random guy.

But then I hear a deep male voice.

“No need to hold in those sweet moans of yours, kitten. She’ll be out for hours.”

The word kitten makes my body go completely still.

Something about that pet name sends a strange chill through me.

It feels… wrong.

And this guy clearly thinks he knows my nap schedule.

Jokes on him. I don’t even know my nap schedule.

Anya just moans louder in response.

I shake my head.

Throughout college she was exactly the same — bringing random guys back to our dorm with zero shame.

After a moment, I knock on the door.

Instead of her usual giggle and snarky comment, I hear a startled yelp.

“Oh shit!”

Then silence.

Pregnancy hormones, I assume.

“Respond please so I know you’re alive,” I call through the door. “Don’t make me come in there to check on you.”

“I’m okay! I’m okay,” Anya replies quickly. “You just gave me a fright.”

“Did you need anything from the store while I’m out?” I ask.

“No, I’m good.”

Then an intrusive thought slips into my mind.

Where’s Vance?

Is he… in there with her?

No.

They barely get along.

Still, the thought lingers long enough for me to jokingly say, “Where did Vance go? Or is he in there too?”

“Uhhh… I think he popped out for his afternoon stroll,” Anya says uncertainly.

I laugh to myself.

He probably told her exactly where he was going and she simply forgot. Pregnancy brain.

I grab my keys, check I have my phone and purse, and head toward the elevator — the same elevator unfortunately shared with the man who called me a pervert tomato earlier today.

Before I can press the button for the ground floor, my phone rings.

Vance.

“Hi my love,” he says. “You okay? I just got back and you’re not here.”

“Hi darling. Just a heads up — Anya’s got company.”

“Well aware,” he chuckles. “I could hear her from the kitchen.”

“Wait…” I frown. “How did you get back home without crossing paths with me? I literally just left.”

He chuckles awkwardly.

“I took the stairs.”

“You’re insane. That’s twenty flights, Vance. Please remember to take care of yourself.”

“My love, you already know how fit I am. This six-pack didn’t appear overnight.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay well, you’re on babysitting duty with Anya. I’m heading out.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“Honestly? Anywhere but here. Let me know when the coast is clear. Love you.”

I hang up.

The elevator doors open and I step forward without looking, immediately colliding with a solid chest.

I look up.

Of course.

The tormentor.

His expression is cold. No sarcasm this time.

Just a sharp icy glare.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble before stepping past him.

Only then do I realize something.

This isn’t the ground floor.

I forgot to press the button.

I slowly turn around.

He’s still holding the elevator door open for me.

I bow my head slightly in thanks and step back inside.

“Third time’s a charm,” he comments.

“Not happening,” I snap.

“You know,” he smirks, “if you want to enter my abode so badly, you could’ve just asked.”

I exhale dramatically.

“I’m taking the stairs.”

“Well Scarlet,” he says smugly, “the stairs are under renovation. No access between nine and five.”

“Bullshit. My husband just used them.”

He shrugs.

“He lied. But be my guest and check.”

So I do.

I push open the stairwell door and immediately see cones, warning tape, and several workers wearing fluorescent vests and hard hats.

One man holding a clipboard stops us.

“Sorry folks, no access. Health and safety.”

“My husband just told me he used the stairs minutes ago,” I explain.

The worker frowns.

“We haven’t let anyone through since nine this morning, ma’am.”

My ears start ringing.

Louder.

Louder.

The hallway blurs slightly.

Two phrases echo inside my skull.

Don’t trust them.

Destroy them.

One moment I’m standing.

The next I’m crouched on the floor, hands clamped over my ears.

The ringing becomes unbearable.

Then everything goes dark.

—

Flashes.

Blurry.

Broken.

Vance’s face above me.

One moment he’s gently brushing my hair from my face.

The next I’m running away from him.

Flash.

His hand squeezing mine a little too tight.

Flash.

A dim hospital room.

“You were supposed to die quietly.”

That’s Vance’s voice.

Flash.

Anya and Vance talking.

Their voices muffled, distant.

The only words I catch clearly:

“Paint.”

“Study.”

Flash.

My father crying beside a hospital bed.

Talking to me like I’m already gone.

—

“Scarlett! Wake up!”

A voice drags me back.

I blink.

Slowly.

My eyes adjust to a dim room that definitely isn’t a stairwell.

I push myself upright slightly, my head pounding.

Across the room sits a tall mirror beside a wardrobe.

My reflection catches my attention.

I look… awful.

My dark auburn hair is completely tangled, long waves falling messily around my shoulders. I run a hand through it, only making it worse.

My hazel eyes stare back at me — though in the light they lean more green than brown.

Right now they’re wide and bloodshot.

Exhausted.

My olive-toned skin looks pale, the freckles across my nose standing out more than usual.

Then I look down.

Grey sweats.

A loose sweatshirt.

The same outfit I wore to the Morvants meeting this morning.

I groan softly.

No wonder the temporary CEO didn’t take me seriously.

I showed up to a billion-dollar meeting dressed like I was about to binge-watch reality TV.

Fantastic.

“Where am I?” I snap, turning toward him.

“What did you do to me?”

“Woah,” he raises his hands. “Enough with the accusations. You had a panic attack and passed out in the stairwell.”

He sighs.

“I even used your key swipe to get into your penthouse and knocked on the door. No one answered.”

My stomach twists.

“My husband didn’t answer?” I ask quietly. “He literally just got home.”

His expression shifts slightly.

Concern.

Real concern.

I exhale slowly.

The pieces fall together one by one.

Vance was already in the penthouse.

The same penthouse where Anya was entertaining a “mystery man.”

The same penthouse where my husband claimed he had just returned from a walk… using stairs that no one had been allowed to use since nine this morning.

My stomach drops.

The sounds.

The voice.

The word kitten.

My heart begins pounding violently in my chest.

Then another memory surfaces.

The vitamins.

That bitter taste.

Melatonin… and something else.

Something stronger.

My fingers curl into the sheets.

Oh my God.

He didn’t want me asleep.

He needed me unconscious.

If I had swallowed those pills…

Would I have woken up at all?

I look up at the man across from me.

The tormentor.

The only person today who hasn’t lied to me.

My voice comes out quiet.

“Hey… Tormentor.”

His brow furrows.

“Yeah?”

I swallow.

“Do you know anyone who could test medications… and paint?”

His expression sharpens instantly.

“Why?”

I meet his eyes.

“I think my husband and my best friend are trying to kill me.”