Chapter 2

The breakfast tray was still sitting outside her door when morning light got brighter.

Isla stepped over it, leaving the meal untouched and the drink cold. She spent the morning pacing in jer me cage, because that's what it was, didn't matter how expensive the sheets were. She counted the steps between the bed and the window before her phone buzzed.

Lunch. Dining room. 1 PM. Don't be late.

She didn't need any help knowing who it was. 

Isla stared at the text until the screen went dark, then deleted it and went back to pacing.

One o'clock came and went.

She was curled up in the window seat, watching clouds move across a sky she couldn't touch, when her door opened without knocking.

Adrian filled the doorway like a storm front, expression iced cold. "You missed lunch." 

Isla didn't turn around. "I wasn't hungry."

"I asked you if you were." 

"Good thing I wasn't asking for permission." She kept her eyes on the window.

His footsteps crossed the room, slow and deliberate. "We had an agreement."

"You mean the contract you made me sign while my world was collapsing?" Now she looked at him, letting every ounce of hate show. "Yeah. I remember. Doesn't mean I'm your trained dog."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Annoyance, maybe. Or amusement. Hard to tell with someone who wore their face like a mask. "The contract specifies..." 

"I don't care what it specifies." Isla stood up, crossing her arms. "I'm not eating on command. I'm not performing tricks. I signed papers, not my soul."

"Actually..." Adrian pulled out his phone, scrolled with his thumb, utterly unbothered. "Section seven, subsection three: Party B agrees to maintain appropriate schedule as determined by Party A, including but not limited to meals, social engagements, and public appearances." He looked up. "Want me to keep reading?"

Her jaw tightened so hard her teeth hurt. "I'm not your employee." 

"No." He pocketed his phone, taking a step closer. "You're my wife. Which means you follow the rules, or you deal with the consequences."

"What consequences?" Isla lifted her chin, refusing to back down even though he had at least six inches on her. "You'll lock me in my room again? Oh wait, you already did that. What's next? Bread and water?"

Adrian's silence was answer enough.

"I'm a person..."

Her voice cut off as her eyes caught movement in the corner. Small red light blinking. It was camera.

Tucked into the crown molding where the wall met ceiling, so small she'd missed it in yesterday's haze of exhaustion and panic. But now, in daylight, it was obvious.

Ice flooded through her veins. "What the hell is that?"

Adrian followed her gaze, completely unbothered. "Security measure."

"Security..." Isla couldn't breathe right. "You put a camera in my bedroom?"

"In all the rooms." He said it like he was discussing weather. "Standard protocol."

"Standard protocol?!" Her hands started shaking. "You're watching me? While I sleep? While I change?"

"I'm ensuring you don't do anything stupid." He checked his watch like this conversation was boring him. "The cameras are motion-activated. Footage is reviewed if there's unusual activity."

"Unusual activity?" Her voice went shrill. She didn't care. "Like what, attempting to have basic human privacy?"

"Like attempting to leave." His eyes met hers, flat and cold. "Or harm yourself. Both would violate our agreement."

Isla wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something at his perfect face. Wanted to tear that camera out of the wall with her bare hands. "This is illegal. This is...you can't just..."

"I can." He said simply. "Read the contract. You consented to reasonable security measures on the premises."

"Bedroom cameras aren't reasonable!" She screamed.

"Lawyer disagrees." Adrian moved toward the door, already done with the conversation. "Lunch is at one. Tomorrow, you'll be there. We have a hospital visit scheduled for three."

That stopped her. "What?"

"It's gour father." He paused in the doorway, glancing back. "Supervised visit. You've got thirty minutes. Car leaves at two-thirty."

Then he was gone, door clicking shut, leaving Isla standing in a room that suddenly felt like it had a thousand eyes.

Isla followed the nurse down hallways that all looked the same, the same walls, fluorescent lights that hummed like trapped insects, the occasional sound of machines beeping out someone's fading heartbeat.

Her father's room was at the end. Private, of course. Adrian had probably paid for that too. Another debt she owed, another chain around her neck.

"You've got thirty minutes," the nurse said gently, then disappeared.

Isla pushed open the door.

Her father lay in the hospital bed like a broken puppet, machines breathing for him because his body forgot how. Tubes everywhere. 

"Dad?" Her voice cracked.

No response. Just the steady beep of the heart monitor.

She pulled a chair close, took his hand, the one that still worked, still had feeling. His skin felt paper-thin. Nothing like the man who used to lift her onto his shoulders at charity galas, laughing like he owned the world.

"I'm sorry." The words came out broken. "I'm so sorry. I tried...I couldn't..."

Isla pressed her forehead to their joined hands and felt something inside her just... shatter.

She cried silently, shoulders shaking, gulping air that tasted like hospital and grief. Thirty minutes passed in seconds or hours, impossible to tell. When the nurse returned, Isla was hollow.

Adrian was waiting outside, leaning against the wall, scrolling his phone.

He looked up when she came out, red eyes, blotchy face, makeup destroyed, and said nothing. Just pocketed his phone and started walking toward the exit.

She followed because what else was there?

The car ride back was silent except for traffic sounds bleeding through tinted windows. Isla stared at nothing, feeling nothing, empty in a way that almost felt peaceful.

"I hate you."

the words came out sharp. 

Adrian didn't look at her. Didn't even blink. "I don't care."

Isla frustration boiled over but she turned back to the window and watched the city blur past.

That night, she searched her room like she was defusing a bomb.

Found camera number two behind the full-length mirror. Number three in the bathroom, tucked into the vent. Number four in the closet, hidden in the smoke detector.

Four cameras. Four mechanical eyes watching her exist.

Her hands shook as she grabbed electrical tape from the bathroom drawer, left there by whoever unpacked her things, probably for exactly this purpose, and covered each lens. 

She slept terribly and woke to sunlight.

Breakfast came and went. She showered, dressed, avoided thinking about what came next.

When she finally went downstairs, Adrian was already at the dining table, coffee, newspaper.

He didn't look up when she entered. Just slid a tablet across the polished wood.

Isla caught it, looked down.

Surveillance footage. Black and white. Timestamped 11:47 PM. Her, standing on a chair, covering the bedroom camera with tape. Then bathroom. Then closet. All of it captured.

Her stomach turned to lead.

"Take the tape off." Adrian's voice was casual, like he was asking her to pass the salt. "Or I'll have maintenance do it for you."

Isla looked up, meeting those dead eyes. "Go to hell."

She turned and walked out, spine straight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shake.

That afternoon, maintenance arrived.

Three men in identical uniforms, carrying toolboxes, apologizing in voices that said they'd done this before. They removed her tape with professional efficiency, checked each camera, replaced one she'd apparently damaged.

Isla sat on her bed and watched them work, hands tightened in her lap.

She'd lost before she even started fig

hting.

And Adrian was somewhere in this massive house, scrolling through footage, making sure his investment stayed exactly where he wanted it.