chapter 6

I shot up from the water, gasping for air as I clutched my throat. I had almost choked myself. What had I been thinking, staying underwater for so long?

Even as I coughed and dragged precious air into my lungs, Miya’s voice echoed in my mind. It had been clearer this time—more insistent, more persistent than before.

Awaken me.

But how? I wondered.

I stepped carefully out of the tub. A stack of thick, snow-white towels had been arranged on a low marble shelf beside the bath, each one perfectly folded and lightly scented with the same lavender as the soaps. I took one and dried my body, then wrapped it securely around my waist. With a second towel I squeezed the water from my hair as I walked back into the bedroom.

The wardrobe doors opened smoothly. Inside, everything was neat and deliberate. Beautiful sundresses hung on individual hangers, spaced evenly so the fabrics wouldn’t crease. Soft jeans and simple tops in my exact size were folded on the shelves. Even the underwear drawers were orderly—rows of new, delicate panties arranged by color.

I stared at it all, frowning.

How did Lucian know exactly what to get for me—and in such a short time? He had only brought me here yesterday, yet somehow the entire wardrobe had been prepared the same day. The more I thought about it, the stranger everything became.

I had always loved sundresses, especially ones made from soft, stretchy fabric that moved easily with my body. After smoothing a light body lotion over my skin—the bottle conveniently placed on the vanity where I couldn’t miss it—I slipped into one.

The dress was a soft sage green, falling just above my knees. I slipped my feet into a pair of soft house slippers before walking over to the full-length mirror. I slowly turned from side to side, watching the fabric settle gently over my curves.

For a moment I almost felt… pretty.

A knock at the door pulled me out of the thought.

“Hello, Eleanor? If you’re finished, please come out so I can show you to the dining room. Your food is ready,” Zita called.

“Okay—just a moment,” I answered, quickly adjusting the neckline.

Oh, Eleanor, what are you doing? The sharper part of my mind hissed. Feeling comfortable? when you should be planning your escape, not standing here admiring yourself. Do you really want to stay here, marry that monster, and start bearing his children?

“No. Of course not,” I whispered under my breath.

I walked to the door and opened it.

“Are you ready, dear?” Zita asked with a polite smile.

“Yeah. I’m already starving.”

“I’m sure you are.” She gestured toward the hallway. “This way.”

I followed her.

The house was enormous—more mansion than home. Long corridors stretched ahead, lined with dark wood paneling that had been polished until it gleamed. Thick carpets muted our footsteps. Ornate light fixtures cast a warm glow over oil paintings and antique furniture. Everything was immaculate, old-fashioned in the most elegant way, and quietly expensive. Whatever else Lucian was, he clearly had excellent taste.

I kept my eyes moving, memorizing every turn, every door, every possible exit.

I might be trapped for now,

but I refused to stay that way.

We finally reached the dining room.

It was massive—far larger than any dining space I had ever seen. A thick, patterned rug covered most of the polished floor. The long table stretched down the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs carved from dark wood. Soft light spilled from an elegant chandelier above, catching on crystal glasses and silver cutlery that had already been set.

But what pulled me in most was the food.

The rich, familiar aroma of perfectly fried chicken rose first, golden and crisp. Alongside it sat soft scrambled eggs, warm buttered toast, roasted potatoes seasoned with herbs, fresh fruit, and a small pot of gravy that still steamed gently. Everything looked carefully prepared, the kind of meal that felt both comforting and indulgent.

I sat down slowly, staring at the spread. All of my favorites. It was almost unbelievable.

“Please, dear. Enjoy,” Zita said with a gentle smile before quietly leaving the room.

All of this… for me?

I hesitated for only a moment. Eating didn’t mean I accepted being here. I needed to keep my strength up. If I was going to plan any kind of escape, I couldn’t afford to be weak or starving. That thought finally eased my guilt, and I began to eat.

The food was delicious—exactly the way I loved it. Every bite was warm, seasoned just right, and for a few minutes I almost forgot where I was.

When I finished, a small group of maids entered to clear the table. I stood and offered to help, but they quickly shook their heads.

“It’s not allowed for the future Luna to do any house chores,” one of them said politely.

Future Luna?

I didn’t understand the word, but the way they said it made something uneasy settle in my stomach. I left them to their work and began walking through the house on my own, letting my feet carry me down long corridors and past closed doors.

Then the voices started again.

They rose suddenly inside my head—sharp, overlapping, painful enough that I pressed my fingers to my temples. The noise twisted and shifted until one voice finally cut through the rest, clear and cold.

Lucian’s voice.

I know her father was a traitor… and she does not deserve to be here by my side as my Luna.

The moment the words finished, everything went silent. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hear anything more.

But the damage was already done.

Fury burned through me so fast it left my hands trembling. If my father was a traitor and Lucian truly believed I didn’t deserve to be here, then why bring me at all? He could have simply acted as though I never existed. He could have chosen any other woman to give him a child.

Instead he had dragged me into his world.

I knew then that he had a motive—and part of it was to make me relive the worst night of my life over and over. To remind me, every single day, that he was the one who killed my father.

I wasn’t going to accept that.

Not quietly.

Not ever.

I spotted a room door slightly ajar and stopped in my tracks. Through the narrow opening, I saw him—Lucian—standing at the head of a polished table, his broad shoulders tense. Faint light streamed through the high windows, catching the sharp line of his jaw.

All I wanted was to confront him.

Without thinking, I shoved the door open and strode inside.

“Hey, Lucian!” My voice cracked through the quiet. “If you hate me that much, why the hell did you bring me here?”

His head snapped up. Shock flashed across his face.

“Eleanor—what are you doing?”