10: A gilded prison

The doors sealed behind him with a click - a sound that made my chest tighten and my stomach twist.

For a long moment I just stood there, pulse hammering in my throat, staring at the tall doors that he had locked. Apparently, he had other business to attend to before dealing with me.

We have unfinished business, you and I. His words made me shiver.

I turned, my eyes falling on the massive bed with its wine-colored silk sheets. It looked… soft, alluring, but also a bit terrifying. Like it was waiting to swallow me whole.

His jacket, draped over my shoulders, smelled of him. Cedar. Smoke. Sandalwood. The scent was suffocating me. It made his presence stronger. I yanked it off and tossed it onto the bed.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I rubbed soothing circles against my skin, trying to steady my breathing. Turning away from the bed, needing to move, to do something, I studied my surroundings. The room was beautiful in a way that made me uneasy. A carved dark wooden wardrobe stood against one wall, its doors slightly open, revealing neat rows of shirts and tailored suits in dark shades. On a low table near the fire sat a crystal decanter, half full of deep amber liquid. One glass waited beside it.

I drifted toward the fireplace, its warmth welcome against my cold skin. My eyes caught on something above the mantel: another lion painting. This one wasn’t roaring - it was prowling. Lurking. Watching my every move. Ready to pounce.

Turning around again, letting the fire heat my back, my eyes caught the window. It drew me in like a beacon. Tall. Slim. Wide enough for me to fit through. If I dared.

My pulse quickened.

I hugged myself tighter, torn between the fire’s warmth at my back and the cold dread curling in my stomach. I had to make a choice.

Part of me wanted to stay. To let myself be swollen by the wine-colored silk sheets, to let Santiago’s heat cage me. Own me. Control me. To believe him that this was the only safe place for me.

But another part – a louder part – screamed that this was no sanctuary. It was a prison. A gilded one, wrapped in silk, yes, but a cage all the same.

My eyes darted to the locked doors. His voice still echoed in my head: We have unfinished business, you and I. My throat tightened. He would come back. Soon. If I wanted freedom, this was it.

I turned back to the window, heart hammering. Wiktor’s men. Could they really be waiting outside?

No. They didn’t know me. Not yet. Not where I worked. Not even my name. If I was going to disappear from under their noses, this was my chance – before Santiago paraded me further into his world, before Wiktor figured out how to use me against him.

And I couldn’t just vanish. I had a life. A job. Double shifts at the hotel tomorrow. Derek, my manager, was already out to get me, just waiting for an excuse to fire me. One more absence, one more “excuse”, and I’d be out. Missing tomorrow was not an option.

I looked back at the bed. The red silk shimmered in the firelight, soft and suffocating. My body ached for rest. For comfort. To let myself sink into it. Be pulled deeper. Be consumed. Never come back up.

My chest tightened. No. I wasn’t ready to be locked away.

I strode to the window, fingers fumbling with the latch. It gave with a soft click. The night air rushed in, sharp and cool, eager to take my place by the fire. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with freedom.

I hesitated once – glancing back at the fire, at the jacket I had tossed on the bed, at the shadows cast from the fire, acting as his hands, trying to pull me back in.

Then I swung my leg over the sill.

The stone was slick with dew beneath my shoes. My breath caught as I eased myself down, gripping the window frame until my knuckles ached. I looked down. The drop wasn’t far – but it was enough to send pain jolting through my knees as I landed on the gravel below.

I froze. Listening. No shouts. No footsteps. Only the hush of the wind sweeping through the courtyard.

Heart in my throat, I wrapped myself for comfort, for warmth. Trying to steady myself, steady the tremors. Then I ran. Ran from the fortress. From this prison. From Santiago.

I didn’t know if Wiktor’s men were out there in the night. Or if Santiago would come after me.

But I knew one thing.

I wasn’t ready to belong to anybody.

Not yet.