Chapter Three

The door clicked shut, but the lock felt like a joke.

A thin piece of metal was the only thing separating me from a man who had recreated my childhood like a museum exhibit.

I didn’t move from the door. I couldn't.

My eyes frantically scanned the bedroom. It was all there.

The chipped paint on the edge of the nightstand where I’d dropped a heavy trophy in the fifth grade.

The exact fraying edge of the floral rug. The air even smelled like the specific, dusty vanilla of the house I hadn't stepped foot in for a decade.

This wasn't a room. It was a replica of my life.

I walked toward the desk, my legs heavy, as if I were moving through deep water. The laptop screen was still active, the grainy, black-and-white feed of the empty prison cell mocking me.

"Dad," I whispered, reaching out to touch the screen.

The cell was pristine. No bedsheets. No books.

No sign that my father had ever been there.

My breath hitched.

Julian hadn't just cleared the path for me to get to Vegas; he had cleared my father off the map.

A soft chime echoed from the laptop. A notification appeared in the corner of the screen.

[Incoming Call: Jullian Vane]

My hand shook as I hit accept.

I expected Julian’s cold, melodic voice. Instead, the screen flickered to a different angle, a high-resolution shot of a dinner table downstairs.

Julian was sitting at the head of a long dining table.

Vivienne sat to his left, looking like a porcelain doll dipped in acid. To his right was a man who looked like a more brutal, weathered version of Julian. Arthur Vane.

"She’s a distraction, Julian," Arthur’s voice boomed through the laptop speakers. "A decade of your resources spent on a girl whose father is a common thief? It’s beneath the Vane name. It’s a weakness. A Vane should own his subjects, not obsess over them."

Julian swirled the wine in his glass, his expression unreadable. "She isn't a distraction, Father. She is an investment. One that is finally maturing."

"And the fiancé?" Vivienne snapped, her voice high and brittle. "I’m supposed to play house while you keep your 'investment' locked in the west wing? People will talk, Julian. The board won't like the scandal."

Julian set his glass down with a slow, deliberate click. He leaned toward Vivienne, his blue eyes turning into ice. "The board likes profit. And the board likes me. You are here because our families signed a contract, Vivienne. Elena is here because I made it so. Do not confuse your position with my preference."

I felt a chill run down my spine. He was talking about me.

Arthur leaned forward, a cruel glint in his eye.

"And when the bird realizes she’s in a cage and tries to fly? What then? Are you going to kill her to keep her, or are you going to let her ruin our name when she runs to the press?"

Julian didn't flinch. "She won't leave. Because I have made myself her only air. She can't breathe without me."

Arthur laughed, a sound like gravel. "Careful, son. A woman who is forced to stay eventually learns how to burn the house down while you’re sleeping in it."

The screen went black.

I scrambled backward, hitting the bed. My mind raced. I had to get out. I didn't care about the rain or Mark or the knife. I would rather die in an alley than live in this perfect, terrifying lie.

I ran to the window. It wouldn't open. I grabbed a heavy lamp,the exact same brass lamp I’d used to read Nancy Drew under the covers and slammed it against the glass.

The lamp shattered. The glass didn't even vibrate.

Reinforced. Bulletproof. Soundproof.

I spun around, looking for any other exit, when I heard the sound of the electronic lock on the bedroom door disengaging.

Click.

The door swung open. Julian stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his jacket gone. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the shattered lamp on the floor.

"You always were a bit of a rebel, Elena," he said, stepping into the room.

He didn't look angry. He looked disappointed, like a father watching a child spill milk. "But you’re breaking your own things now. This room was a gift."

"Where is my father?" I screamed, the "mask" completely gone now, replaced by raw, jagged panic. "What did you do to him?"

Julian walked toward me, his movements slow and hypnotic. He didn't stop until he was inches away. He reached out and took the star necklace out of his pocket, dangling it between us.

"Your father is safe," he whispered. "For now. He’s in a private medical facility. His heart was failing, Elena. The prison wouldn't have saved him. I did."

"You kidnapped him!"

"I moved him to a better place," Julian corrected.

He stepped closer, his heat radiating off him, pinning me against the unbreakable glass.

"Just like I moved you. You can see him, Elena. You can even stay with him. But only if you stop fighting me."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my temple.

"The wedding is in three months," he murmured. "I expect you to be my maid of honor. Vivienne needs someone to keep her humble. And I need you where I can see you."

"I'll tell everyone," I hissed, even though I knew how weak it sounded. "I'll tell Vivienne what you're doing. I'll tell the police."

Julian laughed cynically.

He grabbed my hand and pressed it against the glass window, overlooking the city he owned.

"Tell them," he whispered. "Tell the police that the man who pays their pensions is keeping you in a luxury penthouse. Tell Vivienne that the man who is about to save her family from bankruptcy is obsessed with another woman. Do you think they’ll help you? Or do you think they’ll just ask me for a raise?"

He forced me to look at him. His ocean-blue eyes were no longer cold. They were burning with a terrifying, absolute possessiveness.

"You’re not an analyst anymore, Elena. You’re my legacy. And tomorrow, we start your new life."

He pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket and snapped it open. Inside was a ring. Not an engagement ring, but a heavy, gold band with the Vane crest.

"Wear it," he commanded. "It tells my father and the world that you are under my seal. If you take it off, the medical equipment keeping your father alive shuts down. Do we have an understanding?"

I looked at the ring. I looked at the empty prison cell on the laptop.

I reached out my hand.

Julian slid the ring onto my finger. It was cold. It was heavy. It was a shackle.

"Good girl," he whispered, kissing my forehead.

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

"Oh, and Elena? Don't bother trying to call Sarah. She’s on my payroll. She’s been on it for ten years."

He shut the door. The lock clicked.

I looked down at the gold band on my finger. My father was a hostage. My best friend was a spy. My home was a museum.

I sat on the bed and picked up a lemon drop, popping it into my mouth. It tasted bitter unlike how I would relish it when I was younger.

I looked at the camera lens hidden in the smoke detector and did the only thing I could do to survive.

I smiled.

It wasn't the fake smile I’d practiced for years. It was a small, sharp, dangerous smile.

If he wanted to play a long game, I would play. I would learn his secrets. I would find his father’s weaknesses.

Julian Vane thought he had caught a bird. He didn't realize he’d trapped a girl who had nothing left to lose.