I remember her reading to me. Those are my favorite memories. I can still hear her gentle voice transporting me to a world far away. A world far from the environment of poverty in which we lived.
Without warning, I feel myself choking up. A sad tightness forms in my chest.
Will I ever see my mother again? For so many years, I blamed her for the breakdown of our relationship. I blamed her for everything that went wrong.
But I realize now I was just being selfish. I never took ownership of what happened. I was so focused on getting ahead in school and working hard to craft a life of my own that I forgot about her. I never thought of how difficult it must have been to be in her shoes: alone, with a little girl, and no education. She was always so eager to please that she became a doormat for all the horrible men who preyed on women with insecurities.
Paul was—it pains me to admit—probably the only one who didn’t treat her that way. I never had much affection for him because he just ignored me. But those first days in the dark made me remember the truth: He once saved me.
No wonder my mom was bitter after they broke up. I never found out the reason for the split. It caused her to start drinking, and opened the revolving door of all her loser boyfriends.
That’s when our relationship took a nosedive.
And yet, before that… she’d been a good mother. I never appreciated her the way I should have.
Now, I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.
The thought fills me with sadness. The last memory she has of me is the horrible fight that made me grab my bag and storm out of the house. It’s no solace that the writing had been on the wall for weeks. That’s why I kept the backpack ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
It’s been almost five years since I last spoke to her, hasn’t it? I suppress a sigh. It seems like a lifetime. And now, in my current predicament, it’ll be another five—at least—before I ever see her again.
If Stonehart actually lets me out.
I come to with a jolt and stop myself from going down that path. Self-pity is not going to help now. I need to channel all my inner strength if I have any hope of truly extricating myself from this situation.
“Lilly.” Stonehart’s voice breaks me from my reverie. “You haven’t touched your food.”
“Oh?” I didn’t even realize it. There’s been too much on my mind. “I guess I’m just not very hungry.”
“Eat,” he says. “You remember the clause in the contract about body shape, don’t you? Eat.”
I pick up my fork and start pushing my food around. My appetite is non-existent, but I don’t think this is worth arguing over.
***
After dinner, I find myself in the tub, alone. Stonehart told me to go and wash up. I discovered the bathtub full of hot water when I returned from dinner, and settled in.
He said I’d have a few hours to myself before he’d come and, ahem, visit me.
I figure this is probably the best place to spend that time.
It’s weird, but I’ve started to think of the sunroom and all the connecting rooms as ‘mine.’ It’s not quite home, but somehow it feels less unsettling to spend time here than in any other place of Stonehart’s mansion.
My thoughts are still scattered. Today’s conversation at dinner didn’t present a revelation, but rather an uncomfortable possibility.
How long has Stonehart been guiding my life? Why?
There must be a reason beyond the man’s sadistic desires. If he truly planned the whole thing to get me to California, then I must be somebody important to him.
Right?
His secretary said as much. But, who? Who am I to Stonehart? I can’t imagine anybody going to this much effort for a complete stranger.
No matter how hard I try to think, no connection comes to mind. There’s no way Stonehart can possibly be linked to me.
Assuming Stonehart does own Corfu Consulting, the logical deduction is that all the events that brought me to California were manipulated by him.
Could that really be the case? Was this whole captivity thing in the works for such a long time?
It makes me uncomfortable to admit, but the more I think about it, the more reasonable it seems. The summer internship got me to leave New Haven. The year-long contract got me to take a leave of absence. ZilTech pulling out left me jobless and basically homeless.
In short, it was the perfect storm of events that allowed Stonehart to kidnap me.
If I were anybody else… if I had a family, a house, somebody to rely on… then this wouldn’t have worked. Somebody out there would be looking for me.
But I don’t have that somebody. Stonehart must have known that if I dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would come calling. That’s why I was the perfect victim.
It also means that he knows a hell of a lot more about me than I do about him. I’m not a random stranger. I am a specific target.
Again, the question I keep coming back to: Why? Why me? What made me so special that I came onto Stonehart’s radar? He is not some paranoid schizophrenic with no contact to the outside world. He is one of the most successful businessmen in the country.
You don’t get to his position by making mistakes. If anybody were to ever find out about me… it would ruin him. No doubt.
Yet, knowing that, he still drugged me, brought me here, and slapped the collar around my neck.
That means he’s confident that I won’t be found.
The thought scares me. I want to fight. But, how do you do battle against a foe from a position of ultimate weakness?
Everything that happens to me happens at Stonehart’s discretion. If he manipulated the strings that pulled me here, he did a masterful job of it. What did he say about luck? That it’s for the weak of mind and will? And he laughed at me when I suggested that it was luck that brought me here…
That’s the best confirmation I’m going to get. The man says he does not believe in luck and chides me for suggesting it. It must mean that he has been spinning his web for a very long time. It must mean I’ve been trapped in it for much longer than I imagined.
I notice the water becoming lukewarm. I look around the bathroom and find it empty. For a moment, I think I’ve dawdled too long. Stonehart did tell me to prepare myself for him. But if he had wanted me, he would have already come.
I glance up at the ceiling, where I know the cameras are. Knowing that they’re there does not affect me as much as I thought it would. Since they’re invisible, it’s easy for me to pretend they don’t exist.
Or, at least, to better ignore their presence.
I dry off and wrap myself in a fluffy robe. I cocoon a towel around my hair and head to the powder room. Automatically, I check my makeup in the mirror and touch up the bits that are less than perfect.
If there’s one thing I’ve realized, it’s that I cannot give Stonehart any reason to become displeased with me. I can’t be meek, I’ve already decided against that. But I can’t be imprudent, either. From here on out, the only hope of escape is to draw as little of Stonehart’s wrath as possible.
I’m halfway out of the powder room when the hopelessness of escape dawns on me. If Stonehart has been planning this whole thing for as long as I now suspect he has, then what chance do I really have?
I am deluding myself if I believe things are going to be as easy as snooping around the house, finding some tidbit of information about him, and using it to blackmail him somehow. Ha! I’d have better luck trying to breathe in space.
I’m going up against one of the most ruthless business minds in the country. I’m sure he’s planned for every contingency.
Despair threatens to consume me. What can I do against him? Nothing. What chance do I really have? None!
No. Stop it.
I can’t wallow in self-pity. I cannot—absolutely cannot—give up now. Aren’t I in a much better position than I was even a week ago? Yes, I still have the collar around my neck. But, I’m not confined to the pillar
in the sunroom anymore. I’m free to roam where I want.
Nobody is perfect. I know that. Stonehart is definitely, definitely not. Even though he seems like a dispassionate monster, he is still human.
Very much so.
I refuse to believe that he has no weakness. He will make a mistake, somewhere along the way. And when he does… that’s when I’ll pounce.
He mentioned the private gala at the end of the month. He wants me there with him. That means he has to give me enough TGBs to go… and grant me all the successive freedoms in the process: The ability to go outside. The ability to read newspapers to keep up-to-date with current events. Internet access.
Monitored internet access, I should say… but still. I can be in a much, much stronger position in thirty short days.
And what is thirty days compared to the five-year term of my contract?
I know what I have to do from now until the end of the month. I have to do everything in my power to earn enough TGBs to be allowed to go with him.
Chapter Four
Anticipation courses through me with every heartbeat. Stonehart said he would come and find me tonight, but already, I’ve been alone for two hours.
It’s dark outside. The lights from the ceiling reflect my image against the black glass. I’m restless, moving from the bed to the armchair and back again with nothing, really, to do but wait.
I wish I had a laptop. I scoff in derision. A laptop? Stonehart wouldn’t give me that. But maybe, a few books…?
I need some sort of mental stimulation. It’s infuriating to be stuck with my own thoughts for company. Books would be nice. Books are safe. I can’t do anything with them to break his rules. And they would do wonders for my mental state.
Maybe I can ask him for some? He did tell me I’m allowed to make requests. And this one is certainly reasonable…
Never in my life have I had so much time to myself. Sometimes at Yale, I wished for nothing more than a week-long reprieve from all the work. A week I could just veg out in bed, munching on a few heavenly chocolate bars as I let my brain lie fallow with a movie playing in the background.
It’s ironic how things work. Once, I would have given anything for a little break. Now, I have absolutely nothing to do with all the time given to me. All I can do is wait on pins and needles for Stonehart’s imminent arrival.
The autonomy has been ripped from my life. I am entirely at his beck and call.
I sit on the edge of the chair, back straight, and watch the entrance to the room.
Where are you, Stonehart?
I look to the bed and consider lying down, then think better of it. I can’t go to sleep. Not without seeing him. Maybe he meant for me to find him?
But, no. When I think back to the end of dinner, I distinctly remember him saying that he’ll come for me.
So, I’m caught here waiting for him, not daring to close my eyes for fear of missing his arrival.
I start tapping my foot against the floor. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap.
I notice what I’m doing and grimace. I force my foot to stop moving. Fidgeting like that is a bad habit I’ve never been able to break.
I wonder what Stonehart wants from me tonight. Actually, no, I don’t. I know perfectly well what he wants. It’s all laid out in the contract.
So all I can do is sit and wait, with that growing sense of foreboding darkening my thoughts.
Who am I to Stonehart? A man like him—with his money, his power, and his looks—should be able to get any woman he desires. Then why me? Why is he doing this to me?
Is it the thrill of domination? The sense of utter control? Is it a manifestation of some deranged part of his psyche?
The whole thing is about more than sex. Of that, I’m sure. Stonehart has a purpose in his actions. What that purpose is, I can’t begin to guess. Nor do I have any satisfactory answers to why I am the one in this position.
Could it just be because of my life situation? Because of the circumstances that I found myself in? If Stonehart wanted someone for his twisted games, he had to make sure that she was unattached. That she didn’t have anyone who would raise questions about a prolonged absence. That she could be removed from the world without anyone so much as batting an eyelash…
I sit up a little. Could it be as simple as that? Is that the answer to all my questions? Did he choose me simply because I am the perfect target?
I remember the intense interaction in the elevator as if it was yesterday. I want your mind, he said.
Is that his ultimate goal in all of this? Does he want me to become totally reliant on him, not just for physical provisions like food and shelter, but for all parts of my mental being, too?
It’s twisted and unnatural and discomfiting. But if Stonehart made one mistake in his plan, it’s this:
I will never give him my mind.
***
My eyes are drooping shut and my head is nodding when the sound of breathing jerks me instantly awake. It’s coming from behind the chair.
I twist back and find myself face-to-face with him.
My heart starts beating hard. I wince on instinct. I expect to see anger in his eyes for my failure to greet him properly.
But, instead, when he sees me stir, a warm smile spreads across his face.
“You looked so peaceful that I couldn’t bear to wake you,” he says, his voice soft and low and wonderful. It’s a voice suited to a lover.
My defenses go up straight away. This does not sound like the Stonehart I know.
“Jeremy, I’m sorry,” I begin, pushing myself up. “I was waiting and waiting, but I guess I dozed off…”
“Shh,” he says, pressing a finger to my lips. “Lilly, you don’t need to worry. I understand.”
I swallow and blink up at him. This type of gentleness has thrown me completely off-kilter. Where is it coming from?
“Come,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s go to bed.”
I force my legs to move as I follow him. He sees the confusion on my face when he walks wide of the pillar and my new bed.
“Not your bed, Lilly,” he says. “Mine.”
I let him lead me away without coming up with a response. As I trail after him through the long, dim hall, a thousand new questions come to mind.
Why isn’t he forcing himself on me? Where is the aggression, the anger? Why is he being so… so unlike himself?
We come into the main foyer and start up the stairs. His hand around mine is firm yet gentle. As we climb the steps, he looks back and smiles—actually smiles!—at me.
It’s enough to make butterflies explode in my stomach.
Absently, his thumb starts to trail small circles over my hand. The sensation sends goose bumps up my arm. My brain doesn’t seem to be able to fully reconcile this behavior with what I’d been expecting.
We walk beside the marble railing bathed in moonlight. All the lights in the main house are off. The enormous windows surrounding us let in the soft glow of the moon.
Stonehart stops at the doorway to his room. He looks at me and squeezes my hand.
“You’ve been here before,” he says, not unkindly.
“I…yes,” I muster. Something has lodged itself into my throat, hampering my ability to speak. “Yes. I have.”
“But never at my invitation.”
The words sound like they might be a warning. But, they’re not. If anything, I think I detect a trace of melancholy in them.
“No,” I admit.
“We’re going to change that right now. Come.”
And with that, he pulls me over the threshold into his room.
“Lilly.” He turns and starts walking backward, holding my hand with both of his. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Thank you. I—ahh!” I yelp as, without warning, he yanks me into him. His strong arms wrap around my waist and he bends down to kiss me.
The kiss leaves me breathless and panting, yearning for more. It’s nothing like the hungr
y kiss that he forced onto me when he ripped my dress apart. It’s soft, even a little gentle, while still filled with a passion. I can’t help but respond.
When he breaks away, a small, knowing smile plays on his lips. He lifts his hand and brushes his thumb against the corner of my lips.
I shudder from the gesture.
“You do,” he says gently. “You do look very beautiful tonight.”
Again, all I can do is gape up at him like an idiot. This is not a side of Stonehart I’ve ever encountered before.
“Come,” he beckons again, taking my hand and leading me all the way to the bed. He sits down and directs me to his lap. His eyes reflect the moonlight seeping into the room. I feel them pierce deep into me as he searches my face.
I blink and look away, flustered by the sudden, intimate moment. He catches my chin with one hand and turns my face toward his.
“Don’t shy back,” he says. “Let me have a good look at you.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand.
Feeling his fingers against my skin should fill me with revulsion, but right now, it does not.
He sweeps my loose hair back over my ear as he continues to stare into my eyes. It feels like he’s looking into my very soul. It makes me feel more exposed than I’ve ever felt before—and that’s saying something, considering everything I’ve been subject to.
It’s a frightening experience. Here is a man who kidnapped me, starved me, and forced me to sign a vile contract. And yet, right now… all I feel is warmth emanating from his gaze.
Is this a charade? Or was everything a charade before? Did—
My thoughts are cut off as he takes hold of my face and kisses me again.
I know better than to rationalize things at this point. I let my mind go blank as I’m consumed by the power of his kiss. Heat floods my body from our connection. It flows into me and takes possession of all my extremities. I can’t help my hands from tangling in his hair, from grabbing and sliding all over his strong, muscular back.
Uncovering You 3: Resistance (Uncovering You, #3) Page 3