by Elena Monroe
Dusting off my angel wings, I decided to finally explore his castle since I was now here to stay. Running my fingers over the surfaces and looking around corners like I could get caught any moment, it dawned on me that he might have cameras to watch me behave the same way they did in Denmark.
Another trinket I left Denmark with, I was a scaredy pants now and never was before.
Carefully continuing my gallivant down hallways and up the stairs, I found a door where normally there wouldn’t be one, under the twin staircases that hugged the space, making it feel decadent. Pushing down on the handle, the door didn’t budge, and my bad memories hit me over the head like a warning sign as the rush of wanting to escape clouded my judgement.
The door not budging instantly felt like a future cage, and suddenly my lungs weren’t expanding all the way to suck in the deep breath that I needed.
Denmark ended up being a trap my mom walked right into under the guise of being his queen when really it was only going to feel like royalty for one of us. She chose herself.
I tried to run away more than once but there was nowhere to go, no one to trust, nothing that was going to help put distance between me and the people trying to break me.
My stepfather’s son was the enforcer when it came to the Young Ladies of Etiquette courses I was forced to take in order to stand by my mother’s side. She was all I had left to hold onto even though every time I sobbed, complained, or showed her the bruises, she just turned her cheek.
It didn’t take long before I realized my own mother wasn’t an ally. She was an accessory to locking me away and cursing me the way she did.
Excess baggage.
Humiliation in teenage form.
A past she could forget if I were out of sight for long enough.
After I learned some hard lessons and was ripped down to exposed nerves, I learned the only person I could grasp onto was the same person who now wanted nothing to do with me.
My head was still spinning with his words, the highest bidder, trying to understand how that fit into my life before I arrived here.
I wasn’t royalty material. I was a little shit with a grin a mile wide and an attitude that only made me seem demonic instead of angelic like my face told you I was at first glance.
I needed to be taught how to be a royal for my mother and so I’d be a good future wife for Bowen. Everything I have gone through has brought me back here to him where I’ve always wanted to be.
Bowen was making the crash course I was forced into seem like something else entirely and it was making my headache with false truths.
Continuing on with my snooping, I tied my blue robe around my waist even tighter, only making my slender frame seem more severe. Thankfully for LA, my body type was normal and considered healthy.
A wave of self-consciousness cascaded over me when I wrapped my arms around myself as I caught my slender frame in the mirror. I was unable to shove the memories away of that element from the hell I endured. Fingers pinching my skin, the comments that make the image in the mirror change so much you don’t recognize yourself, and the full-fledged feeling of not being accepted unless you fit into their box.
I felt the old me trying to crawl her way to my mouthpiece when I bit my tongue. Tensing my jaw to keep myself quiet at my self-deprecating insults, my eyes stuck to the girl in the mirror—the girl that I no longer knew even though she looked an awful lot like me.
I was my own worst enemy because that’s what they created when they turned even my own identity against me. It was beaten into me. I only had to control the old parts trying to smear the new ones like a vengeful teenager.
Remember your place.
Remember what you went through to make these lessons stick.
Remember the scars that’ll keep the old you chained up in the basement of your mind.
Don’t even start, the voice in my head sputtered, slicing through all the hate. I felt my hip pop and whatever restraints they had on the old me were shaky at best.
You can’t keep a bad bitch down. At least that’s what they say but only half of me was listening.
Drowning in the image staring back at me, I felt an overwhelming sense to purge, not just whatever was in my empty stomach but the personality that emerged from Denmark—just for a slice of control. Holding onto the edges of a porcelain toilet somehow centers me in a way that nothing else does.
There’s solace in feeling empty, control even.
People were so much more difficult to navigate, like right now. What did they expect and how was I going to stumble my way through giving it to them?
Forcing myself to move on from the reflection, I continued wandering around his castle looking for somewhere I could call mine. Somewhere to set up my paints and hide my canvases from curious eyes.
More like judgmental eyes.
There hadn’t been much to grab my attention so far besides a few pieces of random art and sculptures that all scream sex even though I still couldn’t figure out what his deal was. Every time I had visited before he wouldn’t budge on sharing the same room even if we slept with pillows between us.
The sexual art was a real mystery.
Any red-blooded male with a dick and a pulse would have practically stolen my virginity by now without even contemplating the consequences.
Not Bowen.
During my visits, I took the time to observe this new Bowen that I didn’t seem to know anymore at all. These observations only gave me a slight sense of comfort of what to expect since he was such a routine person.
He started every day with a green smoothie which seemed to be the only form of nutrition he offered himself. His weakness for Hennessy followed him throughout the day, usually starting early, which only made him more cold and cruel towards me. He left for work at the same time every morning, looking effortlessly sexy and put together regardless of how hungover he might be. I had never once seen him eat dinner when he finally got home—apparently, he’s only ever hungry for the taste of booze. Sometimes he even went back to work at night, only those times he dressed more casually in a hoodie and jeans. Maybe he wasn’t actually going back to work...
And repeat.
Bowen was a workaholic and a pure alcoholic. The rest was a straight up mystery.
Running my finger down the decorative molding framing each panel of the wall, I traced it along until my nail caught on an edge and gave me a splinter. The sting pushed my finger to my lips while I examined the wall, realizing that the molding here was disconnected, revealing a secret door.
Now, this was the one thing they didn’t kill in Denmark—my curiosity.
When I was younger, it was the number one trait that got me into trouble. Sometimes I’m a slave to my own curiosity, and now I am free from all of my punishers.
Examining the opening, I could see a staircase that snaked up, twisting to who knows where when I carefully stepped over the safety of the hallway, trading it for the unknown.
Is this where the rest of Bowen was hiding?
Was Braeden keeping him hostage and taking his place?
That would explain things.
The metal of the stairs made a sharp clank with every step, making me wonder if they were safe. I decided death by adventure seemed appropriate enough for me as the stairs faded out into an attic.
Natural lighting struck the darkness away through the round windows parallel to each other on each side of the room. The roof came to a point above me, and my eyes fixed on another empty cage with a folding chair placed in front of it.
Another empty cage.
The first one was alarming, but now I could see his process unfolding… it starts up here then maybe you graduate to the one in the living room.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tried to justify it anyway I could.
It’s not for a person.
It’s art.
It’s not what it seems.
Creeping closer to the cage, I let my hand wrap around a bar, and I tugged, hoping it
was truly some art that I could ruin. To my disappointment, the cage was sturdier than my heart that Bowen kept taking jabs at.
Scanning the rest of the empty room, I decided it was the perfect place to paint if I just threw a sheet over the cage so I could better ignore the parts of Bowen that reminded me of his brother.
I was already living with whatever kind of evil Bowen consumed, so if that meant swallowing some hell too then the cage mocking me was going to be it.
They let me paint as much as I wanted to in Denmark, but always bared their teeth when they realized I was always only painting Bowen. They hated that weapon I kept sharp in my arsenal. I was committing him to memory, dedicated to not losing any details like they say you do when you don’t see someone regularly.
We recognize their familiarity, but we lose the details as time goes on.
I refused to be a victim of time and distance.
Every canvas, every stroke, every finished piece—him. It was how I kept his image alive—not his memory, but how I imagined he would look older than thirteen like the way that he was permanently stuck in my mind. Sometimes I would paint too much muscle, or his eyes would be too sad. Turns out I was wrong on all fronts.
Bowen made it hard to see past the glossy finish of designer plaid pants and chunky boots. I was sure at first glance he looked just like anyone else with a chip on their shoulder. I knew better, he was in so much pain it had morphed into normalcy.
He always wore pain like a designer jacket even when we were younger: true to size and dry clean only.
Now, I could paint in private with more accurate source material.
Making my way back downstairs to grab my paints and canvases, I breezed past his door that had been left open. His door was never left open, not even a crack.
Sneaking inside, I took in his private space in the daylight, trying to collect all the clues I could to his destruction. Still coming up empty, I settled for just being in his space without him around to ignore me or kick me out.
His room was bare and covered in matte black surfaces that blended in with the hardwood black floors. His bed frame had the most unique posts crawling up into the air—modern, thin, and
metal instead of wood like more traditional ones are. His two small bedside tables seemed to float—also matte black with sleek gold handles, both boxing in his huge bed that I wasn’t sure he even slept in.
In just the short time I had been here, I had seen him passed out everywhere else in a drunken stupor.
Twisting around, I swiped my fingers along the dresser avoiding the air pods, the Clave ring, and a decorative bottle of Hennessy that I wasn’t sure was just for decoration. Not with his thirsty ass mouth and annoyances begging to be dulled down every time his eyes found mine.
My eyes scanned around to see a wall-sized print of a faceless girl with dark hair tangled in a sheet; her pale legs spread open to reveal a garden of flowers blooming between them. Her hands hovering over the blooms were busted with chipped nails, and a butterfly was fluttering over the petals as her fingers circled the center of the peony.
It was beautiful and dripping in vibrant colors that contrasted with the darkness of his room—of his life.
The naughtiness of this art placed right across from his bed sent chills down my legs and made my nipples perk up against the mess of ruffles covering my chest. My teddy was powder blue and see- through, leaving nothing to the imagination while giving him a perfect view of my matching hot shorts.
Jumping out of my daze with the sound of the door slamming downstairs, realization set in that Bowen was home early. He had a thing for slamming doors like they had personally offended him.
I was dipping my toe into uncharted territory when I didn’t make any moves to leave his space. I wanted to get caught.
I wanted to be punished by him.
We had waited long enough for this time together. Our upcoming nuptials and wedding reception were only in the way. No one needed to know when we sealed the deal; I was only ever going to be his regardless.
That wasn’t in the agreement that neither of us had signed yet.
Wandering further into his room, I let my hand grasp the bedpost, swinging myself around and up onto his soft mattress in one motion. I felt something under me that was hard—a thick green Clave folder casually hiding amongst his thick blankets.
Fingering the folder, I heard Bowen’s voice dampening my motivation to look inside, but I opened it up anyway to find our contract. It was completely marked up with a red pen and small notes filled in the margins with no signature at the bottom.
We had a meeting scheduled with our parents at the Clave to go over the contract, but I knew better than to think his problems would be voiced loudly enough to change anything.
I could hear his heavy footsteps in those clunky ass boots coming down the hallway and right towards me, making my eyes pull away from reading his issues with the contract.
A promise was a promise even if we didn’t understand the ties of it when we were kids.
I wasn’t going to let him have so many issues that it stopped him from sliding a ring on my finger.
Closing the folder and pushing it away from me, under his pillow, I crossed my ankles, keeping my eyes on the doorway as he stomped his way through the threshold. Pushing my lips into a soft smile, I pressed back into my palms to prop myself up as his face twisted into fury pretty quickly at the sight of me in his bed—half naked.
I’m sure the front door, hallway, and the laces on his boots all found ways to aggravate him on his way upstairs. He was easily triggered.
He had a face that just looked like he had feelings. More than most.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” his voice pushed me further up the bed like we both agreed I was in trouble.
I was used to it.
Crossing my ankles, I fell back into his pillows, stretching my arms above my head. “It’s really like I’m flirting with a corpse because you’re either never here or want nothing to do with me. I have to get my fix somehow.”
He started looking around with his laser focus, flipping over the duvet and recklessly throwing pillows off the bed when he shouted, “Where is it, Eve?! Where’s my folder?” My body sprang up at the assault his words had on the air between us, causing my eyebrows to burrow down in guilt.
Slowly revealing the folder, I opened it to all his red pen marks that took issue with everything except the prepositions in the document. Rolling over onto my stomach with the folder under me, I started reading it out loud, knowing I was only going to make it worse.
“The fundamental purpose of this contract is to act as a binding agreement between Bowen Adonis Astor, The Clave, and the stock in question…” Dancing around the meaning of the words, I kept reading just to annoy him. “The following are agreed upon terms, standards, and conditions. One, the said stock in question will adhere to-” cutting off my words and stealing the air from my lungs, I could feel the bed shift behind me. Bowen’s legs hovered over mine, boxing me in under him and his long arms reached for the folder I tucked further down between myself and his black duvet.
I wanted him to have to touch me, have to remember me—have to pay attention to me. I felt like I was a product of a broken home and in desperate need of being loved.
I mean, I was…
“Give me the damn folder, Eve. This isn’t cute,” his hands reached for my wrists, gaining too much of an upper hand at my own game.
Still trapped between his long, lean, legs I wiggled my way to face him. I finally caught his eyes glimmering with a dark kind of glow that seemed equally worth it as it was sinister. Wrapping my legs around him, I pressed my hips up into his and held back a moan at the friction I had been longing for. I let my lips pout like I was a sore loser when losing wasn’t even possible under this man.
“Feels like it’s cute,” smirking up at him, I held the folder to my chest. His blonde mop top that used to be the color of milk chocolate fell into his eyes
as he stared down at me.
Leaning down, pressing his weight into his palms that sunk into his bed, I could feel the heat of his anger inches away from my lips when he delivered more indignant words my way. “You haven’t felt anything.”
Wrapping my legs around him even tighter, I dropped my hands away from my chest leaving the folder up for grabs when his fingers brushed against my breast through the sheerness of my top, making me shudder. Chills broke out along my arms as I watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip.
He was wound as tightly as I was, and I could see the tension between us with my bare eyes. Tossing the folder to the other side of the bed, I expected him to climb off me, but instead I felt his hands smooth up my arms and his rings dig into my unblemished skin.
The proximity closed between us and made me gasp out for him to give in when all he did was look at me like he was taking inventory—sorting all my good and bad traits into categories.
Bowen didn’t care if my bad outweighed the good—he was going to deface me until it all bled red.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for. I can’t be the one who gives it to you,” unlike his normal tone, his voice dropped down into a smooth melody. He was being vulnerable. How could I push for more when he was actually being my Bowey in this moment.
BOWEN
The Clave wasn’t somewhere I wanted to be when I wasn’t forced to be here for work. It was more ominous when vacated and that kind of environment only provoked my demons to come out to play.
Eve walked behind me, trying to keep up in her heels, wearing a clear Louis Vuitton raincoat barely covering up a small dress that was clinging to every bend in her body.
She was a distraction that I knew was only going to send me into the arms of my demons.
Her smooth legs beg for my hands, her big blue eyes only see the best in me, and her full lips are downright pumped full of sin.
Carrying the contracts in my tight grasp, I pushed the button inside the elevator to the floor that we needed.