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32
CORA
I’m not sure what I’m hoping for as I press the phone to my ear.
Comfort, maybe. Normalcy. Some sign that the world beyond this estate is still spinning. Because right now, my universe has stopped.
“I am your boss, judge, jury, and executioner. I am the sun around which your world revolves. Do you understand?”
There’s no mistaking it for what it was: a threat. But a threat shouldn’t make my thighs quiver. It shouldn’t force me to press my legs together and fight off memories of when that power was thrusting into me.
I squeeze the phone tighter with every ring.
“Please pick up,” I beg. “Please pick up.”
I’m desperate for any connection to society outside of this mess. So desperate my standards have hit rock bottom and kept going south.
After too many rings, the voicemail picks up.
“This is Shondra, Mr. St. Clair’s assistant. He is out of the office this week, but I’ll be monitoring his messages. If it’s urgent, please leave your name and number. Mr. St. Clair will get back to you as soon as he can. Thank you.”
Does being held against my will by a man who may or may not be a criminal so I don’t get killed by an unknown assassin qualify as “urgent”?
I hang up before the beep. I haven’t spoken to my father in years. I’m not going to let the first time be a voicemail. A voicemail that will probably be transcribed by Shondra.
In some ways, this is a sign that the world is still turning: my father remains a disappointment.
Jorden and Francia are in enough danger as it is. There’s so much I can’t tell them, but they have so many questions. Rightfully so. I don’t even blame them.
I just can’t answer them, either.
With every blink, I see Ivan’s scowling face in my mind’s eye. I hear the hiss of his voice as he tells me I’m no one. As he reminds me that I’ll be kicked to the curb the moment he’s done with me.
I know this isn’t like the last time. This isn’t like Mikhail—my stepfather’s big plan for how my future would end.
Still, the resemblance between now and then is uncanny. So uncanny I’m having a hard time not throwing myself from the window as a means of escape. Running is an instinct, and I’ve honed mine to precision over the years. Sitting still is torture.
I throw my phone on the bed and pace to throw open the window. Partially for the fresh air and partially to remind myself that I’m twenty-five feet off the ground and I’d break my neck if I jumped.
“How did I get here again?” I mutter to nobody in particular.
I’ve never spent much time thinking about destiny, but now that I’m trapped in yet another loveless engagement—real or not—I have to wonder whether this isn’t just my fate. To end up forcibly married to someone who couldn’t care less about me.
There’s a bang on the other side of the wall. I turn towards what I know is Ivan’s room.
He’s so close. I could call out to him and he’d be here in a second. I could talk to him and say…
Well, I don’t know what. I’m not sure if I want to scream at him or apologize. It’s not that I think I was wrong, but I want this situation to be tolerable, if nothing else. For both of us.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and grit my teeth. “That’s giving up. It’s giving him what he wants.”
But maybe it’s what I want, too. Ivan’s dad wasn’t entirely wrong, after all. With some concessions, I could make this arrangement work for me. A mansion, around-the-clock protection, and gourmet meals whenever I want? If that’s prison, then I know a lot of people who would love to sign up.
My conversation with Jorden from what feels like a lifetime ago resurfaces.
Sorry, babe. But I’ve been working as long as I can remember. Well before it was legal. If a man with fat pockets wants to take me away from all of this gum scraping, then I’ll let him.
You want to be dependent on a man?
