As the afternoon sun began its descent, Esther finally announced that our educational session would conclude for the day. I welcomed the reprieve, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, I was surprised to see that it was only six.

  The day had felt endless, yet it was far from over.

  “So, what’s next?” I asked, suppressing a yawn.

  “You can watch us in the kitchen or retire to your bedroom for rest.”

  “You’re cooking?”

  “Oh, no. We are just finishing up what the kitchen staff has prepped for tonight’s meal.”

  I’d almost forgotten there were people that worked inside this house. I’d yet to see any of them. I didn’t have high hopes for any of them helping me escape.

  “I could help.”

  “I appreciate that, but I can’t allow you to do that. Such tasks are beneath your position unless you’re doing so for pure enjoyment.”

  The weight of her words settled in, amplifying the sense of unfamiliarity around me. I was surrounded by luxury, yet everything felt off-kilter, like trying to find my balance on shifting sands. It served as a reminder that there were rules, expectations, and a predetermined role for me here. I didn’t bother questioning who’d declared that a stipulation. I already knew.

  “I’ll go rest then.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew it was the right choice. My body and mind ached for solitude, a moment to collect my thoughts and attempt to work through all that I had learned.

  Escorted to the same room I’d been brought to the night before, I found myself standing before the opulent bed that seemed to dominate the space. The memories rushed back like a flood, threatening to engulf me. Everything from my abduction to my current situation crashed down upon me in a tidal wave of emotions.

  The thought of Anya possibly enduring a similar fate—or worse—only added to my turmoil. I stared at the bed, its perfectly made-up sheets and pillows tainted by what had happened on top of them. I wondered what made him choose to do it while I was sleeping. It couldn’t have been a matter of ease.

  I’d fought him the moment I’d woken up and felt him moving inside me. He’d easily thwarted my attempts to break free. The harder I’d fought, the rougher he got. He’d forced orgasm after orgasm from my body before allowing himself to find release.

  This morning had been different.

  Despite being as sore as I was and what was happening, to some sickening degree I’d enjoyed the way he’d forced me to ride him and how gently he’d touched me in the shower afterward. What did that say about who I was?

  I turned away from the bed and sought refuge on the chaise in the sitting area. The dim light of the room cast shadows, lending an eerie ambiance to its surroundings. I clutched a throw pillow against my chest, as if it could provide some semblance of solace.

  The silence was broken only by the distant sound of my own breathing.

  Time slipped by, and before I knew it, the weight of the day pulled me into an uneasy slumber. I drifted in and out of dreams. The lines between reality blurred and I saw that woman again, the one that tried to warn me the night I was taken.

  A gentle touch on my cheek stirred me awake, accompanied by the familiar scent of Alexander's cologne. My eyes fluttered open to find him standing over me, his expression tender. My first impulse was to shrink back, to distance myself from him and all that he stood for, but there was something about his touch that inexplicably held me in place, drawing me in despite my reservations.

  “Sleep well?” His voice was smooth, a soothing melody that resonated through the room.

  I nodded, still groggy and disoriented from my nap. Someone had covered me with a warm throw without waking me.

  “For the most part...”

  “Dinner is ready. Come eat.” He extended a hand, and I slowly took hold of it.

  With a carefulness that made me feel as if I were made of glass, he helped me stand and led me back downstairs. The aroma of food wafted through the air, and when we reached the dining room, I saw that the table was adorned with another spread of dishes that was too much for just two people.

  There was a platter of succulent roasted meats, glistening with savory juices. Next to a bowl of potatoes, a dish of sautéed greens caught my attention. Alexander pulled out a chair for me and I sat down, acutely aware of him as he settled across from me. Esther and Nicolette stood in the corner of the room, their postures deferential. Esther’s eyes met mine, and she flashed me a quick smile.

  With an air of casualness, he addressed her first, granting her permission to indulge in the food at the kitchen island. Then, with a simple command, he directed Nicolette to serve her. They obeyed without a hint of resistance, both leaving the room.

  “They can’t eat with us?”

  “No. I want you to get used to dining with me regularly and without distractions. My sister likes you too much to let me have that. I assume it’s mutual?”

  “Are you asking if I like her? Esther is hard to dislike. She’s like a bubble of sunshine.”

  He laughed lightly. “That’s a fair assessment. Partly why we’re so protective of her. I knew the two of you would get along well, but I’m still pleased to see it. You are family, after all.”

  I wasn’t going there with him again, not right now. “Is us eating together going to be a daily thing?” I deflected with a subject change.

  “We’ll have dinner together every night. I’ll do my best to be here in the mornings once things are more settled with work.”

  That begrudgingly piqued my curiosity. “What is it you do, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “You can ask me anything you’d like, deliciae,” he replied smoothly.

  “And you won’t lie?”

  He studied me for a beat of silence, his face unreadable. “Why would I lie to you?"

  “I don’t know. Why would you tell me the truth?”

  “Because a relationship built on lies and poor communication is destined to make us both miserable.”

  Relationship. What a delusion of normalcy that had been warped and twisted. Every time he alluded to us being more than a captor and captive, I felt the weight of an invisible shackle growing tighter.

  “Are you implying I should believe everything you say to me?”

  “There’s no reason you shouldn’t.”

  Anger and disbelief churned inside my chest. “Except for the fact I didn’t come here willingly, and I can’t trust you.”

  His eyes, two pools of amber and gold, bored into mine with an intensity that made the air between us crackle. He seemed both distant and overwhelmingly present.

  “I’ve given you no reason to distrust me, Lolita,” he said, his voice a velvet lull. “I may withhold certain information until the time is right, but I’ve never lied to you. I don’t need to.”

  “You could be lying right now.”

  “Look around. You are exactly where you’re meant to be. I can do whatever I want to you, however I want, whenever I want. Who’s going to stop me?”

  A sharp coldness prickled at my skin. He was right.

  He’d been telling me this from the very beginning. No one was going to save me from him. I was completely at his mercy.

  He had managed to kidnap not just me, but three other women—that I knew of—and didn’t seem too concerned about being caught.

  “Start eating and I’ll answer your first question.”

  "I'm not that hungry," I replied quietly, trying to remember what I’d initially asked.

  “Not feeling hungry and needing to eat are not one and the same.”

  I watched as he loaded my plate with small portions from each of the various dishes, his focus split between the task at hand and me. He even took the time to make sure my food didn’t touch, using a second plate just as I would’ve done. His attention to the most miniscule detail was evident in everything he did.

  “My work is overseeing different endeavors,” he began, placing one of the plates in front of me. “I’ve invested, have shares in the companies my family own and, of course, my main area of focus is the Isle.”

  “That seems like a lot.”

  "It isn’t, really. My father made sure I could go above and beyond, even under pressure.”

  “You’re close with your father too?” I speared a piece of roast and took a bite.

  The tender meat melted in my mouth, infused with a medley of spices that saturated my tastebuds.

  “Everyone in our community is close, but yes, I am especially so with my father.” He added more roast to my plate. “Do you like it? I thought this would agree with you. The local butcher delivered it just this morning.”

  Of course he had the luxury of fresh meat being brought to his doorstep.

  “Who cleans up when we’re done eating? I noticed Esther and Nicolette don’t.”

  “One of our servitors you’ll soon meet.”

  Well, none of that was very helpful. I switched gears and tried to think of something else that would make him open up. I knew he was meticulously organized, clean, domineering, and wealthy. He was intelligent and very well spoken. Possessive and calculating. From what I’d gathered thus far, he was a family man too.

  He was close with his parents and siblings. Thanks to Esther and Nicolette filling in a few blanks while we were in the library, I had come to learn that his younger brother was present the night of the Rite. He was one of the men that resembled Alexander. The man that I recognized from the resort was his cousin, Bishop.

  I had yet to learn the identities of the men in red.

  All I knew of them so far was that they were close and had laid claim to the other captive women.

  “Do all your family members live here on the Isle?”

  He regarded me with something I couldn't quite decipher. “You don’t how much it pleases me to see you so interested in me and my life, even if it's not entirely for the purest of reasons.”

  His response caught me off guard. I blinked, unsure how I could be so surprised by his perceptiveness at this point. I actually was interested, though. I told him as much. “I’m not sure what you think I’m asking these questions for, but I honestly would like to know more about you.”

  He leaned back with an air of nonchalance and serenity painting his features. “You do realize that with every revelation, every secret I tell you, you’re stepping deeper into my world?”

  “And yet, I still want to know.” The declaration was one of both fear and fascination.

  He seemed to consider my words before continuing. “Our family spans decades. My father is blood to the oldest generations of Impío. They developed Stygian Isle and helped shape what it is today, along with our culture. However, it was my father himself and his closest Tenebrarius that truly made it progress.”

  He took a bite of meat, actually eating the food for once, and poured himself some wine. The scent of it drifted across the table, reaching me and causing a flutter in my stomach. It was the same type he had given me the night I was brought here, a smell now etched in my memory.

  “Would you like a glass?”

  “No,” I replied firmly.

  He clicked his tongue and feigned admonishment.

  “Don’t let one bad experience stop you from having a good one, deliciae.”

  “Considering where I’m at because of it, that one time was more than enough.”

  “You make a fair point. How about this—when I lace your drink with something in the future, I’ll let you know.”

  “A-are you asking me to agree to that, meaning you plan to do it again?”

  “If it’s for your benefit.” He sat the bottle back in an insulated ice bucket and took a drink from his cup. “Now, where was I?”

  I stared at him, trying to process the casual way he just admitted to drugging me, and how he’d do it again. It was a warped kind of transparency, one that left me feeling strangely more aware of the bizarre dynamic that was developing between us.

  “Oh, right. So, my father and his Tenebrarius came to the Isle with their families and most devout followers. The rest is history. He retired from his position a few years ago to spend more time with my mother, and I stepped into my birthright.”

  I knew I’d just gotten the condensed version of events. I was grateful for that; I wasn’t sure I could handle the detailed one right then. My head was still swimming with all the doctrine talk from earlier, as well as his admission.

  “Enough about me for now. How was your day?" His tone was soft, almost affectionate, as he broached the topic.

  I hesitated, my mind racing to find the right words. "Exhausting," I confessed, letting the weight of the day’s events seep into my response.

  He nodded in understanding. " Did you discuss the weekly schedule?”

  I nodded. “Besides the days you—we—go to the Chapel and a few weekly store-runs, there doesn’t seem to be much I actually need to do.”

  “Once you’re better settled in, you can participate in things the other women do at your leisure, but you’re right.” He took another bite of his dinner before replying. “Your life is to be one of relaxation and luxury.”

  “And worship,” I muttered.

  “Not necessarily.”

  I glanced at him and swallowed my bite of food before asking, “What do you mean?”

  “The only thing you need to worry about worshipping is me.”

  I almost started to laugh and caught myself. “I’m not the least bit surprised you would say that.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I plan to worship every inch of you. Thoroughly.”

  “Can I respectfully decline?”

  “No.” He grinned wickedly. “In fact, I believe it’s in our best interest to establish free use.”

  “What is that?”

  “It doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing; whether you say yes and beg for it or plead for me to stop. When I want to fuck you, I will.”

  I dropped my fork onto my dish with a clatter. “How is that in my best interest?”

  “Because you’re going to be the only woman coming all over my fingers, tongue, and cock. Repeatedly.”

  I diverted my gaze and picked up my glass of water, mainly to calm myself and do something with my hands to stifle their shaking. “I believe your doctrine implies two different meanings for how we worship one another then.”

  “Not really. Just think of me as your everything, the reason you live and breathe.”

  “You make that sound so easy,” I deadpanned.

  “It is.”

  I gave him a look that caused him to laugh.

  “Love me as much you pretend to hate me. And fuck me as hard as you wish you did.”

  Words eluded me, leaving me speechless in the face of his comment. His status as my captor, a reality I couldn’t escape, only amplified my discomfort. I remained silent and he spared me by picking up the slack.

  “Tomorrow should be less strenuous for you. I thought it would be good for you to explore the town, become familiar with the surroundings and some of the locals. You may find it enlightening."

  “You’re letting me out?” I tried to keep the surprise from my voice and failed. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. The idea of leaving the house and venturing to where the tourists were had not crossed my mind. I didn’t think he’d ever allow that.

  “You say that as if I’m keeping you in. You’re not a prisoner, Lolita.”

  My eyebrows knitted in confusion. I frowned, perplexed by his assertion. His words were almost ironic. "That's a strange way to put it, given how I ended up here. Everything about this place feels like a cage." I caught myself just before I brought up the brand. A mark he had imposed on me, a symbol of his ownership.

  He chuckled lightly. "We have a prison. You're not in it. If I wanted you confined, deliciae, your ankle would still be adorned with a chain."

  Without thinking and sarcasm dripping from my lips, I replied, "Thanks for the reminder, Alex."

  I could see the surprise in his eyes, mixed with something else. Happiness? Amusement?

  "I like that," he mused, looking at me as if trying to decipher a puzzle. “You don’t have any problem affectionately shortening your jailor’s name.”

  I met his gaze, my heart racing, a defiance bubbling up. "I thought I wasn’t a prisoner. Now you agree?"

  “If it makes you happy, I’ll pretend to be whatever and whoever you want me to be. So long as at the end of the day you remember exactly who and what I am.”

  “That wouldn’t make me happy.”

  “I know.”

  I slightly pursed my lips, sliding him a sidelong glance. “Would that still be your response if I said the opposite?”

  “No.” He leaned closer, the look in his eyes flickering with a strange blend of honesty and something more enigmatic. "Some find comfort in illusions, Lolita. They'd rather wrap themselves in a lie than face the harshness of their reality. You, on the other hand, have been living a lie all your life without even realizing it."

  “Yeah…maybe,” I replied quietly.

  His smile widened just a fraction, revealing a hint of something untamed. "I'm glad you don't want to play pretend. Our life is a fairytale in its own right."

  I scoffed, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. "A fairytale? Is that really what you’d call this?"

  "We have those too, you know. And trust me, ours are far more enthralling than any story you've possibly heard before. They are woven with truths and shadows, desires and fears—a blend of the real and the unimaginable."

  I toyed with my fork. “I didn’t take you for the happy-ever-after type.”

  “I’m not, but you are. And I’ll give you one.” His smile didn't falter. "We have a way to go before we reach that part of our story, but I think we’ve gotten off to a great start," he replied, his voice laced with a promise of things yet to come.

  Happily ever after? That was more Anya’s way of thinking. The concept was foreign to me. My life had always been about navigating the immediate, tangible realities, not indulging in fairytale fantasies of rescue or romance. Yet, here I was, swept away by a man who seemed more akin to a dark sovereign of some underworld.