Just because he gave me pleasure last night or bought me clothes, didn't mean a damn thing. All it meant was I was a red-blooded woman who had a love of expensive clothing and hormones that needed to be controlled.
The apartment was actually very close to campus, which was annoyingly convenient. The building was stunning and of course had a doorman who looked very familiar. I was positive that either he had been one of the men following me on campus or he had a twin. He greeted me with a bright smile, by name, pronounced correctly, and asked if I needed to be shown to my new apartment.
My pulse picked up. How many of Artem's men were watching me? How long had this been planned?
The paranoia settled over me like a cloak, and I found myself scanning every face, wondering if they too were reporting back to him.
I took a deep breath and suppressed the rage that had been slowly building in my chest. It wasn't his fault his boss was a dick.
"No, I'm sure I can find it. Thank you."
He smiled and actually tipped his goddamn hat as I headed to the elevator. The lobby was beautifully decorated, lavish and luxurious, and I was sure the amenities in the apartment were second to none.
I expected the apartment to look a lot like the hotel room; luxurious, expensive, cold. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was stunning, its elements and features reflective of the building's baroque style. Between the crown molding throughout and each room’s tasteful furniture, the apartment was beautiful but not so luxurious that you were afraid to sit on anything. The perfect blend of function and fashion.
It was my dream apartment.
That was why it was so insidious. Artem knew. Somehow, he knew exactly what I would love. The thought made my skin crawl.
The clothes he had bought were perfect, the apartment and furniture he had someone pick out were like a dream.
I couldn't help but wonder who had done the shopping for him. And when?
If he’d decided all of this last night, even before he picked me up, there wouldn't have been time to secure the apartment or furnish it.
So whose apartment did he put me in?
The more I explored, the more perfect it was. A modern kitchen, bedrooms with built-in bookshelves, and closets already filled with clothes by the same designers that were in that shopping bag.
There was just one minor problem.
In every single corner there was a blinking red light.
I was being watched, and he wanted me to know.
My heart slammed against my ribs when I spotted each one.
The feeling of being hunted, of being cornered, overwhelmed me.
I wanted to curl into a ball and hide, but there was nowhere to go where his eyes wouldn't follow.
There were a million more subtle ways to install security equipment, ways that I would never have known about, and he chose to make sure I understood exactly what this was.
This wasn't an apartment.
It wasn't some type of heavy-handed apology for what happened the night before.
It wasn't even a token of affection.
Not that I thought he was capable of feeling something like that.
This was a cage.
A beautifully decorated, gilded cage from which I had no escape.
Clenching my teeth and tightening my fists, I tried to control my anger. I tried to push it down to deal with later, mostly so he didn't have surveillance photos of me crying.
The arrogant bastard would probably think they were tears of joy and gratitude.
