And that part was growing stronger by the day.
13
GRACE
The door opened without warning.
I looked up from the book I'd been pretending to read, surprised to see Rafe standing in the doorway. He was dressed differently today—charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, silver tie. Business attire. Power attire.
"Get dressed," he said, his tone clipped and professional. "Something appropriate for a meeting. There are clothes in the closet."
I set the book aside, eyeing him warily. "A meeting? With whom?"
"You're not attending. You're observing." He checked his watch—platinum, understated, expensive. "You have fifteen minutes. I'll wait outside."
Before I could ask more questions, he stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. I heard no locks engage.
Curious.
After nearly two weeks of captivity, this was the first time he'd suggested I leave the room. The first change in our established routine of meals, one-sided conversations, late night hate fucks, and psychological warfare.
I moved to the closet, which I'd explored thoroughly during my first days here. It was filled with women's clothing in exactly my size—everything from casual wear to formal dresses, all with designer labels, all in colors and styles I might have chosen myself.
The attention to detail was both impressive and disturbing.
I selected a simple navy dress with a high neckline and knee-length hem. Professional without being flashy. The kind of thing I would have worn to class or a casual work function. I paired it with low heels and minimal jewelry from the selection provided.
Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Two weeks of captivity had left me thinner, paler, with shadows under my eyes that no amount of sleep seemed to erase. But the clothes fit perfectly, creating the illusion of normalcy, of control.
I ran a brush through my hair, leaving it loose around my shoulders, and applied the bare minimum of makeup—enough to look put together but not enough to suggest I was trying to impress anyone.
Exactly fifteen minutes after he'd left, Rafe knocked once and opened the door.
His eyes traveled over me, taking in the outfit with a nod of approval. "Good choice."
"What's this about?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Why am I suddenly allowed out of my cage?"
"It's not a cage, Grace." He sighed, as if my continued resistance was merely tiresome rather than justified. "And you're allowed out because I want you to see something. To understand something."
"Understand what?"
"The reality of your situation." He held out his hand. "Shall we?"
I ignored his outstretched hand, stepping past him into the hallway. It was the first time I'd seen it without the haze ofadrenaline and desperation that had accompanied my escape attempt. The corridor was long and elegantly appointed, with hardwood floors, cream walls, and tasteful artwork at regular intervals.
"This way," Rafe said, placing a hand lightly on the small of my back.
I stiffened but didn't pull away. Better to conserve my energy, to observe, to gather information that might help me later.
We walked in silence, passing several closed doors before reaching a grand staircase—the same one I'd tried to flee down before. This time, I descended with dignity rather than desperation, taking in my surroundings with a calculated calm.
The Conti estate was even more impressive in daylight. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. Old money. Real money. The kind of wealth that whispered rather than shouted.
At the bottom of the stairs, Rafe guided me not toward the front door—which I noted was now guarded by two men in suits—but down a hallway to the left, deeper into the house.
"Where are we going?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
"My office," he replied. "There's a meeting about to start in the adjacent room. I want you to listen."
