JULIET
Morpheus is away for a solid week—some business trip in California that I couldn’t give a shit less about if I tried. I’m thankful for the reprieve, though, when it’s delivered the day after Lex broke into the house and fucked me like he was trying to kill me. I’m not convinced he wasn’t, even if I could understand why.
Morpheus’ assistant keeps a close eye on me the entire time I’m alone in the house, but he seems relieved by the fact that I claim to have caught a cold and spend most of the time recovering in my room away from prying eyes. No doubt, he fears whether or not I’ll run away in the absence of the master of the house.
The bruises on the back of my thighs and ass fade faster than the ones around my throat. Every morning, I get up and look at them in the mirror. They still ache and hurt, making lying on my back in bed an impossibility and sitting even worse.
I haven’t heard from Lex since then, nor have I heard from the others, but I hope he’s told them what I said. That I’m not with Morpheus because I meant any of those awful things I said to them, but because I’m trying to save them. Could I have gotten away from them without all of the theatrics? Maybe. Butthen Morpheus would have been more cautious of the Scorpion Kings trying to take me back. As far as he’s concerned, they’ve wiped their hands clean of me and he has unrestricted access to both my body and my soul now.
A man like him could never understand, they didn’t take it from him—they fucking earned it.
I know the day Morpheus returns because the house is abuzz with nervous energy. The maids flit through the rooms, replacing perfectly clean linens on beds that no one sleeps in. Sweeping and mopping already shining floors. The line of Morpheus’ car collection is brought out into the driveway and hosed down before being stowed away once more. It’s a shock to my system—the reminder of how wasteful so much opulence is.
Eight cars. Twelve bedrooms. Three maids. A butler. A chef. A personal assistant. How much staff does one man need when he lives relatively alone?
“Mr. Calloway expects you for dinner tonight, Miss Donovan.” Stuart stands in the doorway to my bedroom, gazing at me from over the top of his rimless glasses with a narrow-eyed look as if he expects me to throw a fit.
I adjust the collar of my turtleneck sweater and nod before going back to the book perched in my lap. My voice has healed somewhat over the week, enough so that it no longer feels like swallowing broken glass when I talk, but without anyone to speak to while I’m here, I keep my responses to the staff to a minimum and that includes Morpheus’ smarmy assistant.
“No complaints?” Stuart inquires in a rather suspicious tone.
I roll my eyes and flip the page. “I have copious amounts of complaints,” I tell him, the rasp in my voice thankfully explained away by my earlier excuse of illness. “But as none of them are ever resolved, what would be the point?”
Flip. Scan.Flip. The sound of the pages of my book are the only thing in the room. Still, Stuart hovers just inside my roomexpectantly. I grind my molars together before finally glancing up at him. The moment our eyes meet, his drop to the oversized turtleneck and leggings combo I’m wearing with thinly veiled disapproval.
“I expect that you’ll dress more appropriately for your dinner with your uncle?”
A snarl builds in my throat, but I shove it down. The book in my hand snaps shut and before Stuart can see the decision in my eyes, I hurl it across the room.Bullseye.
The book slams into his face, knocking his glasses from the crooked bridge of his nose and sending him stumbling backwards with a cry of dismay. Rising from the bed, I round the footboard where Lex had bent me over and ravaged me mere days ago and stomp to the doorway, gripping the edge of the door as Stuart blusters and rights his glasses.
“I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want,” I tell him. “If you or your master have a problem with that, then you can bite me. I’m not Morpheus’ fucking toy to play dress-up with and he’s not my fucking uncle.”
With that, I slam the door and flip the lock. Stuart’s annoyed voice sounds on the other side of the wood. “You ungrateful brat!” he bites out. “You have no idea how lucky you are to have him care for you like this. I’ll have him know about this,” he swears. “He should see you for the vile little witch that you are.”
Bowing, I press my forehead into the door. Never before would Stuart have felt so comfortable insulting me like this. But here, in this place, I have no power. To the public, I’m living with a veritable saint—someone who’s taken their best friend’s daughter in when she has no one else to care for her. Oh, how they would recoil if they knew the real Morpheus Calloway.
I turn away from the door and march back to the bed. When I get to it, I collapse onto the mattress on my side. One hand moves up, cupping around the front of my throat.
All of Lex’s marks are fading. The bite on my shoulder. The ring of purple that once darkened the skin of my throat has turned a molted ugly yellow and green and soon enough, those will be gone too. I close my eyes.
I wish I could reach out to him, to know where they are, what they’re doing. The one thing Morpheus had commanded of me—through Stuart, of course—before he left had been tobehave.
To some, that would mean no partying, no destroying property, no violence. For Morpheus, it had meant something else and we both knew it.
No computer. No cell phone. No contact or communication with the outside world without his express permission until he deems me no longer a flight risk. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Morpheus is trying to recondition me into playing the part of his perfect little doll.Oh wait, that’s exactly what he’s doing.
Sitting up, I glance at the pile of homework and classwork that have been left on the desk against the wall across from the bathroom door. Morpheus doesn’t want me to attend Public anymore, but he hasn’t quite convinced me to go back to Silverwood Prep yet either. Even he can’t go against my educational requirements. At least it’s given me something to do in the long stretches of time locked in this prison.
How many more days will I be here? How much longer will it take to find something or for the guys to gain more insight through Viks?
Questions abound in my head, but until I take action anddosomething, I won’t have any answers.
So, I do the only thing that I can. I get off the bed and check the clock. Morpheus eats at the same time every night and if tonight is no different, then dinner will be served at six p.m. I’ve got three hours until I have to face him and if I’m going into the belly of the beast, then the first thing I’ll need to don is my armor.
There aren’t a lot of easy ways to hide the bruises and marks left by Lex, but one benefit of wealth is choices. Morpheus seems to be laboring under the misunderstanding that I’m still the same girl he took advantage of and raped three years ago.
That girl dressed in glittering gowns and wore sky-high heels to each event. That girl didn’t think twice about quarter-of-a-million-dollar necklaces and shoes that could feed a family of four for months.
