I don’t really give a shit what he thinks. One thing has become clear to me in the days since I was forced back into this house—every single one of Morpheus’ employees is entirely devoted to him. To them, he’s a savior—offering his home and good salaries to those who might otherwise have been taken advantage of by worse employers.
No doubt attempting to turn them against him will result in more chains. Invisible though they are, I can feel them on my skin—wrapping around my wrists and ankles, anchoring me to this place. Unable to stand sulking in this place anymore, I stand abruptly and turn towards the exit.
“Where are you going?” Stuart sounds outraged.
I grit my teeth and shoot him a dark look over my shoulder. “None of your fucking business,” I snap.
He gasps, his face a mockery of surprise by my tone. I roll my eyes and keep marching towards the door. The sound of his shoes moving across the hardwood echoes after me.
“Mr. Calloway requested that you remain here until he’s done with his call!” Stuart yells out after me.
My hand closes around the door handle and I twist, shoving it open, and collide face first with the man I most want to avoid. Morpheus releases a grunt of surprise and then stops me with a hand on either of my shoulders.
“What’s the rush, darling?” he asks, tipping his head to the side as he gazes down at me.
“Don’t.” I slap his hands away and sidestep him. “Don’t fucking act like you give a shit.”
Morpheus’ face tightens, but he doesn’t yell or curse at my disrespect. No, he’s far too composed for a bout of anger or a loss of control. Instead, he lowers his hands from my shoulders tomy biceps and squeezes until I wince. Then, he lifts his head to address his assistant.
“Will you please have the car brought around?” he says. “I have a rather urgent matter to attend to in the office and would like a quiet word alone with my niece before I leave.”
“O-of course, sir.” Stuart practically trips over his own two feet as he rushes from the room, scooting around us to disappear into the hallway.
My throat closes as Morpheus nudges me farther into the room and then the door is shutting behind him and I’m alone with him. Heartbeat a rabid beast, snarling and possessed by something rage-induced and terrified, I rip myself free from his hold and back up several steps.
“I thought you understood what behaving meant, Juliet.” Morpheus’ words are calm, rational, but no less threatening. “A lady does not curse nor does she slap her benefactor’s hands away.”
“Benefactor?” I choke on a laugh. He can’t be serious. “You’re my blackmailer, Morpheus. Nothing more. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you. I know what you fucking did to me?—”
“I did nothing you didn’t want me to.”
“I was drunk!” I snap. “I didn’t even know what was happening!”
Standing between me and the door—the exit I crave to take—Morpheus lifts his wrists and adjusts his cuff links while staring me down with his cool gaze. He takes a step towards me and before I even realize what I’m doing, I take a step back—retreating. My insides churn.
“I will not warn you again, Juliet.” Morpheus’ tone is careful, not eliciting a single sign of upset. Quiet, calculated fury is worse than obvious rage. It’s sinister, evil, and easy to overlook until it’s too late. “You will maintain the act so long as you’re livingunder my roof. You will be polite and respectful. You will be the perfect lady under my care.”
“How long?”
Morpheus tilts his head. “Excuse me?”
“How long will that be?” I ask. “How long do you expect me to be under your roof?”
His lips turn down at the corners, but he answers me anyway. “Until you understand that this is where you belong.”
“I don’t belong to you. I willneverbelong to you.” Nails sink into my palms, stabbing sharply as I curl my fingers into fists.
Morpheus leaves the closed doorway behind and marches towards me. My muscles contract, but this time I manage to keep myself still as he approaches. I become a statue as he stops in front of me and lifts a hand to trail a single finger over my cheek.
“You have always belonged to me, Pretty Girl.”
Inside, there’s an old scream—one that’s been going for so long that the inner voice is hoarse and quiet with the strength of it. Years, I’ve been screaming. Years, I’ve been bleeding and no one ever sees it. The damage of a man in power who thinks he can have, that he can take, anything he wants is a cruel thing. Sometimes, it’s invisible. Sometimes, it never stops.
Still, I scream and I scream and no one ever hears.
LEX
Good men do not kill.
