Gage parks near the main entrance, turning to me before I can exit. "One more thing, Penelope. The next time you attempt escape—and we both know there will be a next time—remember that I will always find you. Always. The only variable is how uncomfortable the retrieval process becomes for those caught in the crossfire."
I step from the car without responding, spine straight, expression carefully neutral as I enter the mansion.
The game continues, with higher stakes and fewer options.
But not zero options. Never that.
I ascend the stairs to my suite, aware of Gage's eyes tracking my movement, of the subtle shift in staff demeanor confirming that everyone knows something significant has occurred, even if they don't know exactly what.
In my room, I find fresh flowers on the bedside table—black dahlias.
I move to the window, gazing out at the beautiful grounds that form the boundaries of my world now.
Gage Blackwood will never willingly release me. His determination has been tested and proven unshakeable.
Which means my only path forward is to make him believe he's won. To surrender so completely, so convincingly, that his vigilance eventually relaxes. Days, weeks, months of performance—whatever it takes to create an opportunity for a more carefully planned escape.
I remove the engagement ring, studying the massive diamond that concealed the tracking device that led to my capture. Such an obvious precaution in hindsight. How many other safeguards has he built into my cage that I haven't yet detected?
I slip the ring back on, accepting its weight as part of my current reality.
He's won this round. But the game is far from over.
CHAPTER 9
The silk dress slides against my skin like a whisper, soft and cool. Marta, the personal maid assigned to me following my failed escape, fastens the hidden buttons with practiced efficiency. The garment is exquisite—deep emerald that complements my copper hair and fair complexion, cut to flatter without being overtly seductive. One of a dozen delivered this morning, each more elegant than anything I've ever owned.
"Beautiful, Miss Everett," Marta murmurs, stepping back to assess her work. "The color suits you perfectly."
I study my reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman staring back looks like a stranger—polished, refined, every inch the future Mrs. Blackwood. My hair has been styled in loose waves, my makeup applied with subtle expertise. Even my nails have been shaped and polished in a delicate neutral shade.
"Mr. Blackwood mentioned you'll be dining with his business associates this evening," Marta continues, arranging jewelry on the vanity. "He suggested these for tonight."
She opens a velvet box to reveal an emerald and diamond necklace with matching earrings. The stones catch the light, throwing fractured rainbows across the ceiling. Not costumepieces—real emeralds, worth more than I've earned in five years of running Wildflower.
"I prefer my own necklace," I say, touching the silver pendant at my throat—my grandmother's, the one tangible connection to my life before.
Marta hesitates. "Mr. Blackwood was quite specific, Miss. For formal occasions, he expects?—"
"It's fine, Marta." I remove my pendant, slipping it into the vanity drawer. "The emeralds are lovely."
She fastens the necklace, adjusting it to lie perfectly against my collarbone. The weight is unfamiliar, like the elegant prison I now inhabit.
Two weeks have passed since my failed escape attempt. Fourteen days of increased surveillance, restricted movement, and performances carefully crafted to suggest gradual acceptance of my situation. I attend meals with Gage, review wedding plans with designers and coordinators, speak politely with staff members who monitor my every movement. I've even begun arranging flowers again in the conservatory, using the skills that once defined my independence to decorate my captivity.
The irony isn't lost on me.
My father's reaction to my escape attempt had been predictably brutal—cold fury barely contained by Gage's presence, threats of institutionalization and forced medication should I "embarrass the family" again. He'd left that evening with the date for my wedding to Gage moved up to just six weeks away, a timeline designed to ensure my compliance through sheer lack of opportunity for resistance.
Tonight marks my first formal introduction to Gage's business associates—men and women who will eventually become part of my social circle as Mrs. Blackwood. Another stepin the normalization of my captivity, another performance to maintain.
"Mr. Blackwood asked me to remind you that guests will begin arriving at seven," Marta says, gathering discarded clothing. "He'll meet you in the library at quarter to."
"Thank you, Marta." I slip on the diamond-and-emerald earrings, completing the transformation. "That will be all for now."
When she's gone, I allow my shoulders to drop, the perfect posture momentarily abandoned when no one is watching. These brief moments of genuine expression have become precious—tiny rebellions in a life of carefully maintained facade.
I move to the window overlooking the gardens. My suite has been relocated to Gage's wing of the mansion following my escape attempt—ostensibly a sign of my elevated status as his fiancée, but practically a means of keeping me under closer surveillance. The new rooms are larger, more luxurious, but the windows don't open and the doors automatically alert security when used.
