Sebastian has his own study, almost identical to mine, in the West Wing of the house. He wants access to this one because it belongs to me. Similar to what you might see in sibling rivalry as we did grow up like brothers.
He huffs. “I don’t need your space, anyway.”
“Sure,” I say with a quick shake of my head before stepping into the elevator that leads to the underground garage. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
He waves me off as the metal doors close.
Anxious to keep watch over her, I entertain thoughts of teasing her with my presence on my way to her house.
Chapter 8
Lux
It’s been exactly seven days since I escaped the hell that whoever those men were put me through.
Falling back into my typical routine has become more of a burden than I could have imagined, and the turmoil within me is becoming harder to contain. I’ve always had a clear purpose, and with losing that I find my anger conflicted between the assault and the control I once thought I had.
A desire for vengeance pumps through my veins while a restless need for answers about who those men were, and why they targeted me breeds an anxious and unsettled feeling preventing me from focusing on anything else.
It’s almost 11 p.m. and my desk is covered with files I find impossible to peel my eyes from. If my dad found out I’m using his logins to get information, he’d lose his mind.
But I can’t stop.
The events of that night started rolling in like waves one after another, and from there some of the pieces began to fall into place. While coming in and out of consciousness, I was able to recognize the man with the bad comb-over even though he masked his face. His voice is very distinct as well, remembering the slight drawl at the end of his sentences. I knew I recognized him from the club that night when he obnoxiously approached Stevie and me.
With his expensive shoes and dressed like he’s beyond his years, it was Andrew Hughes, the hotel heir. Once I found his picture in the database, I’ve spent the last week researching everything about this man in a failed attempt to make myself feel better. Like it would somehow help to know who did it or why.
A startling vibration shakes me from a trance. I grab my phone from the top of my desk and open it to find a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Why aren’t you sleeping?
My blood instantly runs cold.
No…
My eyes dart around my office as if he can see me. Fear seizes hold of me, rendering me frozen, locking my limbs in place. Not knowing what to do or how to respond, I remain still. Is it Andrew? Does he know I’m still alive? If he took me from my house before, he knows where I live and can come for me again.
Before I can spiral more, another text comes through.
Unknown: When I dropped you off last week, I told you to put this behind you.
Wait. It can’t be…
Realization finally dawns on me.
The guy in the mask who brought me home that night.
Why is he contacting me? What should I do?
Since that night, every so often, I find myself thinking about him but I remain unsure about my impression of him. This man could have killed me but he chose not to. I should block his number or ignore him, but against my better judgment, I pick up the phone with trembling fingers, my heart pounding against my ribcage as I type out a response.
Me: I don’t like being told what to do.
Unknown: Or you’re not as smart as you think you are.
Me: Excuse me? How did you get my number, anyway?
Unknown: I have my ways.
