Page 32 of Redemption

I clench my jaw shut to hold in a scream of impotent rage. Shouting at him will get me nowhere. He seems convinced that I’m hysterical, irrational. After he stalked and kidnapped me.

Playing into his characterization of my behavior will only make him more convinced that he’s right to hold me here against my will.

I watch in stony silence as he takes the plates to the sink. The dishes clatter a bit more loudly than necessary as he cleans up, tension clear in every taut line of his powerful body. And yet, he manages to carry out the chore with a completely blank expression.

He doesn’t ask for my help as he dries the pans and puts everything neatly back in its place.

Something about the domesticity of the situation brings his psychopathy into sharp relief. He’s holding me against my will, but instead of using violence to subdue me, he’s cooking and cleaning for me. As though I’m a guest rather than his captive.

He truly thinks I’ll just get over his heinous crimes against me. He’s acting as though we can be together like a normal couple.

If anything, he’s doting on me. In his twisted mind, he probably thinks that he’s seeing to my every need.

He’s incapable of understanding that what I need more than anything is to get away from him.

“Come with me,” he commands when the kitchen is spotless. “I have something for you.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want it.”

His lips press to a grim line. “You’ll accept it regardless. You don’t seem ready to accept the fact that you don’t have to work anymore to make ends meet. I’m going to show you how I will provide for you. You’ll learn to embrace it, even if you have always been stubborn about accepting what my money can afford us. That ends now.”

I never should’ve let him buy my drinks. I shouldn’t have accepted the fancy dress for Meadows’ wedding.

I’d been afraid that he’d wield his wealth as a weapon against me, just like my family.

I’d been right, but I hadn’t listened to my gut instincts.

My back goes ramrod straight.

“I told you that I won’t be controlled financially ever again.” It takes effort to maintain a calm, flat tone. “Whatever you have for me, I refuse to accept. You can’t buy my affection, Dane.”

He shakes his head sharply, the only sign that his irritation is breaking through his cold façade.

“This isn’t about controlling you. It never has been. I want to take care of you. You’re the one who’s insisting on misunderstanding what I’m offering. I will never leverage my money against you. What I provide doesn’t come with strings attached.”

“No, you’re misunderstanding.” He truly seems to believe what he’s saying. “You want to keep me captive. You think I’ll soften towards you if you buy me things and ensure my comfort. That’s controlling behavior, Dane. You have to see that.”

“I will provide for you, Abigail. This isn’t a negotiation. And it’s not a manipulation. I told you from the beginning that I’m selfish. This is what I want: you, content and cared for in the way that you deserve. In time, I’ll prove to you that I don’t expect anything in return.”

His eyes glitter with icy determination. “Now, are you going to come with me, or am I going to have to carry you?”

I fix him with an imperious stare that’s icy enough to match his. “I don’t intend to be spanked like an unruly child again. I’ll walk.”

He shrugs. “It’s your choice.”

I hold back the tirade that it’s not a choice at all. He will take me wherever he wants to go, despite my protests. My only autonomy in this situation is whether or not I maintain some semblance of dignity.

He turns his back on me and strides out of the kitchen. It’s a small mercy that he didn’t reach for me, but I don’t dare hesitate to follow him in case he changes his mind about touching me.

We go through the labyrinthine rooms again, making our way back to the cavernous, wood-paneled entry hall. He silently leads me up the grand staircase, and I realize we’re heading toward his bedroom.

My steps falter. “I’m not going to have sex with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

His shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t turn to face me when he replies, “I’m not taking you to my bedroom.” He opens one of the doors we passed on our way down the long corridor with the portraits. “I converted this guest room into a studio for you while you were sleeping.”

I hate the longing that tugs at my heart, even as my stomach churns. Dane knows my deepest dreams of being a successful artist, and he’s using them against me.

“If you think I’ll want you just because you’ve provided a space for me to paint, you’re mistaken. This isn’t a gift, Dane. It’s a betrayal.”

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