Page 79 of Desperate Crimes
Not the way it should.
That’s the most insane part of all of this.
I swing my legs out of bed, only to find a folded piece of thick black stationery propped against a cut-glass vase filled with those beautiful dark roses—my favorite.
A note. In his handwriting. I recognize it immediately, and it’s just like him, strong and unmistakable.
You looked tired, Princess, so I let you sleep. I have to be at the Den until late tonight. Be a good girl.
-N
Be a good girl.
I roll my eyes, biting back a surprised smile.
“I’m not a pet, Nico,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the note.
But something about it twists warm and slow in my belly.
Still. That doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the day playing sleeping beauty in his castle.
I take a long soak in the ridiculous spa-like tub, then get dressed in another outfit that fits like it was tailored for me—because it probably was.
The closet is obscene, and every piece is exactly my style.
Summer knits, gauzy linen, delicate lace.
He hasn’t said it’s for me, but I think it is, and I have to wonder.
How far does his obsession go?
Far enough that I can’t ignore it anymore.
But I’m not a kept woman.
Not a collectible to perch on some gilded shelf and polish when he’s in the mood to play pretend.
I’m flesh and bone and wildfire wrapped in silk, and I won’t be caged—no matter how beautiful the prison.
So I order a car.
And I leave.
I don’t sneak. I don’t slink. I walk out with my chin high and my spine straight.
I expect guilt to eat at me. Fear to coil in my belly.
But it doesn’t.
What I feel is power.
Control.
A whisper of who I was before him.
Before the shadow he casts stretched over every inch of me.
That lasts for the entire ride into the city.
