Page 61 of Cruel Master
What happened to him in the five years since we split? Once he found out I turned him in, he cut me off completely. The divorce was simple—no kids, minimal assets, and we were still renting. I tried to talk to him, but he blocked me on everything.
He’d never bothered with social media much, but he deleted the little he had. None of our mutual friends ever heard from him again. It was like he wiped everything tainted by me from his life and started again.
Even though I understood why, it fucking hurt. I’d imagine him in some distant city, working away at his projects. How, in the name of fuck, did he end up with the resources to create a prison like this?
And why?
If he wanted me back in his life, he could have just called. No need to go to these lengths.
Maybe my betrayal broke him and he’s clinically insane. But despite the great, steaming pile of evidence to the contrary, he doesn’tfeelinsane. He didn’t as Saldar. As himself? I don’t know yet.
Every hour I’m left to my own thoughts might as well be a million years. When the lights start to dim, indicating it’s time to sleep, I finally crack. He can’t justdothis. Reveal himself, then breeze off like nothing has changed. Like he’s still Saldar, mysterious masked stranger, and not my ex-goddamn-husband.
I march to the door and hammer on it. “Hadrian! Open this door! Come in here and talk to me, you fucking asshole!”
I deleted the part where you called him an asshole.
I freeze as I remember the voice. It hasn’t returned, and I’d started to wonder if I’d imagined it, but now it makes even less sense. If it’s Hadrian keeping me captive and not some shadowy organization, then just who the hell was that woman? Is she helping him?
The jealousy hits like a jet of cold water, and even though I know it’s ridiculous, my fists clench anyway. What if they’re together and laughing at me? What if even now, they’re sippinga glass of wine, watching me like a fish in a tank, wondering what I’m going to do next?
No. Don’t be stupid. Hadrian wouldn’t do that.
Hadrian wouldn’t do any of the stuff he’s done to you. But he has.
What if it’s not him? What if he’s got an evil twin, separated at birth, like some bad sitcom? But, no, the birthmark. Twins don’t have matching birthmarks, do they? I don’t think so. God, what am I even thinking? I turn away from the door and slump to the floor, head in my hands.
The lights slowly dim. I force myself to feed Charlie—none of this mess is her fault—and tuck myself into my makeshift bed. Why did he get me a spider? He hates them. Maybe he wants to make a point that he’s a badass now. The new, scary Hadrian isn’t frightened of spiders.
None of this makes any sense, and my head is starting to ache. Eventually, I fall into a restless sleep.
The next morning, I eat my toast and come up with a plan. Somewhere during the night, a few important facts made their way through my mushy head. I’m not dealing with an unknown anymore. I know Hadrian. Whatever has happened to him, I can reason with him.
We spent fifteen years together. He doesn’t really want to keep me in a cage forever. I just need to break through the personality he’s wrapped himself in and find the real him again.
When the door clicks, the inbuilt Pavlovian response urges me to fall to my knees, but I fight it. I’m not Hadrian’s slave, however much he tried to convince me with yesterday’s performance. He can’t hide behind the Saldar costume anymore. And there’s no way Hadrian Glass can look me in the eye and treat me as a sex toy. No way.
I’ve wrapped the altar cloth around myself like a dress, giving me some semblance of clothing. Why didn’t I bother to do that before? It seemed pointless with Saldar in charge. Now it feels like armor.
He enters, and my breath catches to see he’s still himself. Part of me had been sure he’d walk in as Saldar. Black jeans sit low on his hips, and he’s bare chested again, showing off his new ink and muscles. He’s so familiar and so different from the man I once knew that I have to work to keep my shoulders back and look him in the eyes.
He closes the door behind him unhurriedly and quirks up his eyebrow in the way I always used to love as he studies me. “On your knees, doll. And strip.”
His voice hasn’t changed.
Christ, hearing that command in his rich, cultured voice does something to my insides. His dad always wanted to be richer than he was and sent Hadrian for elocution lessons to make sure he could hold his own in the country club set, should he ever get there. A total waste of money. Hadrian would rather chew off his own foot than go to a white-tie social event.
My resolve wobbles at the calm authority in the words. He doesn’t have Saldar’s growl, but he definitely has his confidence. I take a deep breath. “We need to talk. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but—”
“Last chance. On your knees, and strip.”
There’s a tug, deep in my belly.Obey.The urge is so strong my knees wobble, twitching toward bending for him. Is it the weeks of conditioning or just the way he’s looking at me? There’s a darkness in his eyes that was never there before.
Maybe this was a bad move. Maybe—
“You’ve made a poor decision.”
The words have a doom-laden ring to them, and it takes everything I have not to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. I watch him like a bird watches a cat, tense and ready for him to strike. My heart hammers, and my skin heats. Every second that passes, the chance of us having a sensible conversation fades further away.
