Uncovering You 2: Submission (3 page)

I smother my disappointment. I knew in the back of my mind that this door would be locked. Only desperation led me to expect otherwise.

I may be a lot of things. I may
act
a lot of things, for Stonehart’s sake… but
desperate
is something I can never allow myself to become.

Because I need to be clear-minded and lucid if I am to plan my revenge.

My stomach growls, reminding me of food. I sigh. Even after the feast the old woman brought me, my body is crying out for nutrition. My next meal doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning. She told me so.

That means I have all night to explore.

Chapter Three

Behind the first painting is a short hallway with two doors at the end. I walk slowly, always mindful of triggering my collar. Stonehart may have said I could wander without worry, but can I really trust him to tell the truth?

The door to my right opens to a majestic bathroom. Shining tiles line the floor. All the appliances are gilded gold. My eyes take in the titular bathtub. It is already filled with water. I dip my hand in, and am delighted to find it warm.

Soaking in a tub is a privilege I have not had in years. I close the door for privacy—then stumble when I can’t find any way to lock it.

Of course you can’t lock it, you dolt. Stonehart wouldn’t let you bar yourself away.

A shiver crawls up my spine as I remember his words: “The time I make for you is a privilege.”

Suddenly, all desire for a hot bath vanishes. I am to be a sex slave. A
pampered
sex slave, perhaps, but a sex slave nonetheless.

I am halfway out of the room before I change my mind again. Stonehart said he would leave me alone for a week. That promise gives me a sense of security, false as it may be. I should not worry about him yet.

You have five years for that,
a small voice reminds me.

I shake my head.
No
. No! I have no intention of letting things last that long.

Mustering all my dignity, I disrobe and slip into the water, chin held high. I even pull the door open behind me.

I won’t have Stonehart think I am frightened.

My muscles quickly relax in the luxurious water. There’s a cupboard filled with assorted salts, soaps, and shampoos nearby. The only thing missing is a mirror.

An hour or two later—I lost track of time in the tub—I step out of the bathroom with a lush, thick towel wrapped under my armpits. I could almost imagine I’m alone in a magnificent hotel suite… were it not for the collar around my neck.

I hate that collar. I hate what it represents. I hate what it can do. It will never let me forget that I am a prisoner.

But, because of that, I will never forget my need for revenge.

The door across the hall is closed but not locked. I pry it open slowly—and am greeted by the most amazing powder room I’ve ever laid eyes on.

A waist-high, granite counter top is stocked with enough beauty tools
to make a makeup artist blush. Rows of lipstick in every shade fill one shelf. Eyeliner, eye shadow, moisturizers, powders, and all sorts of accessories fill another. All are from the most expensive beauty brands.

If Fey ever saw this room, she would die of pure joy.

Of course, there is also a mirror. I see my reflection for the first time in weeks. I barely recognize the girl staring back at me.

Stonehart was right: I look awful.

My skin is pale from lack of sun. My eyes have dark bags under them. My cheeks are hollow and sagging from poor nutrition. My lips, which have always been so naturally red that I never had the need for lipstick, are now a pallid gray. The usual shine in my eyes is gone, replaced by an empty lifelessness.

Anger flares inside of me. All of it is directed at
him
.
He
made me like this.
He
is the reason I am unrecognizable. I turn sideways to take in my profile. I’m so skinny I’m afraid the smallest gust of wind will blow me away.

Stonehart starved me, deprived me of everything, and then he has the goddamn nerve to call me
wretched
?

Calm down, Lilly
, the voice of reason whispers in my head.
Do
not
react to his words. They are meant
to incite you!

I relax my hands so my nails don’t draw blood from my palms. The voice is right. I gain nothing by responding to him this way.

I need to keep my emotions in check. But I will forget nothing he does. I will have vengeance, and I
will
bring Stonehart down.

I walk out of the powder room without touching so much as a speck. I have no desire for makeup.

Besides, I want to have ammunition in case Stonehart reneges on his word. He said I have seven days to myself. If he breaks his promise, and comes earlier, he will not find a woman looking her best.

I walk back to the room with the pillar. I decided to call it the sunroom while I was in the tub. Better than calling it a prison.

I make an annoyed sound in my throat after thinking of the term ‘prison.’ I promised myself that I would not refer to any part of this estate by that name.

It’s not that I’m trying to delude myself. Not at all. I want to avoid using that term to steel myself in my purpose.

A
prisoner
has no purpose. A
prisoner
has no choice.

But a
concubine
, on the other hand? She always has a choice.

Besides, truly: what better way is there to destroy something—or in this case, some
one
—than from the inside out?

Stonehart has his own reasons for keeping me here. I suspect they go deeper than his baser desires. But I have my own reasons for staying, too.

Fool! It’s not like you can just walk out!

I shake my head to silence that voice. The only way to keep my sanity—the only way to have some semblance of control—is to make myself believe that I am here for my own reasons. If I truly want to take down Stonehart Industries—and the man with it—I need to be smart. I need to bide my time. I need to ingratiate myself to him, to appear weak, and harmless, and above all,
nothing
like a threat. I need him to
think
he is winning.

Because the moment he lets down his guard… this mouse will transform into a viper.

Pleased with my plan of attack, I walk about the sunroom and investigate the areas beyond the other paintings.

I find the sitting room next. It has a small desk and a stool, along with one locked door that I assume is monitored from the other side. I write down my request for breakfast on a piece of paper and slip it underneath, just like Stonehart told me to do.

I walk back out and go up to the final painting. It’s clever, I think, how the architect was able to disguise the doorways with these pieces of art. Judging by what I’ve seen of the structure, this estate was built recently.

I unclasp the latch and pull it open, not knowing what to expect inside…

My eyes go wide and I forget to breathe. Behind painting number three is the biggest room of all. In fact, it might rival the size of my entire Palo Alto apartment.

I walk in and stare in disbelief. This room is a
closet
. It’s a fully-stocked, giant
closet
. There are as many clothes here as you would expect to find in the back of a Nordstrom’s or Saks’.

One wall is lined with shoes. There are pumps and sandals, heels and boots. There are oxfords and wedges and platforms,
some in rich leathers, others lined with fur.

I pick up a pair at random and slip them onto my feet. They are a perfect fit.

I see a rack of robes tucked away in a corner. I drop my towel in haste and run across, then wrap myself in the first one that I reach. I hug the luxurious fabric to my skin and breathe deep, loving the scent of clean, new fabric.

Feeling, for the first time in a long time, comfortable and cozy, I stroll amongst the remaining racks. I run my hands through the hanging garments. Blouses, jackets, skirts, dresses, stockings, scarves, and a million other pieces of clothing all fill the room.

All of them are for me
.

Suddenly, I feel nauseous. The closet has only one entrance that I can see. It’s only accessible from the sunroom.

That means all these clothes were here for me
before
I arrived.

Holy shit! How long had Stonehart been planning my abduction?

A cold sweat grips me as I sit down hard. Stonehart’s assistant said she’d been looking for me when she called. I assumed she meant that day, but what if the search had been going on for weeks? Months?

The clothes confirm I am not some random victim. No, I am stuck in the middle of some unknown web of Stonehart’s making.

But why me
? I wrack my brain but find no answer. What interest can a man of Stonehart’s stature possibly have in
me
?

I have no family other than my mother, and I haven’t spoken to her in years. I have no sisters or brothers, no cousins, or distant relatives. I don’t even have a boyfriend! I should be completely anonymous as far as Stonehart is concerned.

But, I’m not. Why? How? When did he first take an interest in me?

I have no idea. But I swear on everything I’m worth that I
will
find out.

I get back up. The clothes pose a riddle I have no answer for. But if there’s one thing I possess in abundance, it’s time. Time enough to figure this out.

One other thought strikes me as I leave the room:
I don’t see any lingerie anywhere.

Chalk up one more personality quirk to my captor.

Chapter Four

I wake up the next morning to the rising sun. Feeling the warm rays on my face after two long weeks in the dark is surreal. A jumble of emotions bubbles up inside: joy, disbelief, excitement.

A few minutes later, I get up and walk into the sitting room, following the smell of food. I find a generous portion of all that I’ve asked for waiting for me on the desk. I carry the plates back to the sunroom, sit down close to the glass, and have breakfast looking out at the magnificent ocean before me.

I have nothing to do when I finish, so I bring out a towel from the bathroom and lie on it on the floor in the sun. The late September rays aren’t as strong as they would have been just a few weeks ago. But I want to soak up as much vitamin D as I can. Doing that always improves my mood.

As I lie there, I reflect on how much things have changed since I signed the contract. I may be only two days removed from my previous, near-death condition, but, already, I feel like a woman transformed.

It’s funny how much a bit of perceived freedom can lift a person up.

Yet, that’s exactly what this newfound freedom is:
Perceived
. I am not really free. I am completely at Stonehart’s mercy.

He’s given me seven days to recuperate. What happens after, when the contract
really
kicks in?

I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. Whatever happens, I will face it holding onto my true purpose with an iron grip.

I
will
be ready for him when he comes. And one day, he will learn that he chose the wrong girl as his plaything.

A bell chimes behind me, startling me to my knees. I whip back and look around, but find the room empty.

It sounds once more, from down the hall leading to the sitting room.

Curious but cautious, I start slowly toward the room. I’ve never heard that bell before, and new things in my surroundings must be approached with due respect.

Halfway there, the smell of freshly-cut strawberries hits my nose. I rush forward, and discover lunch waiting for me.

There’s a huge bowl of berries, accompanied by a tall glass of water. The succulent smell of the fruits is almost enough to make me weepy again. After being deprived of food for so long, each meal is a blessing.

I’m in the process of stuffing a handful in my mouth when I notice an envelope tucked under the glass. I put the berries down, feeling an ominous threat growing in the back of my mind. Carefully, I wipe my hands on a cloth and pick the envelope up.

There are two pieces of paper inside. Both are folded, but I can see through the back. One has handwriting on it. The other has printed text.

I unfold the handwritten one first.

I hope you are enjoying your food today. I want to remind you that freedom comes with a price.

Do not neglect the body shape clause in our contract. Nothing angers me more than sloppiness.

- J.S.

PS: Attached you will find my test results from yesterday morning. I hope they ease your lingering concerns.