Isabelle

"You're so beautiful," I murmur softly. "But you already know that, don't you? Look at you. Of course, you do. Every lady wants you, and you take them all, then just ignore them like you have more pressing things than them in your life."

I let my fingers glide through his silky mane, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the chill in the air.

"Neigh," the black stallion responds, nudging his soft muzzle into my other hand where a sugar cube waits. I stroke Phillip's face, his sleek black coat gleaming even under the dreary overcast sky.

"Of course, you're his favorite," I sigh, handing him the treat. "You're just like him—fuck them and leave them." I huff as Phillip nudges my chest, already demanding more sugar. "Not that he actually fucked me... I think. Does what we did qualify as fucking? Am I still a virgin?" I let out another sigh, shaking my head as I pour the bucket of feed into the trough. "And now I'm asking a horse for sex advice. I've officially gone bonkers."

Phillip rears slightly before settling down to eat, and I can't help but smile as the other horses trot over to join him. "Thanks for listening, Phillip," I murmur, reaching through the fence to give him one last pet. "You're the best listener in this place."

Leaning against the paddock, I pull my hood up as a biting breeze sweeps through. I glance up at the sky. It's dark and heavy, threatening more snow. I know I should probably go inside while the horses finish stretching their legs, but the chill out here is nothing compared to the frigidness I've endured living in this godforsaken manor of the damned for the past few months.

Since that first night, it's like it physically pains Adam—Mr. Marsters—to even address me. Not that I'm pining for his company or anything. I mean, one can only take so much of "sparkling" and "charming" personalities... or so I've heard. I'd give a million bucks to see anything remotely charming or sparkling from the old fart.

Wait. That's not fair to old farts.

At least their smells are somewhat intriguing, if not repulsive. But I'd still rather be trapped in a room with the stinkiest farts than spend a moment with Ad—Mr. Marsters.

I hate old men.

Okay, so technically, he's not that much older than me—not that you'd know it from the deep creases etched into his face from years of scowling—but he plays the part pretty damn well. It's like he's never liked anyone other than himself his entire life.

But despite knowing how awful this man is and how miserable he's made my life these past few months, I can't stop thinking about our bathroom encounter... or that goddamn incident in his office.

There must be something wrong with me.

Definitely.

Like, hook me up to monitors and do a research study to find the disease overtaking my heart and brain. Whenever Adam Marsters isn't tormenting me in person, he's still scrambling my brain cells.

My free time consists of wondering if that night actually happened or if it was just some twisted fantasy. And God help me, if I imagined it, I'd happily donate my demented mind to science 'cause it'd be the case study of a lifetime. It'd probably win someone a Pulitzer—a study on delusional pathways created by hyper-imaginative minds.

But I promise, I don't think about Adam Marsters, his washboard abs, or that massive bat-and-balls combo he's packing. Okay, sue me. I might be a bit confined, but I'm not a nun. A girl has to pass her time somehow. Whenever Ad—Marst—screw it—Adam speaks to me, it's usually to criticize something I've done wrong or to deny yet another of my requests for even the tiniest bit of technology to get me through these never-ending days.

Living here feels like I've stepped through a portal to the 1880s. Aside from that ridiculous wall of monitors in his office and the plethora of ever-watching security cameras, it's like technology exists in this place. Even the staff hides their cell phones from him like they're in some kind of secret rebellion.

At first, it wasn't so bad, but as the days dragged on, the more I craved the chance to tinker and invent again. My hands practically itched to build something—anything. I got so desperate, I would've taken apart my phone for spare parts if Adam hadn't confiscated it—along with my car keys—that first night. Or, more accurately, had Claud do his dirty work for him. Claud had been more than happy to take my stuff away, the bastard. I'm not sure which was worse, taking away my stuff or Claud's smug face as he did it.

Still, Adam's haughty face makes Claud's seem like a cuddly smile in comparison. His face is a whole different kind of insufferable. It's like he lives to refuse my requests, thriving off the power of keeping me under his thumb. Every time I ask for something, he's got the same answer: I don't need anything distracting from my "work."

Asshole.

He even forbade me from speaking to my dad after a while, claiming I spent too many work hours on the phone with him. But I know it's more than that. He's still punishing me for whatever sin I committed to piss him off so much that first night.

Part of me wishes I knew what I did to make him so furious, but the bigger part of me knows this is just who he is—a cold, unyielding, impossible-to-please colossal dick. When my craving to create hit its breaking point, I started "liberating" the clocks off the walls in rooms Adam never bothered going into so I could use the parts to invent again. I mean, really, who are they keeping time for? The ghosts of the mansion? I doubt Casper gives two rat turds about punctuality.

Once he caught on to what I was doing, he had every clock and anything with mechanical parts removed from the house—except for the cameras. His precious security system and my worst enemy. I can always feel his motorized eyes watching me, tracking my every move.

Luckily, the staff takes pity on me. Ms. Pottsworth—or Eliza, as she keeps reminding me to call her— slips me sketchpads and pencils so I can at least draw out my inventions. She even convinced Adam's driver to swing by my house and grab some of my mom's other books and a few of my clothes.

Thank God.

I shudder, thinking of what Adam would've bought for me to dust in.

Probably one of those French maid outfits.

Eww, squared.

Louis, ever the charmer, hits on me publicly once a week as a ploy to get me alone so I can use his cell to call my dad. Not that he saves his smooth lines just for those moments he's helping me out, of course. I'm surprised that with his massive charm index, he isn't taken. Then again, that index is probably the reason he isn't.

Silver foxes like him never settle down. They just drift along, flirting with woman after woman until they croak. Not that I'm mad about it. The things that guy says can really boost a girl's self-esteem, all while sharpening her own flirt game in the process. Not to brag, but if I ever get out of this escape room from hell, my newfound lines will have my V-card punched faster than a starving ape devours a banana.

Even Claud, as stiff and annoyingly subservient as he is, has shown me some pity—which must give some clue as to how pitiful I am. Somewhere beneath that oversized paunch, there's got to be a heart—or at least an echo of one. He's started sneaking me broken clocks and gadgets he finds at the local flea markets. Most of it is absolute junk, but the gesture isn't lost on me.

I pull out my mom's book, ready to lose myself in its pages for my— albeit brief—daily escape. I stare at the hero and heroine on the cover, shaking my head. The hero and heroine on the cover seem almost mocking now. I can't believe there was a time I actually thought my life here might turn out like one of her novels— my own personal romance for the ages.

Well, egg on my face.

I'm sure some malicious god or goddess was having a laugh at my expense when I realized my supposed romance was actually a mind-splitting, agonizingly cruel horror novel—one where the monster doesn't kill its victim but instead slowly drives them beyond insanity. My only solace now is hoping that this book doesn't slip into a murder mystery.

"What are my horses still doing out here? It's freezing!" Adam's voice slices through the air, sharper and icier than the wind. It also whips harder than the wind against my skin. "Are you trying to kill them?"

Although, it wouldn't be much of a mystery as to who killed whom.

I groan, clenching my jaw as I arch an eyebrow at him. I turn another page in my book, mentally gearing up for war. "I was just about to bring them in, Mr. Marsters," I reply, making no effort to hide the spite in my voice. He's used to it by now.

"Good. And the flowers in the greenhouse?"

"Already watered," I say, eyes still glued to my book. Out of all the chores I have here, tending to the flowers is actually my favorite. I wasn't sure I'd be any good at it, but it turns out all the things my mom taught me about gardening before she died had stuck. Plus, surrounded by flowers makes me feel like she's still with me.

"The roses—"

"Are healthy. They look amazing," I reply.

He turns away with his usual stern expression, but not before I catch the faintest hint of a smile. "Good."

"You should come check them out sometime," I suggest, trying to chip away at the glacier between us.

"Perhaps," he says, his voice softening for the first time in months. "Thank you, Miss Shepherd."

My eyebrows shoot up—he's never thanked me for anything before. The simple phrase sends a tingling thrill down my spine and quickens my pulse.

No. Bad girl.

I bite the inside of my lip. Forcing myself not to get sucked into fantasizing about him—or getting turned on by his fleeting charming moments—has become a full-time job. I've been working overtime to rewire my stupid feelings for him. So far, it hasn't been too successful. But maybe this tiny bit of kindness is an olive branch. Maybe he's finally over whatever grudge he's been holding against me.

Maybe now's the perfect time to ask for something.

You're a sucker for punishment, aren't you?

"I was wondering..." I hesitate, already nervous about his response.

"Yes?" he asks, raising a brow at me.

I let out a deep breath and push forward. "I was wondering if it would be possible for me—since I've been doing so well with my chores—to maybe have some gadgets. Nothing crazy, just something small so I can create some of my inventions."

"No."

Or maybe that small kindness was just a fluke, and I'm a dipshit who needs to try harder not to pretend Adam Marsters is capable of having actual human emotions like the characters in my mom's novels.

That's a good girl.

"Are you kidding me? You didn't even pretend to consider it."

"I don't need to," he replies, his face hardening even more, if that's possible. "I can't have your focus split on something so ridiculous."

I glower at him, my frustration building.

I hate you.

"Is that why you're pretending like nothing happened between us?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

He doesn't even flinch, completely unfazed by the loathing in my voice. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says casually.

My eyes bulge explosives ready to detonate deathly daggers from my head aimed directly at Adam.

Is he serious?

"You're insane! You really have to control everything everyone does, or you're miserable, aren't you? At first, I thought you were just particular, and they say you're mourning, but nope. You're just batshit crazy!" I explode, launching verbal shrapnel since my glaring stares seem to have no effect on him. "I may or may not have lost my virginity to you, and you're acting like it never happened. Newsflash—you can't erase the fact that you fucked me by being a complete douche."

"So, you are a virgin," he smirks.

"None of your business!" I snap, turning to storm off, but he grabs my wrist and spins me back around. With each chilling second, his face resembles less of a man's and more that of a beast's.

"I will not tolerate such blatant impertinence from my staff," he says, snatching my book effortlessly from my hand despite my vise-like grip on it. His grip tightens on my wrist the more I writhe against his hold. "And I thought I said you didn't need distractions." He flips through the pages, rolling his eyes. "Especially not by this drivel."

"Give it back," I demand, tears stinging my eyes as he holds the book just out of my reach. Even though I'm 5'6", Adam still towers over me, his arms stretching far beyond my jumping abilities. "Now!"

His jaw tightens, the vein in his temple pulsing, before he shoves me away. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Miss Shepherd," he says, ripping the book in half and tossing it into a slush puddle.

"What did you do?" I gasp, shattering as I watch the pages sink into the mud. "That was the last gift my mom ever gave me," I sob, pounding my fists against his chest, my heart deteriorating with every soaking page that anchors me to my mom. "You monster!"

My words must strike something sinister within him because his eyes flicker with a cold darkness. He grabs my wrists and pulls me close, his face just inches from mine, his grip tightening as I squirm. "Get back to your chores," he commands, shoving me away as he releases me.

He glowers, crossing his arms, waiting for me to do what every other one of his servants does—be the dutiful, subservient fool in spite of his cruelty.

"That's it. I'm done. Congratulations, you have one less mindlessly obedient subject under your control." I can barely look him in the eye without wanting to claw them out—no wonder someone already tried before me. Somehow, I gather what little restraint I have left, and instead of kicking him square in the balls, I storm back toward the house.

"Your father will go to jail," he calls after me.

"Fuck, at least they get TV there and don't have to have dinner with dickholes," I shout back, not slowing down.

"What about the horses?" he yells after me.

"Take in your own damn horses," I retort, flipping him off as I keep walking.

I should've punted his sack. 

Author's Note:

Thank you for sticking with me through Isabelle's rollercoaster of emotions in this chapter! If you've been feeling all the ups and downs, the angst, the fire, and maybe even a bit of that heartbreak—I'd love to hear your thoughts. Your feedback and reactions are what truly keep me going. So please, take a moment to comment and share what you're feeling. And if you're enjoying the story, giving it a vote means the world! Thank you for being part of this journey with me.