7 days left. 7 more days and I’ll have fulfilled my half of the bargain. I can leave this place, go back to my real life. Go to California and start college, at last.

I frown, thinking of that. I haven’t had contact with anyone since I got here. Dad must have known I was coming, since he set all this up—my stomach still churns with hatred at the thought that he’s capable of something like that—but what did he tell Mom? Did he call the school and tell them I’d be late? Did he explain to Cece what happened?

Neither Mom nor Cece know anything about the auction site—thank god. Not yet, anyway. But they must have been worried sick when I didn’t show up that night, three weeks ago now. And then they didn’t hear anything from me for weeks…

I wonder if they’re searching for me. I wonder if Dad set up the timing of this, if he knew I’d be delayed from school. If maybe he timed it like this because he didn’t want me going to California.

Did Dad put Cece up for auction too? Or was that Farrow, knowing that I’d have to go with him if it looked like Dad was willing to auction off my little sister?

I hate not knowing. I hate being trapped here against my will.

And yet…

I shake my head, going to my private bathroom to splash water on my face.

The sex, admittedly, has been amazing. My first time was hotter than any virgin’s should be. It’s almost as if Farrow really does have some kind of hold over me… Like we have some kind of connection.

But no. It’s just because I’m stuck here and there’s nothing else to do but see him, fuck him, try to figure out his secrets, like those portraits of his mother in the halls. If I had a choice, I’d leave this very second.

Wouldn’t I?

I’m counting down the days, and yet, when I think about that actual day, the day I’ll be able to get into a car and drive away, my stomach turns itself into knots. Because after that day, I know, I’ll never see Farrow again.

So what?

He told me his sickening plan three weeks ago when he first brought me here. He told me he’d make me debase myself on video, beg for him. But I’ll never do that. He’s getting 30 days from me, and not a thing more.

It’s strange, though. That plan is so dark, so twisted, but the man I’ve seen over the last few weeks is usually anything but. Just yesterday, I came back to my room to find a new easel and sketchpad, complete with a full set of charcoals waiting for me. He noticed what made me happy—my art—and he made sure I could pursue it.

That person, the man who bought me art supplies and who wrapped his arms around me, held me against him after we had sex… He’s not the same person who told me he wanted me to humiliate myself. It makes no sense.

But I have to remember the dark side. The part of him that wants to use me. Break me. That’s what I need to remember.

One more week, and then I’m more than happy to never see him and his evil face ever again. His evil, sexy face. His hard abs, his perfectly sculpted chest… His huge, stiff cock…

I storm out of my room so fast that I nearly collide with one of the maids. She gasps and steps back, dropping what’s in her arms. I reach for it, but miss, and something shatters on the ground between us.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, already knowing this will only make her and all the other servants glare at me even more. I stoop to pick up what she dropped, a frame that landed facedown. But when I turn it over, it’s my turn to pause and stare.

I recognize it right away. It’s hard to mistake something when you made it yourself.

I stare at the sketch I drew for Farrow in the garden, the roses growing along the trellis. He had it framed?

He wanted to save it?

The maid snatches it out of my hands, a panicked look on her face, and darts away before I can press her for more information. I watch her leave, frowning.

He kept that, and he didn’t want me to know? From the looks of it, that woman was pretty concerned about me seeing the picture…

I scowl. This has gone on long enough. Him toying with me, playing these games.

I storm upstairs.

He’s not in his study or any of the unlocked spare rooms. But I saw him at breakfast so I know he’s here somewhere. I keep trying doorknobs until I find one that leads to the corner office, a dingy little spot with barely any light, and one ancient-looking desktop set up, which I assumed no one ever used. But I find Farrow perched in front of it now, shirtless, tapping away at the keys.

For a second, I pause in the doorway, distracted by the sight of his bare chest. Even lounging at the computer desk, his abs look rock-solid, and distracting as hell…

“Did you need something?” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. Then he taps at the keyboard a few more times and reaches up to angle something toward me. A webcam, I realize, which he turns on to capture a quick still image of me. “Or did you come to see the studio where you’ll record your video in a week?”

I’m still lingering in the doorway, torn and distracted. He turns around finally and catches me staring at his chest. A smirk spreads across his mouth and he crooks a finger.

I cross the room to his side. “I’m not recording that video,” I tell him. But this close, I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and his smirk only widens as he leans in and catches me around the waist, pulling me onto his lap.

“We’ll talk about that in 7 days,” he murmurs into my collarbone, before he starts to feather kisses along my skin. “In the meantime, if you want more of me so badly, you needn’t get angry about it.” He bites down, hard, right where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp, my head falling back. “I’ll happily give you what you need,” he adds, before he kisses the aching bite, his tongue tracing circles onto my skin.

He pulls my legs up around his waist, and I perch atop him on the chair as his mouth lifts to catch mine in a deep, slow kiss. He reaches down to tug my skirt out from under me, rolling it up to my waist, and I reach between us to open his jeans. His bare chest pressed against my body, hot under my hands, makes me too hungry to wait. I undo the button on his jeans, tug open the zipper, surprising myself at how easily I can do this now. Remembering how hard it was the first time he told me to strip for him. Now it feels like second nature.

We manage to push his jeans down, his boxers after, and he catches my mouth in a hungry kiss at the same time, biting my lower lip. I groan into his mouth, and he smiles, leaning back just a little, fire in his eyes. “Someone’s anxious this morning.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I breathe before I kiss him again, harder.

He tightens a fist in my hair, pulls me back, and for a second I freeze, worried I’ve pushed too far. But the grin on his face is all hunger, no annoyance. “Normally I prefer to be the one in command,” he says, lifting an eyebrow at me. Then he arches his hips to grind his already hardening cock against me in a slow, torturous thrust. “But I’ll make an exception this once,” he adds, still grinning. “Since you’re so very desperate for a release.”

Without another word, he rips off the panties I’m wearing, and grabs my ass in both hands. This time, he puts the condom on himself, probably too eager to wait for me to fumble with it. He pulls me down onto his cock, my pussy already wet with desire, and he thrusts inside me in one long, hard motion. I cry out faintly, savoring the feel of him stretching me, filling me. Part of my brain knows I should be worried about the way I feel—so complete, when he’s inside me. But mostly I don’t care. I just want more of him, now.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight, Pamona,” he murmurs. He holds my hips in place with both hands, raising his hips off the chair to fuck me, my back arching, head falling back with pleasure. He knows how to angle his cock to drag along my front wall, to hit my G-spot every time, and before long I’m rocking my hips against him, getting close to a release.

I’m on top, but he’s still in control, holding my hips where he wants them, pumping up into me. As he does, he licks his way along my neck, bites the sensitive skin right where it meets my shoulder. “I had a feeling you’d be this dirty, Pamona. So hungry for my cock…”

I groan softly in response and tighten my grip on him, arching my back to ride him faster. He thrusts up into me harder, keeping up a steady, building rhythm.

“Remember the first time you watched me come?” he murmurs. “I could tell you wanted me, even then.”

I bite my lip. I won’t admit it. But it doesn’t matter.

He already knows.

His smile widens, and he catches my mouth in a quick, possessive kiss. “Was it worth the wait?” he asks, his breath hot on my face.

“Yes,” I gasp, because what else can I say when he’s still driving up into me.

“Good.” He laughs softly. He searches my gaze again for a moment. “Because I really love watching you come.”

That’s when he reaches between us and presses his thumb to my clit. Rubs along it in quick, sharp circles as he continues to fuck me. I scream his name when I my orgasm crashes over me, and he just keeps fucking me, deeper and harder with each thrust, until he grips my hips painfully hard in both hands and groans with his own release, a deep, animal sound, low in his throat.

When he finishes, I lean in to kiss him softly, the scent of sex heavy in the air between us. “I like watching you, too,” I admit in a whisper, and he laughs softly, but there’s something in his eyes when they catch mine. There’s a gap in the wall he’s raised between us.

We pad from the study into the shower together, and we take turns lathering one another with soap. I’m rubbing his back, and I can see that he’s starting to grow hard again, when I remember why I came looking for him in the first place. He turns around to take his turn soaping my back, and I turn away from him, facing the showerhead, watching the water stream down the wall. It’s only because I can’t see his face that I summon up the courage to ask.

“Why did you frame my sketch?” I ask.

His hands still against my back for a moment. They’re still touching me, resting against the blades of my shoulders, but he doesn’t move for a long time.

“One of the maids dropped it when I bumped into her this morning,” I add. “She seemed like she didn’t want me to see it; I felt bad.”

“Don’t,” he says. But that’s all the answer I get.

I look over my shoulder at last, and find a distant, lost expression in his eyes. He looks… sad. Extremely so.

I turn fully around and reach up to touch his chest gently. Lean in to kiss his neck softly. “What happened to you?” I ask softly, face buried in the crook of his neck. He shakes his head, but I realize even as I ask it that it’s the wrong question. “What happened to your mother?”

He closes his eyes. Leans back against the shower wall. But he doesn’t leave. When he opens his eyes again, they’re red with the effort of holding in his emotions. “She was the one who taught me how to draw,” he says. “She loved art; she loved all beautiful things… She was too good for this world.” He shakes his head, lips clamped into a thin line. The hurt in his eyes slowly blossoms into anger. Rage like I’ve never seen before. “Someone hurt her when I was young. Attacked her. Raped her violently and repeatedly. He ruined her, and she couldn’t stand knowing it. She killed herself a few months after.”

He.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Farrow’s determination to destroy my father in the most public way possible. The video he wants me to record. The reason he chose this as his form of revenge.

My stomach hardens into a solid knot, and my vision swims before my eyes.

I knew my father was into some shady dealings. I knew he wasn’t always a nice person. But business problems were one thing. This?

I come back to myself and realize I’m shaking my head. Whispering no, over and over again. Farrow has his hands around my arms, holding me in place, but I just keep shaking. “No,” I say, louder. “He couldn’t…” But the words die on my lips. Because deep down, I know he could.

And that’s the scariest part.

I’m the daughter of a monster.

Farrow catches my eye, a sympathetic, pained look in his. “Yes, Pamona.” He grimaces again. “After she passed… My father followed pretty soon after. Coronary attack, they said, but I knew what it really was. He died of a broken heart. I don’t blame him. I nearly did too. I was only thirteen, and suddenly I had more money than I knew what to do with. Their entire fortune was mine, and I didn’t give a shit. All I wanted was to make sure no one could get hurt like that again. When I finished school, I went into the security business—bodyguards, guns, cameras, everything. I can’t change the past… But I can help protect the future.”

He reaches up to cup my cheek gently. “That’s why you’re here. To make sure your father never hurts anyone again.”

I shake away from his touch. I can’t face him, not now. Not knowing what my father did, why I’m here paying the price for his evil actions. My father is the reason Farrow has suffered, his entire life. And how many other people did my father put into this position? How many other lives has he ruined while he kept me locked up in that house like a prize of his, as if he was a good person, as if he cared about my safety and not just about what the many people he’d ruined might do to me for the sake of revenge?

No wonder the staff in this house all glare at me. They know what my father did to a woman they all adored, a good woman, an artist like my own mother…

I brush Farrow away when he reaches for me again, push past him and stumble out of the shower. Grab my towel and run, headed somewhere I can be alone to think…