I’m going mad. The sound of Arlo fucking those whores is making me crazy. I’ve tried to distract myself by going through the drawers and cabinets in his bathroom. But I’m pretty sure that this isn’t the main bathroom he uses. All I’ve found are a few towels, a full bottle of soap, and a box of condoms. Nothing really to go through to learn about Arlo. Nothing to reorganize and distract myself with.

Now, every moan, every groan, every grunt is going to forever be burned into my memory. I’m never going to forget the sound that Arlo makes when he’s had his turn with each of the women. The sound of their bodies banging together, completed with vivid images from my own imagination. My jealousy at not getting to be one of his girls consumes me.

I don’t understand why Arlo won’t let me fuck him like all the rest of the women. How am I any different? But, on the other hand, I also don’t understand why he let me go as far as I did before he stopped me. Why did he let me strip for him? Why did he let me dance on his lap? Why did he stop me only when I went in for a kiss?

I don’t have the answers, only questions. Questions that are driving me mad. I have no idea how long they fuck, but it seems like hours pass until they stop. They don’t talk when they’re done. Not a, Was that good for you?, Did you come?, or, I’ll walk you out. They just stop.

And then there’s nothing for me to hear but silence. And, somehow, this feels worse than listening to them fuck. I feel empty and abandoned.

I wait a few seconds for the door to open, but it doesn’t open.

I walk over to it and try the doorknob again, hoping that, this time, it will somehow be unlocked. But the doorknob doesn’t budge. Pushing on the door doesn’t help either. Despite the house being hundreds of years old, the door is solid. There is no way I’m breaking the door or the lock.

I walk back to the rug in front of the bathtub, and I sit down. I shiver immediately from the cold. I remove my heels, setting them on the floor next to me, so that I can be as comfortable as I can while I wait. And then I hug my legs against my chest to try to stay warm.

Waiting for Arlo to unlock the door.

Waiting for Arlo to give me answers.

Waiting to plan my revenge.

I consider yelling for help, but I don’t think it would do me any good. Arlo seems like a stubborn man who takes complete control. Screaming would just leave me exhausted and worn out.

So, instead of screaming, I try to come up with a plan to make him as jealous and angry as he’s made me. I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, letting my mind drift off as I imagine ways that I can make him jealous.

I quickly sit up, startled by the sound of footsteps.

I smile slowly. Finally.

But the footsteps don’t come toward my door. Instead, more footsteps join them. Followed by sounds of kissing, of spit being swapped, of tongues tangling, and of bodies joining together with sweat and lust.

Bastard is fucking them. Again.

I’m not going to let him get to me.

So, I close my eyes and drop my hand down my body to where my panties are soaking wet. Despite how angry and jealous I am, I’ve never been more turned on by a man in my life. I won’t let him break me. I don’t know why, but I know that’s what he’s doing. I won’t let him win. My fingers slip inside my panties and I pleasure myself to the sound of his groans, pretending he’s fucking me instead of them.

* * *

The door opens, and I jump awake. I must have drifted off to sleep in the cold bathroom after making myself come on the floor—twice.

“Why does it smell like sex in here?” Arlo asks as he steps into the dark bathroom.

With lust-filled eyes, I look up at him from my spot on the floor. “I was turned on and had no one to help me, so I took care of myself.”

He smirks. “Feel better now?”

I want to lie to him. I want to tell him, Yes, I feel perfectly satisfied now, but the way he looks at me makes it impossible for me to lie to him.

“No.”

“Get up,” he says.

I do.

“Get dressed.” He tosses my dress at me, and then he turns and walks out of the bathroom.

I put the dress on, but I don’t zip it up. For one, it’s almost impossible to zip up by myself, and two, I want him to have to touch my body. I don’t bother with my shoes either. I just pick them up and then carry them out of the bathroom. It feels like defiance while still following his command. I love it.

He disapprovingly looks at me but doesn’t say anything about the fact that my dress is still unzipped.

“How did you know that I would come tonight?” I ask.

He walks over to a small bar I didn’t see before in the corner of the bedroom and pours himself what looks like scotch from the decanter on the table. He doesn’t offer me any as he walks back to me. He’s fully dressed again in his tuxedo, as if the last few hours didn’t even happen. The girls are gone. The only remaining clue that they were ever here is the lingering smell of sex still clinging to the room. The smell alone makes me infuriated, but I will not let him know that. He doesn’t get to know how jealous or angry he made me. Not until he pays for what he did to me.

“Because it’s my business to know everything about everyone in this town, including spoiled, rich girls who are only here for four weeks.”

I take a deep breath, but I can’t help but glare at him. Everything about him drives insane. I have so many questions left to ask, but I know his patience won’t last long. And my patience has completely run dry.

“Why didn’t you let me fuck you like the others?”

He looks at me straight on without blinking. “Because you’re not in my debt.”

“What…what does that mean?”

He sips his scotch, completely unfazed by my questions. “I run a business that loans out money and services along with many other things. I accept many forms of payment for the debt. Those women were just paying me back.”

I blink rapidly as my brain tries to understand what he just said.

“I’m in your debt. You saved me, now I owe you.”

“No. I didn’t save you. I just wanted an excuse to stop having to give the tour. Pretending to save you was that excuse. You owe me nothing.”

“But—”

“No. You are not in my debt. I’ll admit that, that day you infatuated me. I had to touch you. But then I came to my senses after I jumped in that pool after you.”

I hesitate. “And what if I want to be in your debt?”

He frowns. “You can’t. You will never be in my debt.”

I grimace, completely confused. “But, if that’s your business, then why don’t you want me in your debt?”

His lip twitches. “You don’t get to know that. You need to forget about me. Forget about this place. Find yourself another Italian boy to satisfy you for the next couple of weeks. That man won’t be me.”

I don’t understand, but it’s clear that I’m not going to get any more answers out of him tonight. But I’ve got enough for now. Enough to form a plan because I’d do anything to be in his debt. Even after he tortured me by locking me in the bathroom. I still want a chance to fuck the man that saved me one second and then has done everything to keep me away from him the next. A man that could have just told his guards not to let me in, but instead put me on the guest list and then locked me away when I came for him. I want to know what kind of man does something so contradictory.

“Zip me up,” I say instead of asking more questions.

I turn around and wait. To my surprise, his hands firmly grip the zipper, and he slowly zips up my dress. I can feel his hot breath on my neck, and his grip on my hip makes me think that he wants to be unzipping my dress instead of zipping it up.

When he’s done, he turns me around and grabs me by the neck, tightening his grip so that I truly can’t breathe.

“Stop, Nina. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Stop flirting. Stop coming after me. Or I’ll make you stop.”

He releases my throat, and I cough.

“Gregorio Manuel,” Arlo says.

A man enters the room, who I recognize as the security guard from before. He’s been waiting outside the door for who knows how long.

Did he follow me the whole way to Arlo’s room?

“Escort Miss Young away, please, and make sure she doesn’t return for the night,” Arlo says before walking out of the room.

The security guard looks at me and then grabs me by the arm. He escorts me out into the empty hallway. Arlo has already disappeared. My mind races with everything he said as the guard leads me down hallways. I assume he is taking me out of the mansion. But that’s not what happens. Instead of leading me back out, he takes me down a staircase and into a dark room.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“As Mr. Carini instructed, making sure you don’t return tonight or ever again.”

He pushes me into the dark room, which looks like a dungeon, and closes the door. He locks it, trapping me for the second time tonight.