I fidgeted with my hair, pulling it to the back and ensuring it covered the tattoo. I didn’t want Dad or Dylan seeing the permanent brand. I wore a simple black sweater and a gray skirt. To their eyes, I would no doubt look the same as I had a month ago. Only I knew that the woman they remembered was long gone.

The front door opened and footsteps approached. I stood, nerves making my movements jerky. I was desperate to see my father, but I worried he would get too worked up. He didn’t need to suffer any more than necessary.

Dad rushed in and embraced me. I didn’t realize my tears were falling until they rolled down to my lips, salty on my tongue.

“Daddy,” was all I could choke out.

Dylan stood a few steps back, bowed up with rage. Vinemont stood behind them, leaning against the wide doorway into the sitting room.

My father held me for the longest time. He stroked my hair and kept saying he was sorry.

I pulled away and looked into his watery blue eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I chose to do this. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

He shook his head, now covered in even more gray than I remembered. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. Not you.”

“We’re going to get you out of here, Stella.” Dylan crushed me in his thick arms, squeezing me to him.

“I will get you back,” he whispered in my ear.

I rested my chin on his shoulder and caught Vinemont staring daggers at Dylan.

Jealous, Vinemont?

I placed a chaste kiss on Dylan’s cheek and glanced at Vinemont. He fisted his hands at his sides, the impeccable suit and tie he wore doing a poor job of hiding the animal underneath.

Dylan set me back and looked me up and down. “Has he hurt you?”

“I-I—”

Dylan whirled and advanced on Vinemont who just stood and smirked. He was taunting Dylan, drawing him in so he could hurt him. I knew the power in Vinemont’s body, the way he could break even a man like Dylan.

“No one has hurt me,” I lied. “Please, just, let’s just sit down. We only have an hour. Please.”

He stopped only a few feet from Vinemont, and the men engaged in a testosterone-laden stare down. I went to Dylan and tried to pull him away.

“Come on, Dylan. Sit with me.”

He laid a hand over mine and an arm around my waist. Vinemont crossed his arms over his chest, muscles popping even through his dress shirt.

I led Dylan away before my hour was stolen with pointless violence. I’d already had enough of that for a lifetime.

Dad sank down in a fluffy side chair as Dylan and I sat on the floral sofa. Sun poured into the room, belying the chilly air outside. My father was thinner, though he seemed well put together, his clothes new and pressed. Dylan wore his usual rugby shirt and jeans.

Vinemont didn’t move from the door. I glared up at him, willing him away. He smiled back, daring me to ask him to leave. I knew it was useless. Instead, I put my hand in Dylan’s and laced our fingers together.

Enjoy the show, asshole.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him shift from one foot to the other, tension in his taut muscles. I’d seen them, intimately, closely. I brushed those thoughts away and focused on my father.

“How have you been?”

He looked at the floor before bringing his gaze back to mine. “I know I keep saying it, but I’m sorry. I should have just let him lock me up. I should have… You never should have come here.”

“I don’t want to talk about should haves or could haves. We only have a short time and I want to hear about you. How’s the house? Have you had any more trouble from your old clients? Did any of my paintings sell?”

I forced a smile to my face, encouraging my father to engage with me like we were normal human beings, not as a grieving father and an enslaved daughter.

“Oh, your paintings.” He almost managed a smile. “Yes, yes. The gallery called. Just a few days ago, some highbrow collector came in and bought every last one of your works.”

“Someone bought out the gallery?”

“No, not the whole gallery, just your pieces. It was the damnedest thing. Paid full for each one and had them shipped. I don’t know who it was, and the gallery kept their information confidential. But the check was real enough.” His gaze dropped again. “I put it in your account. It’ll be there when you get back.”

My heart soared at the thought of my art gracing some collector’s walls. I’d never sold more than a few paintings every so often. Certainly, no one had ever bought two at once. This news was like Christmas… Then I remembered what my real Christmas would entail.

My smile faltered a bit before I plastered it back across my face. “Dylan, how’s school?”

“Same old, same old. My lacrosse team is leading the SEC like it does every year…” He gave the broad strokes of his life outside, the start of a new school year. Instead of making me feel better, it only reinforced my isolation here at the Vinemont estate.

I resolved to get outdoors more, especially now that my back had healed. Renee had spoken of stables on the property. I’d always been a decent rider.

When Dylan wound down, my father leaned forward and took my hands. “Please tell me what you’ve been doing for the past month. I think about you every moment.”

I glanced to Vinemont. His gaze bored into me.

“I mostly stay in the house. I read and paint. There are others here. I have a good friend, Renee. And Vinemont’s brothers are pleasant, especially the youngest, Teddy.” Okay, I may have fibbed a bit—well, a lot—but I couldn’t exactly explain that I was whipped bloody and paraded around naked.

“Has he hurt you? Has anyone? I couldn’t bear to think of them hurting you.” The tears welled in Dad’s eyes again.

I shook my head in vehement denial. “No, no. They’re all very nice here. I’m fine, really. It’s like an upscale prison, really. Food’s good, too. Far better than anything you ever made, Dad.”

That would have made him laugh a month ago. Now, though, he only smiled sadly.

“If they just keep you around as a pet, what’s the point?” Dylan asked.

“I, um, I don’t really know.” Lies were rolling off my tongue more easily by the minute. “I think it’s just some sort of traditional thing they do here.”

“Why don’t you enlighten us, asshole?” Dylan turned to Vinemont.

“Oh, suffice it to say, I like owning beautiful things. As you know, your stepsister is particularly lovely, especially when unencumbered with trifles like clothing.” Vinemont didn’t miss a beat.

I gripped Dylan’s hand hard, keeping him next to me on the couch instead of challenging the devil in the doorway.

“I have an idea, Stella. Why don’t you show Dylan who you belong to?”

Ice water flowed through my heart. “What?”

“If he wants to know why I keep you and what I do to you, just give him a peek at your neck. I realize he’s slow, but maybe a little demonstration will help him figure it out.”

Dylan was already searching my throat with his gaze. “What’s he talking about, Stella?”

“Nothing.” I smoothed my hair down.

“Did he do something to you?” Dad asked. The sadness in his voice broke off a piece of my heart, leaving a bloody, jagged edge.

“No, he’s just talking.”

“Show them, Stella.” It was a command now, no longer a suggestion.

“No.” I pleaded with him, humiliation rising to color my cheeks.

“Is this a road you want to go down?” Vinemont looked from my father to me, the threat lingering in the air. “Do it.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Dylan’s anger mixed with the already-dangerous current of emotions in the room.

“No, I’ll show you. Just don’t antagonize him.”

“I’m not scared of him.” Dylan rose and faced Vinemont. “Of you. Let’s take this outside, motherfucker.”

“Wait, no, Dylan. He’s right. He owns me. I let him, okay? I’m his. Look.” I bent my head and pulled my hair to the side. “See? I’m his. I chose to be here, chose to be his.”

My father gasped. “No, Stella.”

“See, Dylan?” Vinemont’s self-satisfied tone made me want to claw his eyes out.

“All I see is a pussy who gets his rocks off hurting women,” Dylan snarled.

Score one for Dylan.

“Let’s not be so reductive. I enjoy hurting men, too, especially dumb brutes like you. Want me to show you?” Vinemont pushed off the doorframe and stood at the ready.

I smoothed my hair back over the mark. “Stop, both of you! Dylan, please, for me, just talk to me a while longer. Ignore him. Don’t you see? He wants you to go outside and fight him.”

“Time’s wasting, Dylan,” Vinemont added not-so-helpfully.

Dad dropped his head in his hands. I’d never seen him so defeated. I sank to my knees at his feet. “Please don’t, Dad. It’s going to be okay. All of it. Eleven months left? That’s nothing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll never forgive myself.” He shuddered as a sob ripped through him.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said. “Please don’t torture yourself. I want you to be healthy and happy when I come home. I want you to be waiting for me with open arms. I’ll be there, Daddy. You’ll see. It’s not that long at all.” I pressed my forehead to his.

He offered no more words as his tears overcame him. I wrapped my arms around his shaking frame. I pulled from some deep well of strength inside myself—one I didn’t even know was there—as I held him.

“Time’s up.” Vinemont scowled at us.

“Look at him! Do you truly have no heart?” I hissed.

“In this case? No. No, I don’t. Now, gents, I suggest you get the fuck out of my house.”

“And if we don’t?” Dylan asked.

“Lucius,” Vinemont called.

His brother appeared, the two of them presenting a solid wall of muscle. They were almost a matching set. Both were glowering, their threat palpable. They could beat Dylan and my father senseless, and they would if given the opportunity.

“I’ll walk you out. Come on.” I refused to allow them to hurt Dad or Dylan.

My father rose with difficulty, and I helped him to the front door. Dylan took his other elbow as we maneuvered down the front steps. A black BMW waited out front.

“Did your mom get you a new car?” I asked.

“No, it’s his.” Dylan gestured to Dad.

“Oh.” I supposed his old, beat up Camry finally died.

I gave Dad another long hug. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

He put a shaking hand to my cheek. “I’ll count the moments.”

Vinemont snorted as if Dad had told a joke. I shot him a corrosive glare.

Dylan and I helped Dad into the driver’s seat. Once he was in, I gave Dylan a long hug. Both Vinemont and Lucius smirked, no doubt feeling like they’d won some sort of victory. I’d show them.

When Dylan pulled away, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. At first he was surprised, but then he deepened it, bending me back and clutching me to him. His tongue sank in my mouth, trying to get the fullest taste possible. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable, but when he pulled me back upright and I broke the embrace, the fire in the Vinemont brothers’ eyes was more than worth it.

“That was…” Dylan ran a hand through his hay-colored locks. “That was nice.”

“I’ll see you again soon.” I put my hand on his chest, playing it up like an Oscar was hanging in the balance.

He sobered. “I’ll get you out of here. I swear I will.”

I smiled at him, though I knew his oath would be broken. There was no getting out of here. Not for me. Not until my time was up.

Dylan walked to the passenger side and dropped in. I waved them away down the driveway. When the car disappeared in the glare of the sun, I turned and floated back up the stairs.

Vinemont grabbed my arm. “What was that?”

“What?” I fluttered my lashes innocently.

“You know what.”

I shrugged, enjoying the muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m just an affectionate stepsister. What can I say?” I pulled my arm from his grasp and strode past an equally pissed Lucius.

“Good afternoon, boys,” I called, and closed the front door behind me, my heart full to bursting with my petty victory.