EMMA

Three days. I'd been given three days to live by the man who would ultimately decide how I would die. Ethan wouldn't be the man to physically perform the act, he couldn't be bothered with such a trivial concern such as that. He would simply prepare the script, approve the design of the set, and would nod his head toward the woman with the clapboard to tell her it was time to start.

It would be like every other performance I'd given in this place, except this time I wouldn't live long enough to hear him call cut.

I spent the first of those three days walking around in a fog. I didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't do much of anything but mourn the loss of Melanie and come to terms with the stone cold truth that I, too, would die.

Much like that moment between childhood and adolescence when you lose the magic of what life could be and discover that we all have an eventual date with the reaper, I faced my own mortality with tears in my eyes that only ran dry when I finally learned to accept it. It's a strange and wonderful feeling, terrifying and yet comforting. It wasn't death itself that scared me, either I would go on in my afterlife or disappear altogether. Either I'd find peace in the warmth of heaven, or I'd find peace in the sad reality that I simply stopped existing.

No. It wasn't death itself that set my teeth on edge and forced a tremor across my bones. It was the actual act of dying that did that.

After the first day passed and I started the second with a new outlook and forced acceptance, I began the process of discovering just how I would die.

Would it hurt? How long would it take? Would my body be sliced apart on the blade of a sharpened knife, or would my head be bludgeoned until my face was no longer recognizable? Would he be allowed to rape me first? Or would he go directly for the kill?

I didn't know, and Ethan wouldn't tell me.

"Why would you want to know something like that?" he'd ask, the words spoken on a low, aggravated growl. But I hadn't let his stubbornness and warnings deter me from pestering him for the answer. I wanted to know what he had planned for me, and if I had to hold him down and force the answer from his lips, I would.

Only...I didn't. Over the course of that second day, Ethan had been an expert of distracting me away from the topic through sex or some other carnal activity. And when that stopped working, he'd slipped from his suites for a few hours to go hide in his office. He'd been on edge all day, his attentions on me both wonderful and distracted.

I'd fallen asleep by the time he returned that night, and for the first time in the months I'd known him, I woke up with Ethan sleeping soundly by my side.

So he did sleep after all. I only wished I could have enjoyed it. Feeling his warmth against my back as his arms held me close was a moment of peace and safety before the approaching storm.

One day was left, but rather than poking at the man who had scripted my last moments on Earth, I loved him instead. There was no point spending our last hours together battling each other. I'd most assuredly lost this game we'd played, but that hadn't left him a winner either. It was obvious he cared, even if he'd pivoted and weaved around answering that question for as long as I’d known him. It seemed Ethan was more of an actor than me, the only difference was where I had been strong enough to drop the mask and expose my vulnerabilities, he had been too frightened to open up and allow somebody to explore his hidden insecurities, to tell him that he mattered regardless of the choices he'd made that imprisoned him in this hellhole studio.

For twenty-four hours, Ethan and I focused on each other. Secrets weren't revealed and epiphanies hadn't been reached. We simply knew each other in every way we could before finally settling down for the night and surrendering to exhaustion.

The next day I opened my eyes to find Ethan absent from the bed. I'd searched his suite for him, but found that that, too, was empty. After taking a shower and brushing my teeth, I pulled a t-shirt over my head and stumbled into the living room to find a guard positioned by the door. To his side was a tray of food, my final meal before execution.

Eyeing the guard, I didn't bother with my tough girl act. It didn't matter anymore.

"Where's Ethan?" I asked, not expecting much of answer.

It surprised me when he said, "He had some work to do and asked that I bring your meal and escort you to wardrobe when you're done eating."

So, it will be like this, will it? Another performance that followed the standard routine.

Staring at the man who held his gun tucked to his chest, I shrugged. "Might as well take me now. I'm about to die. I'm well aware of it. That's not exactly the best circumstances to make a girl hungry."

The guard frowned and almost looked sad. I angled my head in exasperated surprise. "Don't tell me you'll miss me. I know we've had so much fun together since that first day in the shower when you slammed your gun against my head. Surely you can find another woman to replace me when I'm gone."

His frown pulled into a soft smile. "Come on, Emma. I need to get you to wardrobe." His voice was actually kind for once, not the barking command of a rabid dog at the end of his taut chain.

We walked the halls together, weaving through the maze on unhurried feet. I was a little upset that Ethan hadn't walked me himself, but I assumed he would be waiting for me in the studio, his attention focused on ensuring the set would be just right for my final performance. Anxiety nipped at my empty stomach, my body going cold as I remembered where I was walking. But there was nothing that could be done about it, and rather than spending my last minutes crying and sobbing, begging and pleading, I decided to save my dignity even if it did lead me to my bitter end.

Even the makeup lady wasn't her usual chirpy self. As usual, she was quick to get me in costume, and flawless in her application of my makeup and the styling of my hair, but as I was led from that room toward the hallway of studio B, I noticed a quiver to her bottom lip to say goodbye.

Shrugging it off, I followed the guard again, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly as he opened the door and led me into the studio.

I stepped forward a few feet, but the guard grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me back. Turning, I snarled at him, but he simply frowned and said, "Ethan ordered me to keep you in back until the set is ready."

Confusion drew my brows together, my head spinning to search the room for the one man I'd expected to see first thing in the morning, but had been conspicuously absent.

"Where is Ethan?" I asked softly, the question intended more for myself than the guard.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," he answered.

Reluctant to just sit and listen like a good girl, I stayed at the back with him as he wanted, my gaze slowly taking in the typical rush of activity with the production crew running about preparing their equipment and the set, but it was the set itself that drew my attention most.

The standard bedroom design was gone. There was no bed, no makeup table, no rugs, no fake fireplace. Instead there was a single pole set in the center of the stage. Painted black it blended into the backdrop of crimson red curtains, the base locking down on the polished wood of the stage floor. But still, that wasn't the one detail that stood out the most, instead it was the candelabras set with glowing black candles. Everywhere you looked you saw the flicker of flame, the haze of heat that jumped from the fire to brush across the other predominant feature of the stage that I'd just now noticed. There were hundreds - no - thousands of blood red roses that were set into the walls, into vases on the side tables, a few heads of which had been torn apart for the petals to be scattered across the ground. Crystals were set within the bouquets, so many that they caught the light of the flickering candles and shimmered like starlight across the stage.

The scent of those flowers hit my nose, the elegant beauty of the design stealing my breath away as I stared at a stage that was dark, yet exquisite and stunning.

It was too much. Too emotional. The finality of it hitting me like a runaway train, knocking me from the little control I'd had over this moment and catapulting me into bitter, excruciating sorrow. Tears slipped from my eyes before I even recognized I was crying, my knees going weak and my body crumpling. The guard reached out and caught me before I fell fully, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist as he held me upright.

"Where's Ethan?" I asked again, but instead of answering the question, the guard squeezed his hand at my hip, his low voice soft against the sound of rushing bodies and electronic clicks as they readied the cameras, sound gear and lights.

"I'm not sure what you did to deserve that stage, but you must have done something right. I've never seen one designed like that."

I wasn't sure what I'd done either. No. That wasn't true. I knew what I had done. I just wasn't sure why it hadn't been enough for Ethan to at least try to escape with me.

While that question echoed through my thoughts, the activity died down, a female voice shouting to be heard over the last bits of preparation. "One minute everybody. We have one take and we need to get it right."

My eyes narrowed on the woman standing in the center of the room. As usual, she held her trusty clapboard, but why was she announcing time when Ethan still hadn't come in the studio?

The door to our right popped open, a familiar face walking through that wasn't the one I'd hoped to see. "Brent," I called out, grabbing his arm as he attempted to pass by. "Where's Ethan?"

Brent's pudgy expression tightened, his lips thin and his eyes filled by fear to be near me. Clearly he hadn't forgotten what he’d seen me do in my previous films. After darting a glance between the guard and me, he finally breathed out and explained, "Ethan's not coming."

My heart shattered into tiny slivers. "What do you mean he's not coming? He has to direct the film."

Shrugging a shoulder, Brent answered, "He said he can't do it. He can't watch. So he sent me to get the shots in his place."

Eyes as wide as saucers, I stared at him open mouthed, the shock I was feeling settling in to every cell of my body.

"Everybody in place!" the woman yelled. "Where's the actress?"

At the moment, the actress didn't give much of a fuck about the film. All I was concerned about was why Ethan wanted me to believe he wouldn't be directing my final film.

Spinning back to Brent, I started to ask that exact question, but was grabbed from behind by the guard. Struggling against him, I'd almost broken away when another set of hands landed on me and assisted him in dragging me backwards. Before I could get my head on straight, I was being lugged up the rickety stage stairs and tied to the pole in the center.

Everything happened at once. The bitch with the clapboard took her place with a smug expression stretching her lips, and Brent went to stand in the spot reserved for the director. None of this was making sense, and in the confusion and heartbreak of it all, I forgot I was being executed as soon as the top of the clapboard slapped down.

My lips pulled into a malicious snarl, my mind racing over the way Ethan had betrayed me from day one. I wondered if he ever really cared about me, convinced myself that every word he'd said, every tender and gentle brush of his hand on my body these past few days had been nothing but one big game.

And now he wouldn't even bother to show up? He was a fucking COWARD!

"Final Act," the woman callously announced, "take one!"

The clapboard slapped down, a gunshot through the soft whir of cameras, an echo bouncing off the walls and ceilings as music filtered through the room, ominous and foreboding, but seductive and tantalizing at the same time. It was just one more factor that didn't make sense. Ethan never used music in his films.

Time froze at that moment, my eyes scanning the faces of the production crew, my mind still denying that Ethan would truly leave me alone to face this end. But he wasn't there, wasn't among the sea of faces that stared back up at me with no expressions other than the professional focus of a team filming the death of a helpless woman.

The door behind me opened. The cameras continued filming. The production crew stood silent as music filtered through the room in soft crescendos and elegant, the sound diminishing again until only a single note hung in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic click of shoes against the stage floor. Tied as I was, I couldn't turn to face my attacker, was made completely immobile by the ropes binding my wrists and tied at my abdomen.

A hand slid over my shoulder from behind, the soft brush of leather against my cheek as my attacker's masked face came down beside mine.

"Did you miss me?"

My heart jumped into my throat. I opened my mouth to respond, but he slipped his hand over my mouth to prevent it. His voice was barely a whisper, a soft tendril of deep sound against my ear. "Don't answer me. They'll know. Just go along with everything I do if you want to survive this. Do you understand?"

I didn't understand, but I nodded my head regardless.

"I'm going to untie you from the pole. I'm going to put on a show to make this appear real, and then I'll need you to fight back, Emma. Not just a pretend fight. I need you to rage with all the fury I know is inside you."

His hand slipped down to the strap of my silk negligee, slowly slipping the material from my body. The slinky garment slipped from my body, baring me to the cameras. But I wasn't bothered by that, didn't care now that I knew Ethan was beside me. His fingers traced up my body, his hands taking possessive hold of my breasts just as he demanded in a hushed tone, "Make me believe it, Emma. Let me hear you scream."

His fingers pinched down on the sensitive skin and I obeyed him as easily in that moment as I'd ever obeyed his sexual demands. A scream tore from my throat in response to the pain, my heart racing beneath my ribs in response to the man that was as charming as he was infuriating.

As the music continued to filter through the studio, Ethan moved around my body, cutting me free of the ropes that bound me, his strong arm wrapping my waist to pull me away from the pole. Remembering his instructions, I fought against him, kicked and slapped, went at him to rake my fingernails down his chest. The mask he wore prevented me from seeing the expression on his face, but I hoped he understood I wasn't just following orders, I was trying to hurt him for making me believe he'd deserted me.

His laughter rumbled from his chest, his hand snatching my hair between the fingers and pulling me tight to his body. Our eyes locked for only a brief second before his foot swept to kick my feet out from under me, both our bodies dropping to the floor.

Hitting the wood floor hard enough for the pain to radiate up my nerves and into my bones, I wasn't prepared for his full weight to drop on top of me. Logically, I knew it was Ethan, I knew he would never hurt me, but instinct took over and I was fighting to break free, losing quickly when he grabbed my wrists and pinned my arms above my head.

He looked ridiculous with that stupid black leather mask with a zipper across the mouth, his grey eyes glaring down at me as I slammed the heel of my foot into his back. Wearing nothing besides black leather pants, his naked chest was crushed to mine, his fingers squeezing my wrists so hard that I feared the bones were about to snap. More pain rushed from my mouth on a piercing scream, his knee forced between my legs until he could push them apart.

From the erection pressing between my legs, I realized the son of a bitch was enjoying this.

His head came down next to mine, his hips pressing in to me to still my raging body. On a whisper, he said, "Toss me toward the front of the stage. Do it now."

Not knowing what was happening, I decided to do something one should never do with Ethan Cole. I trusted him. Blindly.

Rolling my body toward the front of the stage, I shifted Ethan's weight off me. He swung out with an arm as if to break his fall, knocking over the candles that lined the front. Flames erupted in an inferno, the blaze close enough to singe my hair. Ethan had my wrist before I could scream and scramble away.

I tried to crawl away, but he held me in place. The flames continued to roll and grow, the smoke blanketing the stage. Coughing, I tugged to break free from Ethan. He only tightened his hold, his eyes focused on the flames, his body crouched close to the ground. The heat was too much, screams tearing up my throat as one thought came to mind: Did Ethan plan on killing us both?

Panic spiked through me, my screams becoming more shrill as the smell of singed hair wafted past my nose. The floor below the stage was filled with the loud voices and running feet of the production crew. Some were trying to extinguish the fire, others were abandoning the studio.

Ethan's head snapped in my direction, his eyes searching my face before he leaned down and spoke against my ear, the stupid zipper scratching my skin. "Stay low to the ground, move toward the door where I came in. Do not stand up higher than the flames. Go now and go quick or we're both going to die up here."

Nodding my head, I pushed up into a crouch, staying as low as possible while following Ethan to the door. Pushing it open just enough for our bodies to squeeze through, he closed it again, pulled me with him to our feet, and shoved me down the hall.

Urgency laced his voice as he ripped off his mask. "I suggest you run now, Emma."

Lungs wheezing from the smoke, I didn't ask questions, just hoped that this crazy ass plan of his would work. It took ten minutes to clear the hall, a large steel door closed tight at the end. "Push through," Ethan yelled, "the alarms are already going off because of the fire. It won't trip the system."

I slammed into the door, my hands hitting the push handle that crossed it. Ethan's palms landed against the surface of the door on either side of my head. With his added strength, it opened. We tumbled out into the cold air of night, the door shutting at our backs. I was desperate to take a breath, needed just one fucking second to clear the smoke out of my eyes and lungs, but Ethan wouldn't stop, refused to slow down and pulled me along with him.

"Where are we going?" I asked, still coughing, stumbling on bare feet over sand and rocks, the sharp edges digging into the skin.

Eyes wild, Ethan's hair was a mess around his head, his shoulders and chest heaving, beads of sweat sliding down his skin. "I'm helping you escape."

Stumbling over my feet to keep up with his ground-eating stride, I pulled my arm from his grip, but then slipped my hand in his. I had no more questions after that answer, no more doubts. I was finally leaving this place, finally walking away from a nightmare that had kept me trapped for longer than I knew.

Behind us the alarms were still blaring around the building. Floodlights illuminated the area, but Ethan and I had already outrun them. Heading deeper into shadow, Ethan continued his speed, not slowing down until taillights came into view.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"That is the man who will be driving you to the docks. From there, you'll be hidden on a cargo ship and returned to the States. You'll be free, Emma. Free and alive."

Warmth spread through me that I hadn't felt since the day I was stolen. Starting in my center it rippled out as small waves, expanding and strengthening into naked and raw hope. "We're really leaving?"

His pace slowed, the idling white van finally coming fully into view. "No," he answered, his voice regretful. "We're not leaving."

Stopping finally, he turned to me. "You're leaving, Emma. You're going home where you belong and I'm staying to make sure they don't know you're still alive."

The warmth of hope inside me chilled to an icy stillness. Disbelief flavoring my thoughts, agony threatening to stroll in and take the throne hope had once held.

"What?" Tears broke free as the question burst from my mouth. Slapping them away, I shook my head refusing to believe that he was staying. It would be so easy for us both to leave. All he had to do was get in the van with me. We could both leave and never look back. If he would just get in the van.

"No," I insisted, my voice trembling and hoarse, "no, Ethan, you're coming with me." I wrapped my hand over his arm, gripped down with the refusal to let go. "We're leaving together."

His eyes met mine and behind them I saw remorse and pain, but also a fierce determination to follow through with whatever insane idea he'd devised to help me leave.

"Please," I begged, the pain in my chest making it impossible to speak the word with any strength. I had to convince him to leave with me, had to do something, say something.

Stepping close, Ethan wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling my body to his. Tilting my chin so that he could stare down into my eyes, the expression on his face said everything he was thinking before he had the chance to voice the thoughts in his head. "I can't leave. Not if I want them to believe you died in that fire."

"Who cares if I died in that fire? Just get in the van. We'll go back to Boston together and figure it out. But I'm not leaving you here!" Lips trembling, my eyes searched his looking for the faintest sign that he would change his mind. "You're a prisoner to this place as much as me. You don't have to stay here."

Leaning down, his kiss was gentle, just a brush of his mouth against mine. It stilled me, allowed to believe that I could convince him to come with me, to escape a nightmare that both of us had lived for far too long. Pulling back, he brushed his thumb across my lip, his eyes focused on my face as he dedicated this moment between us to memory.

"They will find a woman's body on that stage and believe you died in the fire. They'll find the mask in the back hall and believe the male lead fled. But if they don't find their director, they'll start asking questions. And those questions could lead to you. I won't allow that, Emma. You need to go home, you need to get back where you can be safe and you need to hide."

Body? What body? I'm standing right here. "What body?"

"I used one of the other women to make it look like it could have been you. They won't be performing an autopsy-"

"Who? Who did you kill so I can escape?" I knew it didn't matter, that women would continue dying in this place regardless of whether I was here or not. But still, to think somebody died so that I could live? I couldn't live with that, I couldn't accept that my life had been more important that somebody else's.

"I used Melanie's body, Emma. I didn't kill anybody." Honesty poured from his gaze. Honesty and the resolute truth that he wasn't getting in the van. He had no intention of leaving.

My body crumbled, my legs too weak to hold me up, Ethan's arm tightening around my waist to keep me from falling to the ground. Violent sobs wracked my chest, furious tears bursting from my eyes with so much heat they burned my cheeks where they slid down the skin.

Tilting my face up again, he locked his gaze to mine and I tried to memorize his eyes, his face, every last detail I could because although my mind refused to accept that this was goodbye, my breaking heart knew it was true.

"You have to go," he said, his voice soft, apologetic. "I have to get back before the alarms stop if I have a chance of sneaking back in without anybody noticing. The men helping me will get you home, Emma."

"Why?" I asked, tossing out stupid questions because I didn't want this to end. I didn't want to let him go.

A wry smile tilted his sad lips. "It appears you impressed more people in the studio than you realized. They're loyal to me, and they saw the happiness you gave me while you were here. For that, they will make sure you get home safely. But they can't do that if you don't leave immediately."

I could barely speak around the sobs, the trembling and the tears. I could barely think around the pain of my heart, the desolation of my soul. This man had carved his name into every part of me and I couldn't just let that go.

"Goodbye, Emma. Don't ever stop fighting for your life. Don't ever give up. Don't let the fire I saw the first day I laid eyes on you die."

His hand gripped the back of my head and he kissed me again, deeply, slowly, as if he knew it would be the last time he had the chance. I died during that kiss, not physically but spiritually. I came apart and shattered in his hold. And when he pulled away, when he looked down at me one last time, I died again knowing that I would never again be the same.

"Go," he said, his hand landing on my shoulder as he led me to the van. Reluctantly, I climbed in and he smiled one last time before slamming the door closed and tapping on the outside. The van lurched forward, tires grinding over the pebbles and rock, taking me far from a nightmare that would forever imprison my heart.