Anxiety has swarmed me. Though I’m on edge, I go downstairs for breakfast, on time and dressed accordingly. The dining room is back to its original setting, clear of everything, including plates and silverware, which is strange.

I walk to my seat and sit, waiting to hear Draco come strolling in at any given second. There is less than one minute left until 8:00. I pull my chair in, and as I wait, I hear footsteps coming.

I look to the right, toward the doors. But it’s not Draco I see. It’s Thiago. He strolls right into the dining room, with a white T-shirt and dark-blue jeans. His dark, beady eyes sparkle from the sunlight filtering in through the window, and of course they are focused on me.

I watch him come closer and closer, finally taking the seat right beside me. Swallowing thickly, I cross my legs and shift to the left, as if it will get me further away from him.

It doesn’t. I still smell him. I feel him there, staring like some deranged animal.

“Stop looking at me,” I snap without meeting his eyes.

His laugh is throaty and slightly obnoxious.

“He’ll kill you if he sees you sitting beside me,” I mutter beneath my breath.

“Not if he kills you first.” When he says that, I pick up my head, meeting the dark orbs for eyes. “I heard what you did. He came looking for me. Fortunately, I had an alibi. I really had no clue there was even a guy without arms staying here.” He laughs again. “Why’d you do it? What did you get out of it?”

I pull my gaze away, refusing to answer.

“You’re smart but stupid,” he mutters. “Women.” Seconds later and Draco comes into the dining room, steps still heavy, shoulders tense. None of the guards are around. I’ve noticed they’re all pretty much gone, probably out looking for Henry.

“You eat and then you get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls as he takes his throne-like chair. For a second, I’m not sure if he’s talking to Thiago or me.

But when Thiago laughs and relaxes in his chair, I realize his statement was directed at me. The butlers stroll in with carts, placing dishes down in front of him and Thiago. Their plates are covered with fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, and Argentinian sausage. But the plate in front of me is . . . not what I’m expecting.

It’s a sandwich. Peanut butter and strawberry jelly, to be exact.

Thiago takes sight of it and laughs so fucking hard I feel it twisting my core.

I peer up at Draco, who slides his gaze from Thiago to me. He grabs the handle of his coffee mug, bringing the rim up to his lips.

“What the hell is this?” I hiss, shoving the plate away.

“Eat,” he commands when he places the coffee mug down.

“No.” I twist in my chair when the butler that just poured Thiago’s coffee walks behind me. I grab his elbow and say in Spanish, “Bring me what they’re having.”

The butler looks from me to Draco, who cocks a stern brow, giving a simple threat with his eyes alone.

Nervously swallowing the lump in his throat, he gently pulls his elbow away and speeds to the kitchen. When a minute passes by, I realize he isn’t coming back.

“Eat,” Draco demands again. “Better this than nothing, right?”

I clench my jaw tight, focusing on his eyes.

“You will eat lightly today,” he declares when he picks up a piece of sausage.

“Why?”

His upper lip quirks, just barely, but he says nothing. Just bites into the sausage, holding my stare until I pull away.

“Shit. It’s fucking intense in here,” Thiago says through a mouth full of food. “Gia, want some?” he offers, sliding his plate over as if he really will give me some.

I blink at him, the way he mocks me with that sneer.

“Stop fucking around, Thiago. We have shit to do soon,” Draco grumbles in Spanish.

I push out of my chair. “I’ll be in the room.”

“Your room,” he says when I push the chair back in. Then he picks up the plate with the sandwich. “With your sandwich.” He holds it out, a silent demand that I take it with me. His eyes are hard and threatening, jaw flexing.

Enraged, I snatch the sandwich off the plate, pull the pieces of bread apart, and smash the slices face down on the table, smearing the jelly and peanut butter all over the wood.

“Fuck you and your fucking sandwich, Draco.”

I leave before he can retaliate. When I make it up the staircase, I’m truly surprised he hasn’t come hunting me down. I rush down the hallway and into the room I’d stayed in before.

The room for prisoners.

As I storm inside and look to my right, that’s when I spot the flowers on the dresser. These aren’t the chocolate cosmos I’ve grown accustomed to.

No.

These flowers are a bright, stark blue, bold and resilient. The sun dances on the large dew-dropped petals, highlighting the white streaks between each crease as well as the black dots collected in the middle.

I stare at them longer than intended.

I’ve never seen anything like them before.

I step forward, noticing a note folded beneath the vase. Moving it aside, I pick up the letter and read the words. His words. His handwriting.

Blue Betrayals.

Know why they’re called that?

Because beneath all that beauty, there are thorns—large, sharp, vicious thorns. Some of them you can’t see because they are just as blue, blending in with the soft petals, which is why you have to be careful when picking them. If you aren’t cautious, they’ll stab you right where it fucking hurts, and yet you still can’t help but want to keep them.

Be in my galería at 10:00 p.m. Be on time or I swear you will regret it.

The galería.

Again.

It’s back to this.

The punishments. The rage. The hate.

I release a ragged breath, pushing one of the petals of the flowers aside and spotting several thorns. They are sharp. Almost deadly. But I pull one out anyway and smell it.

It is sweet and strong and beautiful, but so sharp and vicious beneath the delicate petals.

It’s . . . just like me.

* * *

The hours go by in a flash.

I wrote during most of the day in the library, not giving a damn if I was supposed to leave that prisoner’s room or not. I got hungry, so I went to the kitchen, but a snack tray was already prepared for me, courtesy of the fucking Jefe himself. Orange slices, pretzels, Brazilian nuts, and water.

Eduardo couldn’t even look me in the eye. I could tell he was disappointed in me. I didn’t blame him, but it did sting a little when he didn’t speak to me.

I took the tray back to the library and ate it all, hating every bite as I thought of him. There are only three guards around and they are the weakest ones. Not too bright, either, and I honestly think they are afraid of me. They are newer, but just as willing to give their life for their boss as the older guards are.

As I wrote, I questioned myself. Why I didn’t just sneak out of the window in here and run away? Swim away, even?

But then, as I scribbled out all of my hatred, my craze, and the hostile words my beating heart could no longer contain, I realized that I couldn’t run. I wouldn’t. He didn’t scare me anymore. Even though I shook and trembled, it wasn’t out of fear, I realized.

It was out of adrenaline.

That toxic, dangerous rush I could never get enough of.

A rush I used to get when Toni would go for a drug run and the cops would show up, trying to bust him. We would have to ditch the brand new car he bought under a fake name and run as fast as our feet would allow.

Our hearts would be drumming and our minds would go numb, slipping straight into survival mode, until we were in the clear. And in the clear, we would laugh in each other’s faces, so hysterically that I really assumed we were insane.

It was fun.

It seemed real.

But it wasn’t.

Toni betrayed me. He killed Daddy.

And I think it’s because of him, and knowing that he could be the blame, that I’d rather stay here and deal with this monster instead of running away.

I’d rather face my fears.

Face the demon that dwells inside him.

Because, deep down, I know I have one of my own. Deep down, I know I’m not as innocent as I pretend to be. Deep down we have a connection—a brutal, twisted connection that is impossible to deny.

I wish I was innocent, but when you grow up the way I did, around men like Daddy and Toni and uncles who are just as crazy and bad, you know you can’t be.

You’re either just like them, or you don’t survive. I’m tired of being the fool, the stepping stool, and the clueless little girl surrounded by kings. Mama didn’t even put up with their shit. She handled it with grace and put those who stepped out of line back in their places in a heartbeat.

I remember it well. Daddy never disrespected her, and that’s because she earned that right. He was her queen. She was his ride-or-die.

I was afraid before. I thought I would be taken care of for life with Toni.

But I’m ready for my big crown now.

I’m ready to be queen.

Draco will not strip my power away from me. I’m close—so close to being at the top. So close to knowing how it will feel if it were my world. What I did only brought the real Draco back out again. The one whose passion runs deep, his viciousness so strong it could slay any man.

He shouldn’t be lenient with me.

He should teach me, just as I want to teach him.

He should show me exactly how he wants me to be.

It’s sad that I crave this, but this power—this hunger for the most ruthless man in the world—has been something I’ve longed for my entire life.

I’m fucking sadistic, and I know it. But I can’t go back now.

Not after all I’ve done. It’s too late for that.

It’s too late for me to be good.

* * *

At 9:55 I’m leaving Draco’s bedroom.

He didn’t come up to change, but I heard him return, making commands to the few guards and maids as he passed by the room.

I took a shower, braided my hair, put on a silk red robe, and no shoes. It’s what he told me to do—in the note that was slipped beneath the door of the library.

The robe was hung on the bathroom door, waiting for me. Why he wanted me to wear it and braid my hair and wear no shoes, I had no clue. I could have ignored it, but when I saw the note and his handwriting, my skin buzzed.

It buzzed because the main thing he wanted was: NO CLOTHES BENEATH.

No clothes. Just a robe, loosely tied at the waist.

I walk down the stairs, noticing the house is eerily calm. None of the maids are running around, no butlers calling orders to the others. None of the guards are posted at the doors.

As I walk down the corridor, where his paintings are, I look in the empty dining room. There is one maid there, mopping the floors. She has her headphones on. I realize this is the same maid that walked in during my first few days in Draco’s bedroom—how scared she was that she did, as if I would chop off her head.

She doesn’t look up as she mops, probably not even noticing me.

This is the way he wanted it.

It’s a ghost town in here. Dead quiet. Eerily calm compared to the shitstorm that happened today.

As I walk down the corridor that leads to the galería, I stop at the top of the marble staircase. Music is playing. A violin. It’s a slow song, dramatic enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I take each step down with each chord struck, walking until I’m at the bottom and standing in front of the half-open door.

The violin stops as I pull the creaking door open. My throat thickens.

I walk in, heart racing now, steps measured.

And then I notice. The room . . .

It’s changed.

His art supplies, they are nowhere in sight.

It’s almost like a completely different chamber.

Darker.

Troubling.

In the middle of the room there is a thick, black rail hanging from the tall ceiling. It extends all the way down, several feet from the floor, and I realize it has always been built in there. There is a slot in the ceiling that the railing most likely goes into.

On each end are leather cuffs with silver chains connecting them to the rails. Built into the floor are chains, similar to the ones in the brown shed, but shinier. Thicker.

A red light streams down from the ceiling, right on the spot the rails and chains are. They bounce off the marble floor, and near the staircase, where I notice he stands. The light barely shines on him.

He’s there with a leather paddle gripped in hand. And on the flat of it is the word OBEY.

My body swims with fear and adrenaline as I take note of his serious glare, the way his jaw ticks, his shoulders hiked with wrath. He looks mean and hard . . . he looks evil.

I swallow the hard lump in my throat as I stop only a few steps away from the rail and cuffs. I thought surely he would take me to the bed, hate-fuck me, and then be on his way.

But this? This means business.

This is serious.

He is going to teach me, whether I like it or not . . . and I’m ready.

He doesn’t speak as he walks, purposely avoiding the red light, lurking in the shadows. He comes closer and closer, and soon I can smell his cologne. He’s a step away. I can feel his anger radiating off of his tan skin, burning beneath the shirt that’s unbuttoned at the neckline and chest, revealing his gold crucifix and the broad pecs beneath.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” he asks, standing in front of me, tall, hovering. His voice is gravelly. Deep.

“Yes,” I whisper. “You made it very clear why I’m here.”

“Did I?” I can hear the jeer in his voice. “No, Gianna. I don’t think I have. See, I haven’t even gotten started yet with how clear I need to make myself when it comes to you.”

I let out a ragged, thick breath as he circles me like a lion about to pounce on its prey. Calculating. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When he’s behind me, I feel him standing close—so close I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck. He pushes the braid aside, bringing it over my shoulder.

“What you did, Gianna, is un-fucking-acceptable,” he grumbles, still close. “You would be fucking dead if it wasn’t for your father—if it wasn’t for how much I owe him. But since I can’t kill you out of my respect for him, I will make you pay instead.” He steps around again to face me. “I won’t be gentle with you,” he sneers. “Oh, no.” He squeezes my face tight between his fingers. “I am going to make you cry. I am going to make you scream and beg me for mercy. See, I tried being gentle with you, and you took advantage of it. You got a little freedom from me and turned right around and betrayed me. I told you I wanted to trust you, but that trust is long gone now.

“So believe me when I say this will hurt, and I will not stop, even when I hear you screaming. Even when I see the tears rolling down this beautiful, angelic face of yours, I will keep going. Even when I see blood, I. Will. Keep.Going.” He finally lets go of my face, and I release a shaky breath. “I will show you just where disobedience lands you.” He points at the rails. “Get over there.”

I steel my jaw, staring at the cuffs on the ends of it, the chains in the floor. I gaze down at my ruined wrists; the cuts that have healed but are somehow still sensitive. Being tied up again, it terrifies me. And not in the good way.

“Draco, you should know that I—”

Before I can finish, he’s gripped me by the braid of my hair and is dragging me to the cuffs and rails. I hiss through my teeth, feeling some of my hair rip at the root as my feet scuffle forward. He jerks away when I’m standing directly beneath the red light.

His jaw is pulsing now, the paddle gripped harder in hand. He places it down on the table behind him and then returns, grabbing my forearm and drawing it up.

Wrapping the leather around my wrist tight, he watches me with hard, dark eyes, buckling it in the process. He reaches for the other and does the same, still glaring me down, breathing heavily.

When he bends down, bringing the cuffs on the floor around my ankles, gooseflesh crawls on my skin. The chains run over my feet, cold like ice, his fingers hot as he buckles each one down.

And then he rises, steps back, and looks at me from head to toe.

“You didn’t fight,” he notes, eyes broiling with desire. He’s still pinning me with those wicked eyes of his, taking steady steps back to get to the paddle again.

“You can’t hurt me, Draco,” I tell him, voice scratchy, almost shaky. Because he can. He can hurt me so much and I can’t do a single thing about it.

He picks it up with a small smile, gripping the handle of the leather paddle, examining it. “You think so?” he laughs. “I thought you fucking learned, niñita. I thought I’d finally—finally—gotten through to you. I see now that I was so wrong, and that you aren’t ready yet. You aren’t ready for me.” He tips my chin with the edge of the paddle. “If you are with me, this is how it will go. My queen will obey and trust me. She will worship me. She will side with me at all times and she will never fucking betray me. Tonight, I will make it so that you are more than ready, and so that you never pull something that fucking stupid behind my back, ever again.”