Ashley’s arms ached; her fingers tingled as the silk straps tied around her wrists and the carved bedpost cut off her circulation. Arms over her head, she stood beside the bed, her naked body stretched with her back pressed to the cold, hard wood. She didn’t feel the crisp winter chill in the room from the open window anymore. Another small but effective means to torment and degrade her. Numb from the inside out, she stood before her captor, indifferent to whatever he did next.

After all this time, what did it matter?

Every escape attempt futile and foiled.

Every plea for mercy unheeded.

Every day another day of torture to endure.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here. The days and nights blurred into one big never-ending nightmare. She stopped wondering if anyone was looking for her, or even cared that she disappeared. She didn’t think about the life she’d lost back in L.A. She didn’t dream of her future, or regret all the might-have-beens that would probably never be.

She endured each and every day with only one thought in mind: survive.

Some days, like today, she didn’t know why she bothered. Last night, she’d made a mistake. Miscalculated her captor’s tenuous hold on sanity. Or maybe more accurately, his need to inflict pain and have his fantasy play out just so. It had to be flawless, the illusion only he saw in his mind but expected her to play to perfection.

Illusion was her stock-in-trade.

She’d earned three back-to-back Oscar nominations, winning the third for making people believe the characters she portrayed.

Until now, she’d refused to become the character her captor demanded, wanted, craved.

And she’d paid dearly for it the many months she’d been here, but most especially last night. Her ribs and back still ached from the beating. Every breath felt like sucking in fire. Her cracked ribs would heal in time. She wasn’t so sure about her fractured mind.

It had finally come to the point where she understood, believed she was his—to do with as he pleased.

She would never escape this hell.

“I hope tonight will be different.” Brice pulled the ice-blue gown from the closet. The elegant dress swished as he draped it over his arm to show it off. She’d worn such beautiful things on dozens of red carpets. But the thought of putting that on for him filled her gut with dread and pushed bile up her throat, choking her with fear.

Not that one.

Not Aurora from Flame in the Night.

Any other character. Any other movie she could play out for him again and again, but this one only ended badly.

Last night’s beating would seem like a trip to an amusement park. He wanted to punish her for holding out, holding back day after day, night after night. She’d reached the end of his patience and endurance.

He wanted what he wanted.

And he meant to get it from her, even by force, despite the fact that he knew the only way it would ever be perfect was if she gave in, gave up, and committed to giving him the dream: her, wholly and completely immersed in character and in love with him.

Before tonight her mind screamed never.

Now that voice sighed its last breath in defeat.

Until tonight, she could not pretend to be the woman he wanted, a made-up character on-screen, a woman who adored him with undying love. She could not pretend that she’d find a way out of here. She could not pretend this was all a terrible nightmare.

She could not do this anymore.

She won the Oscar with her portrayal of Aurora, a woman who falls for a rich and powerful businessman disillusioned with people and the world until he meets her. Aurora reignites his passion for life. The love they share is something neither of them expected.

A modern-day fairy tale set in New York. Duncan living alone in the penthouse of his skyscraper castle. Aurora living on the lower floor, taking care of her ailing aunt, wishing for excitement and a less lonely life.

The movie instantly became a classic romance, one that would probably stand the test of time and be adored by one generation after the next.

Brice wanted that love story to be his. He wanted Aurora to be his real-life lover. He wanted to have a love like no other. He wanted her to bring that fantasy to life.

But he didn’t know how to love. He’d never felt that in his life. Within himself. Or from another.

She didn’t think he felt anything at all. Not really. Which is why he tried so hard to feel something.

“You brought on what happened last night. If only you’d stop holding back, we could have the life we both want. We would be the envy of all of Hollywood. The world.”

Yes, fans all over the world clamored for every scrap of information about her personal life. They devoured every picture and video of her on TV, the internet, and splashed across tabloid magazines. Didn’t matter if the stories were true or not. Didn’t matter if the man she was with was just a friend. People imagined an epic love story because that’s what she’d given them on-screen.

Just like everyone else fantasizing about being a movie star and living the perfect life, Brice wanted to live the dream that she knew was nothing more than illusion.

The backhanded slap across the mouth brought her out of her head and made her present in the moment.

“I’d hoped last night taught you to respond when I talk to you.”

Unsure if he asked her a question, or said something that even required comment, she stared at him, hoping for some kind of hint.

None forthcoming, her silence continued, and Brice’s face contorted with anger at her perceived insolence. He tossed the beautiful gown across the bed and punched her in the ribs to get her attention. Her body bucked and contorted with the force of the smacking blow. Reflex made her try to pull her arms down for protection, but the silken straps held her arms above her head, her body unprotected. Flesh pounded into flesh as another fist socked her in the side, connecting with her already-screaming ribs. She didn’t cry out at the sickening crack or the excruciating pain that followed. She focused on trying to get her breath, her back pressed to the post behind her, and the feel of the wood against her skin.

Instead of focusing on the roar of pain, she lost herself in her mind and the dream she’d created by the rippling river: the cool water flowing over her bare feet, the sun warm on her hair and shoulders, the sound of the wind whispering through the pretty green trees all around her. Peace.

A trick she’d taught herself weeks into her captivity because she couldn’t escape her gilded torture chamber, but her mind could take her anywhere she wanted to go.

Lately, a man joined her there at the river, his dark hair and narrowed eyes filled with pain and regret she recognized. Every time she reached out to him, he got farther away, but still she held her hand out and ran toward him, hoping to catch him and feel his strong, protective arms around her.

If only she could reach him.

“You will scream for me.”

And with those words, her sweet illusion vanished.

Yes, she would scream. The beating wouldn’t stop until she did. If she screamed too soon, he’d beat her for being weak. Too late, she might not be able to scream at all. The game had to be played. She knew the rules and the fine line she walked every second of the day.

She’d play her part, or he’d bring on the pain.

He liked to hurt her.

One day, she’d find a way to hurt him.

She’d find a way to escape.

She’d save herself.

And the boy he called son, but treated like an unruly dog that needed to be beaten into submission.

If only he’d make one mistake. Give her one small opening. She’d find a way to overcome the crippling fear of more pain and certain death, and take it.

But that day would never come. She knew that now.

The riding crop lashed across her bare thighs, once, twice, again and again as her body absorbed the punishment like a sponge does water, taking it in like memory. Bruises faded, cracked and broken bones mended, but every beating remained a part of her, darkening her mind and heart, leaving an indelible mark on her soul, never evaporating like water from the sponge.

Who would ever have guessed the guy everyone thought funny, charming, and warm was actually a coldhearted bastard with a sick fascination with torture and pain.

His hand clamped onto her jaw, holding her face in his tight grip. She tried to stay in that place by the river in her mind, fighting to get to that dark-haired man with the reluctant grin he sometimes gave her, but Brice got in her face, demanding her undivided attention. With him this close, his body pressed to her naked one, she could only focus on him and the overwhelming fear twisting her gut. The anticipation vibrating through him rocked through both of them, dilating his eyes with a passion he couldn’t fulfill no matter how hard he tried.

She paid dearly for his inability to fuck her. As much as he wanted her, without her devoted performance of his fantasy, he couldn’t get what he needed to get it up and find satisfaction. So he found it in the excitement inflicting pain gave him.

She knew exactly what would happen if she finally gave in, gave him what he wanted and he still couldn’t take her to bed and finish his fantasy. He’d kill her for giving him everything he wanted and blame her for his not being able to be the man, the lover, who fulfilled her every erotic need.

“The sacrifices I’ve made for you. The things I’ve done to please you.”

He’d cut his thinning, graying brown hair short and styled it like the young actors and rock stars did these days. That messy bed-head look with an edge. He kept his beard trimmed short, though it didn’t grow in evenly. Across his cheeks and jaw, the patches were varying shades of brown, gray, and white. It didn’t make him look distinguished or youthful. He looked ridiculous. Especially now, when he was dressed in a black skinny-leg suit, white shirt, and gray tie. He tried to attain the slim, ripped physique of the men she played opposite in the movies, but with his advanced age, his penchant for fine wine and decadently rich foods, he’d never have the physical perfection of some twenty-something man again. Thirty-six years her senior, he deluded himself into believing a young woman like herself would see a sexy, distinguished, worldly man. All she saw was a delusional old man, trying to be something he’d never been, even in his youth.

“You have everything you need here.”

A beautiful room filled with antique furniture, thick carpets over gleaming hardwood floors. Priceless floral art on the walls. A plush bed with silk sheets. An all-too-inviting Jacuzzi tub in the marble bathroom. Velvet drapes over embroidered sheers.

Bars on the windows. Locks on the door. And the converted walk-in closet that served as her cell with its hardwood floor and heavy metal doors with the wood veneer to hide what lay behind on her side of them. No light. No window. An empty, dark box. A place to hold her until she gave him what he wanted.

The rest of the room a temptation she didn’t dare want.

But she did, especially when she lay on that cold, hard floor aching from yet another lesson in pain and endurance.

His hand clamped over her breast in a punishing squeeze. She hissed out a pain-filled breath, but he took it for excited passion. “This is what you want.”

She wanted it to be over. She didn’t want to spend another minute in that black box. She didn’t want to hurt anymore. She didn’t want to feel anything anymore.

All she had to do was become his living fantasy and it would all be over.

What started as psychological torture and rare outbursts of physical abuse had turned into increasingly dire beatings. The gnawing ache of hunger her constant companion. Every breath hurt. Every bone and muscle ached. Every second she spent alone and lonely and desperate and sad in her cell had become one too many. She couldn’t do this anymore.

She wanted out.

She needed out.

One way or another.

Living in hell, she decided to walk right into the fire and end this once and for all.

“You know what I want.”

He took her weary acceptance of the inevitable as breathless anticipation. “What, my darling?”

“To begin our special evening.” She had his attention. She normally didn’t speak unless spoken to first, or in reaction to Brice reciting lines to her movies and the part he expected her to play.

She cast her gaze toward the pretty, torturous dress on the bed. Despite the weight she’d lost since being held here, he had the dress altered time and again to always be one size too small.

He held it in front of her, down low. She stepped into the gown, spun on her toes to face the bedpost, twisting her bindings painfully around her wrists. She blew out all the breath from her lungs. Brice muscled the zipper up her back, taking his time and prolonging her pain as the too-tight dress closed over her bruised back and battered ribs.

His hands rested on her bare shoulders. She sucked in a shallow breath, needing the air, but hating the pain it caused as her lungs filled and constricted against the confines of the heavy dress that pushed her breasts up until they nearly spilled out the top. Just the way he liked it.

His fingers combed through her tangled mass of oily hair. He hadn’t allowed her the luxury of a shower in three days. He mussed it more, letting it spill down her back and shoulders. His body pressed against her back, pushing her chest into the bedpost as he reached above her and lifted the strap off the metal hook, stretching her arms so high it felt like they might pop right out of the sockets. She endured the painful prickles and tingling as blood rushed down her arms and into her hands. She didn’t move. Couldn’t with his body smashing hers into the post.

He dipped his head to her ear. “Don’t disappoint me tonight.”

She leaned back into him. Despite the layers of satin and chiffon of the full skirt keeping her skin from touching him, dread shivered over her nerves no barrier could stop. His arm wrapped around her middle, squeezing her already-aching ribs until they screamed with pain. She held it together, even as his thin lips pressed to her cheek.

“Has the scene been set?”

He vibrated with anticipation. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Then let’s begin.” A single tear slipped past her lashes and rolled down her cheek. She hadn’t cried in a long time, having spent her many tears long ago. But something about reaching the end—knowing all was lost and that she just couldn’t take it one more second—sent a wave of grief deep into her soul and shattered it.

Brice took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of it like some gallant knight in shining armor. He didn’t mean to save her. The devil in him wanted to destroy her. She feared he already had, but tonight would be the end.

Finally.

Like the prince in Cinderella, Brice dropped to one knee, picked up the crystal-encrusted heels, and slid them onto her feet. He stared up at her with such worship. If she didn’t know the monster behind those adoring eyes, she might actually believe he loved her.

She walked with him out of her beautiful cell and down the hallway, knowing she walked to her death like an inmate leaving death row for the last time.

At the top of the stairs, she stared past the living room to the beautiful dining room table laden with expensive white china and sparkling crystal glasses. Covered dishes held the fragrant food he’d never actually allow her to eat. The incessant gnawing hunger in her gut made her mouth water. She wanted to run to that table and gorge, but fear and painful memories froze her in place.

“Look at the beautiful garden, Aurora.”

Without a window in her cell, she craved the outdoors, the pretty landscape. Even at night, she longed to be outside where she could smell the flowers, feel the wind and any sense of freedom. But he hadn’t let her out in a long time and preferred to torture her with the gorgeous view.

At least that’s what she originally thought, but over time she realized he had some strange fascination with the garden. A look came into his eyes when he stared at it, like he saw more than anyone else.

His eyes were filled with that overexcited look right now. “I’ll go down first. Then you can have your moment and sweep down the stairs to me.”

She glanced at him, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Of course.”

Brice rushed down the stairs. She prayed he stumbled and fell to his death. He hit the landing in the wide foyer and turned to stare up at her. Dressed in the elegant suit, he appeared the picture of a successful businessman waiting for the only woman he ever loved.

I am Aurora.

She embraced the numbness, swept her tangled mass of hair over her shoulder, put her trembling hand on the banister, and forced herself to take the first step to her death. She made her way down each tread with her head held high, the dress swept out behind her, her gaze locked on Brice just like in the film. She pretended this was Duncan’s New York penthouse, not Brice’s house of horrors. She showed him the regal woman while on the inside the pain and anguishing inevitability crushed her heart and soul.

Brice took her hand at the end of the stairs again. The triumphant smile made her stomach sour. He led her to the table, held her chair out, and pushed it in as she sat. She ignored the piercing pain radiating from the backs of her bruised thighs.

Just like in the movie, she held her wineglass out to him. “Let’s celebrate.” The words stuck in her throat, but she pushed them out with a breathy tone that had the anticipation in Brice’s gaze flaring with passion that turned her stomach.

Brice filled her glass with red wine just like Duncan had for Aurora.

Duncan had set up the special evening to propose to Aurora. The first night of the rest of their lives.

This would be Ashley’s last night on earth.

He held his glass up. “A love meant to be will find a way.” The line from Duncan was meant to convey the love he and Aurora found when, after months of living in the same building, probably passing each other dozens of times but never seeing each other, Duncan discovered her struggling in the pool when a leg cramp made it difficult for her to get to the edge. He rescued her. Coming from Brice to her under these circumstances, the words made her skin crawl.

She held her glass out to toast her demise.

The doorbell rang behind her, halting her shaking hand and sending a bolt of fear quaking through her body. She trembled, not knowing what to do or what this meant. Although people came and went from the house, Brice always ensured that when he let her out no one saw her. But Brice let her see them, the influential people who could help her if only they knew she was there. If only they weren’t in Brice’s pocket. He tormented her with their presence by making her watch them through the two-way mirrors in the secret passages he’d had built into the house. While they enjoyed themselves at the lavish parties Brice threw, she stood behind the glass and watched how Brice ensnared them in a trap they didn’t see.

Just like he did to her.

Brice grabbed her by the throat, his fingers biting into her skin and cutting off her breath, and pulled her close. She dropped the wineglass, spilling red wine over the pristine white tablecloth.

He growled his frustration at her clumsiness.

She clawed at his hand at her throat, desperate for air.

“I don’t know who would dare come here uninvited, but it must be important to drive way the hell out here at this hour. Be good. Don’t make me punish you, my sweet Aurora. I’ll find out what they want and send them away. Nothing will ruin our night.”

He rose and drew her up with him, pushing her back and releasing her neck at the same time. She coughed and sucked in a much-needed breath, her chest constricting against the confining dress, her throat sore from Brice’s grip. He took her by the arm and dragged her to the stairs and up. The frosted panes of glass concealed her and whoever was at the door.

“On my way. Be there in a minute,” Brice called from the top of the stairs. He rushed her down the hall and into her room, past the luxurious bed, and shoved her into the converted closet turned cell. Weak from being unable to breathe with the constricting dress and the meager food Brice allowed her, she stumbled and fell to her hands and knees. Knowing better than to turn her back on a wild animal, she scrambled away and turned to face him.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll get rid of whoever dared disturb us and be back for you. We will have the perfect night, Aurora.”

The doorbell rang downstairs three times. Brice lost the lover’s look in his eyes and gave her one last fierce frown, turned, and shoved the heavy metal door closed, rushing off.

She hung her head and breathed a sigh of relief for this short reprieve. When she raised her head again, the sliver of gray light slicing across the dark floor didn’t register at first. Then it hit her.

He made a mistake.

He left her an opening.

Literally.

He didn’t push the door all the way closed, so the thick automatic bolts hadn’t sprung home, locking her in.

No telling how long she had before he came back. She fought the instinctive fear that told her to stay put or face dire consequences that only meant more pain if caught trying to escape. Again.

Nightmares of her earlier attempts swamped her mind, but out of those gruesome images hope grew that this time, luck was on her side. She conquered her fear and moved to the heavy metal door, pushing it open an inch at a time, the muscles in her arms quivering with the effort. She listened intently for any sound of Brice’s return. Not a floorboard squeaked or footstep sounded.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she struggled to push the heavy door closed until she heard the familiar thunk of the bolts sliding into position. If Brice didn’t open the door again tonight, distracted by his visitor too long to want to play with her again, she’d gain precious time to get away undetected. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to get away. Fast.

She crept out the bedroom door. Instead of going left toward the main staircase, she turned right and padded down the hallway past several closed bedroom doors to the back stairs. She tried not to think about what she’d seen people do in those rooms while Brice held her by the neck and forced her to watch through the two-way mirrors. At the end of the hall, she stood in front of the large window, staring at the rolling gray clouds darkening the sky and closing in fast. The last thing she needed was to get caught in a storm, but wet and cold was better than locked up or dead any day.

The urge to run pushed at her, but she fought the impulse and did the one thing sure to slow her down and put her in more danger.

She turned to the door beside her and quietly opened it. Adam sat on his bed, feet dangling off the edge, a picture book in his lap. His wide eyes met hers. She’d only seen the four-year-old a handful of times. She hadn’t seen his mother in more months than she could add up right now. Too long to leave her son if she was coming, or could come, back to him.

Maybe it was crazy, but she couldn’t leave him behind. “Do you want to go with me?”

Adam deserved a chance to make his own decision after his life had been decided for him, and she held part of the blame.

He nodded. Lucky for her, he was dressed with his shoes on. “We have to run. Get your coat and hat.”

Adam disappeared into his closet and came back with a blue knit cap on his head and one arm stuffed into his red coat. She took his hand and pulled him with her down the back stairs. At the bottom, she unlocked the French door and opened it slowly, hoping it didn’t creak and give her away. Taking the four-year-old might be the right thing to do, but it added a level of danger and consequence that might be her downfall.

After the way she’d been treated, knowing how the boy suffered, she had to do everything in her power to keep him safe.

She quietly closed the door, fighting every urge in her brain and body to bolt. No lights showed on this side of the house, but she couldn’t take a chance Brice or his guest might spot them through the massive windows facing the beautiful garden and rolling land. She couldn’t go around the front and to the road and risk being caught if they were out on the porch, driveway, or still standing in the entry. The only way to go would be the hardest path, but she’d take it and hope that she got them both away from this house of horrors.

Her heels clicked on the flagstone path along the veranda leading to the garden. She pulled them off and ran barefoot over the gravel to a huge tree. She ducked behind it, keeping Adam close. He didn’t make a sound, but pressed to her side, his body trembling as even he understood the danger they faced.

She glanced back at the house. The only lights were from the dining room and kitchen. Another light went on in Brice’s study. If she ran to the left, across the horse pasture, she’d hit the road in about a mile, but Brice could certainly see her scaling the split rail fence in her bright, light blue gown. Her only option was to go right across the back of the property. She didn’t know what lay that way, but anything was better than the punishment waiting for her if Brice caught them.

She leaned down close to Adam’s ear. “We have to run. Really fast.”

Adam nodded, squeezed her hand, and ran beside her all the way across the garden until they crossed the manicured lawn and hit the dirt beltway that separated the ranch property from the vast landscape that made up the acres and acres of land Brice owned, giving him the privacy he craved and needed to keep his dirty secrets.