I bring out the bagels on two separate plates and place them on the long dining table, where Seth and I had that first omelette breakfast together.

It’s not just the menu that has changed since then. Everything has.

It’s crazy that I’m still basically spending my days doing the same things I used to do, and yet I feel completely different from how I used to feel. I can’t even believe it has only been a little over two weeks since I moved in.

Technically, Seth is still enjoying my professional services, even if I no longer consider myself his personal chef. Everything is still basically the same for him. It annoys me, but I can’t stand another day of complete and utter idleness.

This way, at least I have other things to think about, other than my captivity.

Like when I opened the fridge this morning, for example.

I saw the package of lox I had ordered last week, when I still thought this was my job. I also found some cream cheese in the fridge so when I saw the bagels, I knew what I was going to make.

Then I rummaged through the produce and found some red onions and tomatoes. It was perfect. Or almost perfect—I just couldn’t find any capers.

In that moment, my focus was on preparing food. I was in my element.

I love coming up with something on the spot with whatever is available; it forces me to be creative and there’s no telling what I’m going to end up with. It always feels like everything just falls into place when I get that spark of ideas.

Okay, so my focus wasn’t completely on the breakfast. I did pry into Ana’s life a little. I asked her some pretty intrusive questions.

She was nice enough to try to answer everything with her limited English. But as soon as I started to ask for details, she couldn’t understand my questions, or she couldn’t think of the right words to convey what she wanted to say.

“You’re not wearing the uniform,” a deep voice says from the doorway, making me jump from the shock.

“I told you. I’m not your chef anymore,” I say as I put the mugs of coffee down on coasters. I don’t want to damage the grain on this beautiful wooden table. “And don’t surprise me like that. I almost spilled the coffee.”

“You’re going to wear the uniform tomorrow, or you won’t be allowed in the kitchen,” he says.

With defiance, I take a seat at the head of the table without waiting for him, making it clear I’m still going to do whatever I want. Just because I’m cooking for him doesn’t mean I’m happy with how things are.

Without acknowledging that anything is out of the ordinary, Seth pulls out the chair to the right of me, where I’ve placed his bagel and coffee. He picks up the mug with one hand and peers inside. He asks, “Black?”

“Of course.”

“I see you didn’t even bring out milk, creamer, or sugar.”

“Nope.” I take a bite of the bagel. It tastes good. Could be better, if I had capers and better bagels, but this is acceptable.

“How did you know I wouldn’t need them? I’ve never ordered coffee at The Local.”

“You are the coffee that you drink. And you’re black and bitter inside,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.

Seth laughs, making lines appear around his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes look dazzling this morning, especially when the sun hits them at just the right angle.

To be honest, I gave him black coffee because it’s what I drink. It just so happens that he and I have similar tastes. It’s easy for me to come up with something he likes, because that usually turns out to be something that I like, as well.

I prefer minimal frills. Just good, fresh ingredients, prepared the right way. And apparently, that’s what Seth likes, too. I can see it in the design of this mansion, with its clean lines and lack of clutter.

“Baby, you have no idea what someone with a real black, bitter heart is like if you think I’m like that,” Seth says.

He picks up one half of the bagel with his hand, balancing it carefully to keep the toppings in place. He takes a big bite, and I steal a glance at him to see if he likes it. I hate to admit it, but I care about his opinion.

“This is really good,” he says.

“It could be better if I had capers and fresh bagels.” I go on to tell him how I came up with this morning’s breakfast menu, forgetting that I’m supposed to hate him.

He listens to me intently, like I’m talking about the most interesting thing in the world. Most people—even Emily—would’ve tuned out after I started saying more than two sentences about why I chose this particular brand of lox.

How could I continue to ignore Seth? I enjoy our conversations too much. And my body never fails to remind me of how irresistibly hot he is. Whenever he’s around, it’s like every muscle in my body is drawn to him.

I find myself inexplicably drawn to him, to the point where I want to believe his story about keeping me here for my own safety.

But it’s just so implausible, you know? I mean, I’m a nobody. Why would people want to hurt me?

On the other hand, Ana is just a harmless, innocent girl, and they put her through hell. She told me she’s seeing a shrink and she’s healing but, damn, I wonder if she can fully recover from an event that traumatic.

I wonder if this has anything to do with the prison program, where I first met Seth. Maybe one of the inmates thinks I suck at teaching. Or maybe he caught food poisoning from something I made and still hates me for it.

Ugh, I don’t know. All those scenarios sound ridiculous. I can’t think of any good reason why someone would be so determined to hurt me, I’d need special protection.

Maybe those people are as deranged as Seth says they are. Or maybe I’m just doing mental gymnastics because I want an excuse to give in to this magnetic pull between Seth and me.

“What are you thinking about?” Seth asks, breaking the silence.

We’ve been eating quietly for a while as my thoughts come back with a vengeance. I suppressed them to focus on food prep earlier, but now I can’t help zoning out and thinking about my plight.

I hesitate, but I have to ask.

I inhale deeply to prepare myself.

“The Local wasn’t where we first met, was it?” I softly ask, lifting my gaze to meet his.

“No,” he says. At least he’s honest.

“We met way before that, didn’t we?”

“Yes.”

“In prison.”

“Yes.”

I already expected his answer. But it still surprises me that he’d actually tell me the truth—and so easily, too. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When?” It’s his turn to ask a question, apparently.

“What do you mean, when? You had plenty of time. Years and years of time, to tell me.”

“It never seemed like the right time,” he says.

“And you’re the one who gets to decide when the right time is, correct?”

“Yes,” he admits.

“Figures.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, but there are rules I need to follow. If I fail, it could mean the difference between life and death.”

“For whom? For you?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

“For girls like Ana?”

Surprise registers in his eyes, although he blinks it away immediately. “Did she tell you?”

“How else would I know?”

“You don’t have to know. These things, they eat at you, turn you into a different person.” Seth places his forearms on the table and leans closer. He puts his palm on my cheek. “You don’t have to know these things, my angel.”

I look into Seth’s eyes, blue and deep like the ocean. I have no idea what monsters lurk just beneath the calm surface, but it’s drawing me in. A little voice in my head tells me it’s a bad idea to dive in, but I can’t help myself.

I close my eyes and nuzzle into Seth’s warm, comforting palm. He slides his hand over the back of my head and kisses me.

This kiss doesn’t start out sweet and tentative like it did on the balcony. The moment Seth’s lips touch mine, I lose my breath. He pulls me in, crushes my lips, and sweeps his tongue inside, sending pure pleasure straight to my core.

I hold on to his arms, feeling the hard ropes of muscles underneath the soft fabric of his designer suit.

I’ve always sensed something strange about Seth. He wears a Rolex and drives a Mercedes, but he’s rough around the edges, and now I know why. It was probably something he developed to survive in prison.

Seth gets up from his chair, tilting my head back as he steps closer and stands right by my chair. With no table between us, I feel exposed, even though I’m wearing my usual combo of dress pants and button-down shirt.

I can feel his hunger through the kiss. I can sense the primal need within him, reaching out toward me, pulling me under. I’m afraid I’ll lose my footing if I let go, and I don’t trust him to catch me.

I still have no idea what he really intends to do with me. For all I know, everything could’ve been part of a set-up he’s prepared for me, to lure me to his trap.

But I know my body wants him, and maybe that’s enough for now. It’s just a kiss, right?

“You’re such a sexy little thing,” Seth says when he pulls away, his eyes glinting wickedly, his breaths ragged.

“You’re trouble,” I reply.

“I am.” He smirks. He studies my face, making me feel naked, making me feel like he can penetrate my soul and see just how desperate I am for him.

Out of nowhere, his gaze darts toward something outside the window. I feel his arm muscles tense underneath his clothes. His eyes widen, his eyebrows raised.

“Don't move,” Seth says.

He rests his hand on my head, as if to shield me from whatever danger he's sensing.

Something is wrong.

Something is seriously wrong.