Mr. Hawk smiled coldly. “I’m rather surprised and impressed by his initiative. That wasn’t discussed, nor part of the planned activities, but perhaps I underestimated him.”

Standing, he threw his napkin from his lap onto the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m late to another meeting. I’m sure Jethro will come collect you.”

Bowing, as if I were the Lady of the Manor all set for a day of cross-stitch and sedate relaxation, he pressed his fingertips to his mouth and blew a gentle kiss. “Good day, Ms. Weaver.”

My ingrained manners almost repeated the polite parting; I bit my tongue.

Don’t you dare. He’s the devil, not some kind-hearted father figure.

Keeping my lips glued together, I remained silent.

Mr. Hawk passed my chair, stopping briefly to run his hand through my ponytail.

I shivered as the soft tug of his fingers whispered through the black strands.

“Such a pretty thing. I can see I’ll have to step up my lessons with my son to ensure you both behave.”

My heart lurched, speeding around my chest.

What the hell did that mean?

Staying stiff and unyielding, I didn’t mutter a sound as he tugged once on my ponytail, then disappeared from the room.

I was left alone in the cavernous space with the beady eyes of past Hawks watching my every move. The glittering chandeliers above twinkled with sunlight spilling in from leadlight windows.

Little rainbows danced across my knuckles, reminding me of the design that’d come to me when I stood naked and about to run for my life. Fractals from the diamond collar around my neck had inspired rather than repulsed.

That seemed like an age ago.

My old life had faded so fast; it seemed almost dreamlike. Had I really been heralded as the next star of London couture?

It seemed surreal and something I didn’t even crave. I hated the limelight. So how did I think I could walk headfirst into a career where I would forever have to sell myself in order to peddle my creations? I would no longer be holed up in a room full of calico and satin with assistants. I would be the face of Nila—my brand.

The show in Milan had taken every reserve I had. And that had been the first one.

I would never have survived.

Yet another part of my life where the Hawks had meddled and granted me a reprieve. I hated that they’d shown me a different way of existing—one I was better suited to than my own heritage.

The longer I sat there, the more my mind skipped from subject to subject. My fingers itched to text my brother and Kite, but bloody Jethro had my phone.

I have to get it back.

I didn’t know what I waited for. Someone to come and claim me? Jethro to ensnare me and cart me off to do whatever horrible things he planned next? But no one came to fetch me or demand I follow.

Staff, a mixture of men and women in smart black and white uniforms, entered the room to clear away breakfast.

They smiled kindly, going about their business as if life was normal. Completely fucking normal.

I deliberated staying in the dining room where it was moderately peaceful with the bustle of staff and gentle clinking of crockery, but I couldn’t look at the table without flushing and suffering a dreadfully unwanted spasm of lust at the memory of Jethro’s tongue.

My skin crawled to think that I found comfort in the very same room men had stripped me bare—not just my body, but my sanity, too—and delivered me into this new fate.

I have to leave.

Standing, I stumbled forward as the room went blank.

I groaned as I clutched frantically at the table, only just managing to stay on my feet as a heavy black wave of vertigo stole my vision and hijacked my limbs.

“Miss, are you okay?” a sweet maid asked. I couldn’t see her as my vision remained blocked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just stood up too fast, that’s all.”

I began counting down from ten silently. By the time I hit three, my vision suddenly shed the blackness, splashing colour and images onto my retinas.

I sighed in relief.

Swallowing back the small wash of sickness, I smiled at the maid and made my way to the double doors. I pushed them open, heading into the corridor.

The attack had been the first one today.

I didn’t want to admit it, but the last two days of peace locked in my room had done me a world of good. I would never tell the truth to Jethro, but my episodes seemed to have relaxed their lunatic need to torture me. Either a mixture of my new strength or just the vacation from overworking…my body had found a sustainable equilibrium.

For now.

Looking around, I frowned.

No one.

The corridor was empty with only glittering polished weapons and immaculate tapestries for company.

Where is everyone?

Mr. Hawk did say I could roam free. Should I see if that was true?

Hesitantly, as if I expected someone to jump out from behind a suit of armour and attack me, I drifted left—the same direction where Jethro had dragged me toward the exit and given me my one and only chance for freedom.

Peculiarly, knowing that I’d had my shot and failed granted a sense of indulgent serenity. I lacked that drive to run, because I knew there would be no point. As much as I wanted to escape, it took away the obligation of trying to get free by knowing it was impossible.

I couldn’t get it balanced in my head. But there it was.

Another truth I’d been made to face—another facet of myself I had to come to terms with.

Deciding not to go outside, despite the pleasant sunlight, I turned right down another corridor. Following the ribbons of pathways, I moved toward the bowels of the house.

After a few minutes, the rumble of voices came from an ajar door.

I froze.

I didn’t want to get caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to, but I couldn’t stop my abhorrent curiosity.

Tiptoeing closer, I peeked inside.

There were two men in leather jackets, laughing as they packed guns into a satchel. I leaned forward for a better vantage. Guns?

The floorboards creaked beneath my toes, whipping their heads up.

My heart sank. Kestrel and Flaw.

“Nila,” Kes said, dropping the bag on a wingback chair. Striding quickly to the door, he dragged me into the room.

The décor was best described as old-world comfort. A saloon of sorts with glass cases full of antiquities and soaring shelves of leather-bound literature. The huge windows permitted sunshine to illuminate dust motes and drench the slightly faded geometric carpet.