Uncovering You 2: Submission Page 2

  I bite my tongue and nod, avoiding his eyes.

  Stonehart stands up. “Good. You will not find me unreasonable, so long as you behave. Any requests you have will be given due consideration. But—” He pauses. “Do not test me.”

  I whimper and nod, even though it burns my pride to do so. He wants to see me broken, so I will act broken. It’s the only chance I have of gaining any sort of advantage.

  He has to underestimate me. But that will take time.

  “Rule Four,” Stonehart continues, pacing the room with his hands behind his back. “I am a busy man. I will not always have time for you. However, you have no responsibilities other than pleasing me. I expect you to always be ready for me.”

  He stops and looks into my eyes. “Do you understand? The time I make for you is a privilege. Treat it as such. Dress and act accordingly.”

  “I understand,” I answer. Dress accordingly? It’s not like I own a wardrobe!

  “Good. I will leave you those rules. Think on them. Your cooperation will result in increasingly greater freedoms. We will discuss their progression next time we meet.” He walks over to the fully-curtained wall, and runs one hand up and down the rich fabric. “For now, it should be enough for you to know that the range of your collar has been extended to encompass all the rooms connected to this one. You can go through any unlocked doors you find.”

  “Doors?” I ask, slowly picking myself up. “What doors?”

  Stonehart gestures behind him without glancing at me. “Some of the paintings you see hide entrances to this room. You will find a bathroom. A powder room. A closet. Feel free to make full use of the facilities at your disposal.” He chuckles. “They are not there for me.”

  My heart lifts at the idea of a bathroom. A proper bathroom. There might even be a shower!

  That means no more chamber pots. No more sponge baths—not that I have experienced more than one. Still, I was dreading the thought of the old woman coming back and cleaning me again. It was humiliating.

  “I employ a full-time chef on my estate,” Stonehart continues. “He is available to you. Through one door, you will find a small sitting room. There is a desk and paper. You may write down dietary requests and slip them under the locked door. Your meals will be rationed to prevent excessive weight gain, as is always a risk after a period of starvation. That does not mean your selection of food will be limited. You can have anything you want.” He turns to me and smiles. “You see? I am not incapable of compassion.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stone—”

  “Jeremy,” he corrects. “You will call me Jeremy.”

  I force a smile and give a slight curtsy. It’s as close to being mocking as I dare. “Thank you, Jeremy.”

  “You’re welcome, Lilly.” Stonehart’s dark eyes glisten when he says my name. “Tell me. Have you ever wondered what’s behind this long curtain?”

  “Every day,” I answer.

  A smile forms on his lips. “I will show you.”

  Stonehart takes a step back and retrieves his phone. He plays with the screen for half a second, Then, I hear a mechanical whirr.

  My hands dart to my neck out of instinct.

  Stonehart notices, and shakes his head. “No, Lilly. Not that. This.”

  Suddenly, the great curtain begins to lift. It rises all along the massive expanse of the wall. Behind it is a thick, rubber-coated blackout drape, like an enormous projection screen. That one stays still until the curtain reaches the ceiling.

  Then, it starts to follow. It lifts slowly. As soon as I see sunshine falling on the floor, I have an irrational urge to cry.

  Behind the drape is a massive wall of glass. As the blackout drape lifts, sunlight floods the room. When the warmth reaches my skin, tears form in the corners of my eyes. I rub at them, angry and grateful at the same time.

  The drape reaches the very top, and the floor-to-ceiling windows shimmer in the light. Beyond them is a stunning view of a magnificent vista, ending in a cliff ledge that gives way to the ocean.

  Stonehart brings his wrist to a small sensor beside the single door in the glass wall. Just like in the elevator so long ago, I hear a beep, and the door unlocks. Stonehart opens it to leave, then stops halfway across the threshold and looks back at me.

  “Lilly,” he says, his voice stern and serious. “I will give you one week to return to the condition you were in when you entered my home. Eat, sleep, and rest. You have no obligation to me for the next seven days. Right now, you are skinny, wretched, and unattractive. When I see you next, I expect to be greeted by the vibrant, young woman you once were.”

  With that, he walks out into the light.

  Chapter Two

  I wait a long time before gathering my courage and testing my new boundary. I expect to feel the warning shock with every step I take past my former perimeter.

  With that type of caution, it takes a good five minutes to creep to the glass wall.

  My fingers tremble as I lay them against the cool glass. The sun is so bright. So warm.

  I breathe onto the glass to fog it, then wipe the condensation with the side of my hand, just to make sure it’s real.

  Everything feels so surreal right now. I look past the glass and try to wrap my mind around all that’s been hidden from me these last few tortuous weeks. My room—this room—sits on a massive estate built into the side of a cliff. The view is magnificent. Beautiful, red rock extends a hundred yards from where I stand, and then gives way to a jagged ledge that forms a sheer drop into the ocean.

  The ocean. The Pacific Ocean, beautiful and unmarred. If I take a deep breath, I can almost smell the tangy, salty, sea mist—even through the glass. The water is still today. The red rays reflecting off it make it seem like a pool of rubies.

  I turn around. The sunlight filling the room makes it seem so much more hospitable. It’s almost enough to make it seem more like a palace than a dungeon.

  A palace with no way out, I remind myself.

  Admittedly, I feel a little thrill getting to explore. Stonehart said the paintings cover doors. I want to see that for myself.

  I walk around the outside of the massive room, completing one full circle while trailing a hand along the walls. After spending so many hours confined to the pillar, I have no desire to return to that dreadful spot.

  I walk up to each of the paintings, examining them, one by one. I see the hinges on some of them, along with an opposing latch. I mark those in my mind but do not open them.

  Not yet. I want to enjoy every second of sunlight that I can.

  I stop in front of the glass door that Stonehart used to leave. He said I could go through any unlocked door, did he not? And I won’t know what type this one is until I try.

  I’m not expecting miracles here.

  My hand clasps the handle. I push down. It doesn’t budge.

  I smother my disappointment. I knew in the back of my mind that this door would be locked. Only desperation led me to expect otherwise.

  I may be a lot of things. I may act a lot of things, for Stonehart’s sake… but desperate is something I can never allow myself to become.

  Because I need to be clear-minded and lucid if I am to plan my revenge.

  My stomach growls, reminding me of food. I sigh. Even after the feast the old woman brought me, my body is crying out for nutrition. My next meal doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning. She told me so.

  That means I have all night to explore.

  Chapter Three

  Behind the first painting is a short hallway with two doors at the end. I walk slowly, always mindful of triggering my collar. Stonehart may have said I could wander without worry, but can I really trust him to tell the truth?

  The door to my right opens to a majestic bathroom. Shining tiles line the floor. All the appliances are gilded gold. My eyes take in the titular bathtub. It is already filled with water. I dip my hand in, and am delighted to find it warm.

  Soaking in a tub is a privilege I have not had in years.
I close the door for privacy—then stumble when I can’t find any way to lock it.

  Of course you can’t lock it, you dolt. Stonehart wouldn’t let you bar yourself away.

  A shiver crawls up my spine as I remember his words: “The time I make for you is a privilege.”

  Suddenly, all desire for a hot bath vanishes. I am to be a sex slave. A pampered sex slave, perhaps, but a sex slave nonetheless.

  I am halfway out of the room before I change my mind again. Stonehart said he would leave me alone for a week. That promise gives me a sense of security, false as it may be. I should not worry about him yet.

  You have five years for that, a small voice reminds me.

  I shake my head. No. No! I have no intention of letting things last that long.

  Mustering all my dignity, I disrobe and slip into the water, chin held high. I even pull the door open behind me.

  I won’t have Stonehart think I am frightened.

  My muscles quickly relax in the luxurious water. There’s a cupboard filled with assorted salts, soaps, and shampoos nearby. The only thing missing is a mirror.

  An hour or two later—I lost track of time in the tub—I step out of the bathroom with a lush, thick towel wrapped under my armpits. I could almost imagine I’m alone in a magnificent hotel suite… were it not for the collar around my neck.

  I hate that collar. I hate what it represents. I hate what it can do. It will never let me forget that I am a prisoner.

  But, because of that, I will never forget my need for revenge.

  The door across the hall is closed but not locked. I pry it open slowly—and am greeted by the most amazing powder room I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  A waist-high, granite counter top is stocked with enough beauty tools to make a makeup artist blush. Rows of lipstick in every shade fill one shelf. Eyeliner, eye shadow, moisturizers, powders, and all sorts of accessories fill another. All are from the most expensive beauty brands.

  If Fey ever saw this room, she would die of pure joy.

  Of course, there is also a mirror. I see my reflection for the first time in weeks. I barely recognize the girl staring back at me.

  Stonehart was right: I look awful.

  My skin is pale from lack of sun. My eyes have dark bags under them. My cheeks are hollow and sagging from poor nutrition. My lips, which have always been so naturally red that I never had the need for lipstick, are now a pallid gray. The usual shine in my eyes is gone, replaced by an empty lifelessness.

  Anger flares inside of me. All of it is directed at him. He made me like this. He is the reason I am unrecognizable. I turn sideways to take in my profile. I’m so skinny I’m afraid the smallest gust of wind will blow me away.

  Stonehart starved me, deprived me of everything, and then he has the goddamn nerve to call me wretched?

  Calm down, Lilly, the voice of reason whispers in my head. Do not react to his words. They are meant to incite you!

  I relax my hands so my nails don’t draw blood from my palms. The voice is right. I gain nothing by responding to him this way.

  I need to keep my emotions in check. But I will forget nothing he does. I will have vengeance, and I will bring Stonehart down.

  I walk out of the powder room without touching so much as a speck. I have no desire for makeup.

  Besides, I want to have ammunition in case Stonehart reneges on his word. He said I have seven days to myself. If he breaks his promise, and comes earlier, he will not find a woman looking her best.

  I walk back to the room with the pillar. I decided to call it the sunroom while I was in the tub. Better than calling it a prison.

  I make an annoyed sound in my throat after thinking of the term ‘prison.’ I promised myself that I would not refer to any part of this estate by that name.

  It’s not that I’m trying to delude myself. Not at all. I want to avoid using that term to steel myself in my purpose.

  A prisoner has no purpose. A prisoner has no choice.

  But a concubine, on the other hand? She always has a choice.

  Besides, truly: what better way is there to destroy something—or in this case, someone—than from the inside out?

  Stonehart has his own reasons for keeping me here. I suspect they go deeper than his baser desires. But I have my own reasons for staying, too.

  Fool! It’s not like you can just walk out!

  I shake my head to silence that voice. The only way to keep my sanity—the only way to have some semblance of control—is to make myself believe that I am here for my own reasons. If I truly want to take down Stonehart Industries—and the man with it—I need to be smart. I need to bide my time. I need to ingratiate myself to him, to appear weak, and harmless, and above all, nothing like a threat. I need him to think he is winning.

  Because the moment he lets down his guard… this mouse will transform into a viper.

  Pleased with my plan of attack, I walk about the sunroom and investigate the areas beyond the other paintings.

  I find the sitting room next. It has a small desk and a stool, along with one locked door that I assume is monitored from the other side. I write down my request for breakfast on a piece of paper and slip it underneath, just like Stonehart told me to do.

  I walk back out and go up to the final painting. It’s clever, I think, how the architect was able to disguise the doorways with these pieces of art. Judging by what I’ve seen of the structure, this estate was built recently.

  I unclasp the latch and pull it open, not knowing what to expect inside…

  My eyes go wide and I forget to breathe. Behind painting number three is the biggest room of all. In fact, it might rival the size of my entire Palo Alto apartment.

  I walk in and stare in disbelief. This room is a closet. It’s a fully-stocked, giant closet. There are as many clothes here as you would expect to find in the back of a Nordstrom’s or Saks’.

  One wall is lined with shoes. There are pumps and sandals, heels and boots. There are oxfords and wedges and platforms, some in rich leathers, others lined with fur.

  I pick up a pair at random and slip them onto my feet. They are a perfect fit.

  I see a rack of robes tucked away in a corner. I drop my towel in haste and run across, then wrap myself in the first one that I reach. I hug the luxurious fabric to my skin and breathe deep, loving the scent of clean, new fabric.

  Feeling, for the first time in a long time, comfortable and cozy, I stroll amongst the remaining racks. I run my hands through the hanging garments. Blouses, jackets, skirts, dresses, stockings, scarves, and a million other pieces of clothing all fill the room.

  All of them are for me.

  Suddenly, I feel nauseous. The closet has only one entrance that I can see. It’s only accessible from the sunroom.

  That means all these clothes were here for me before I arrived.

  Holy shit! How long had Stonehart been planning my abduction?

  A cold sweat grips me as I sit down hard. Stonehart’s assistant said she’d been looking for me when she called. I assumed she meant that day, but what if the search had been going on for weeks? Months?

  The clothes confirm I am not some random victim. No, I am stuck in the middle of some unknown web of Stonehart’s making.

  But why me? I wrack my brain but find no answer. What interest can a man of Stonehart’s stature possibly have in me?

  I have no family other than my mother, and I haven’t spoken to her in years. I have no sisters or brothers, no cousins, or distant relatives. I don’t even have a boyfriend! I should be completely anonymous as far as Stonehart is concerned.

  But, I’m not. Why? How? When did he first take an interest in me?

  I have no idea. But I swear on everything I’m worth that I will find out.

  I get back up. The clothes pose a riddle I have no answer for. But if there’s one thing I possess in abundance, it’s time. Time enough to figure this out.

  One other thought strikes me as I leave the room: I don’t see any li
ngerie anywhere.

  Chalk up one more personality quirk to my captor.

  Chapter Four

  I wake up the next morning to the rising sun. Feeling the warm rays on my face after two long weeks in the dark is surreal. A jumble of emotions bubbles up inside: joy, disbelief, excitement.

  A few minutes later, I get up and walk into the sitting room, following the smell of food. I find a generous portion of all that I’ve asked for waiting for me on the desk. I carry the plates back to the sunroom, sit down close to the glass, and have breakfast looking out at the magnificent ocean before me.

  I have nothing to do when I finish, so I bring out a towel from the bathroom and lie on it on the floor in the sun. The late September rays aren’t as strong as they would have been just a few weeks ago. But I want to soak up as much vitamin D as I can. Doing that always improves my mood.

  As I lie there, I reflect on how much things have changed since I signed the contract. I may be only two days removed from my previous, near-death condition, but, already, I feel like a woman transformed.

  It’s funny how much a bit of perceived freedom can lift a person up.

  Yet, that’s exactly what this newfound freedom is: Perceived. I am not really free. I am completely at Stonehart’s mercy.

  He’s given me seven days to recuperate. What happens after, when the contract really kicks in?

  I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. Whatever happens, I will face it holding onto my true purpose with an iron grip.

  I will be ready for him when he comes. And one day, he will learn that he chose the wrong girl as his plaything.

  A bell chimes behind me, startling me to my knees. I whip back and look around, but find the room empty.

  It sounds once more, from down the hall leading to the sitting room.

  Curious but cautious, I start slowly toward the room. I’ve never heard that bell before, and new things in my surroundings must be approached with due respect.