Capricorn, page 5
I feel him before I see him, his presence grounding me even as my body purges last night’s mistakes.
“That’s it,” he says, gathering the short strands of my hair, rubbing soothing circles on my back. “Get it all out.”
Minutes pass as the waves subside, leaving me drained and trembling. Purged of pride, composure, and strength, I sag into his waiting arms. I should move, put some distance between us, especially after last night, but I don’t have the strength.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says, breaking the quiet.
“Do what?”
“Let you go for the next three months. It was hard enough doing it the first time.” His sigh drifts across my hair. “Now it’s unbearable.”
Guilt twists in my gut. “Can you give me a few minutes?” I lean forward and slip from his grasp, needing some space to find my composure.
“Take your time.” Liam rises to his feet. “I’ll order some breakfast. Something light.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I push myself upright and face the pale, hollow-eyed girl in the mirror. Heartache and too many sleepless nights shadow her face, cheeks gaunt from lack of proper nutrition. The acrid scent of vomit hovers in the air, mixing with the stale trace of alcohol.
It’s a reminder of how far I’ve fallen.
I step into the shower and let the scalding water pound against my skin, trying to wash away more than just the remnants of last night.
It’s not enough.
No matter how hard I scrub, or how much steam fills my lungs, I can’t ignore this new reality.
Liam is back in the auction.
Water streams between my fingers as I drag a hand down my face. The nausea may have passed, but the finality of his reinstatement aches in my throat. Of course, I’d choose him over the others, but to admit that, even to myself, feels like another betrayal.
I focus on the rhythm of my breaths, and by the time I shut off the water, my skin is flushed. I wrap myself in a robe and return to the bedroom, where the scent of fresh-baked bread and eggs reach my nose.
Liam stands next to the small table by the balcony doors, pouring tea into a delicate cup. “I thought this might help.” He gestures at the food.
“Thank you.” I sit across from him and choose a croissant from the tray.
He’s downright haggard as he watches me eat with the same stoicism that puts Mr. Bordeaux’s disposition to shame.
“Please say something,” I plead after I can’t take the roar of his silence anymore.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something…anything. Just stop looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“I don’t know, but it’s unsettling.”
“Unsettling?” His voice is tight, pulled like a rope on the verge of snapping. “You almost threw yourself off a cliff last night. How am I supposed to look at you?”
As my face burns, I set the half-eaten croissant back on the plate. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
Any of it. Wishing him dead, trying to end my life, or letting him inside my body.
“Whether you meant to or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you almost did.” His words slice through me like a scalpel. “And I’m supposed to hand you over to Oliver like I’m not terrified you’ll try again?” Clearing his throat, he drags a hand through his coppery hair. “Tell me, Novalee, after almost losing you to that cliff, how am I supposed to let you out of my sight?”
“I’m sorry, I…” The apology falters on my tongue.
“Sorry doesn’t cover it.” He shakes his head, voice cracking. “What if I’d shown up thirty seconds later?”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes.” Except I have no idea how to make him believe it when I don’t even trust myself. “I won’t leave you like that.”
The gravity of his stare softens, though disquiet remains. I pick at what’s left of my croissant, take a couple bites of eggs, sip the tea he poured for me, but my appetite is as absent now as it was yesterday. I push my plate aside, barely touched.
“You need to eat more,” Liam insists.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care.” His attention sweeps over me, lingering on the sharp angles of my collarbone. “You’ve lost too much weight.”
My weight means nothing to me, and the croissant tastes like nothing as I tear off another piece and chew. I swallow, then force down a bite of eggs, if only to smooth the worry between his brows.
But he’s still frowning. “I’m serious. You need to take better care of yourself.”
Biting back a snort, I set my cup down, fingers tightening around the porcelain. The tea does little to settle my nerves—not with just a few hours left before my well-being is no longer Liam’s concern.
“Is he kind?” The question tumbles out before I can stop it.
Liam stiffens. “Oliver?”
“Who else?”
“Well, he’s not cruel.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Mr. Whitney is…” Liam exhales, dragging a hand across his jaw, as if choosing his words with careful consideration. “He’s very controlled.”
“Like Mr. Bordeaux?”
“In a way, yes, but not as harsh.”
“Will he…?” I swallow hard, forcing myself not to squirm. “Is he expecting to touch me?”
Liam taps his fingers against the table, gaze fixed on the window, his profile concealing whatever he’s thinking.
What doesn’t he want me to see?
“Liam,” I press, my tone insistent, “what does Oliver want from me?”
“I don’t know.”
Unease curls in my gut. “You don’t know?”
“Oliver has…specific tastes. Needs he takes care of elsewhere.” A beat passes. “But that doesn’t mean you’re safe.”
The tea turns bitter on my tongue. I should be used to this by now.
Walking blind into the hands of another man.
Adapting to whatever waits for me in his domain.
But I’m not, and I don’t think I ever will be.
8
Liam’s been in the library for what feels like forever. I pace the corridor, the soles of my flats scuffing the polished marble.
Forward. Pivot. Back again.
That closed door taunts me. I don’t know how much time has passed. Ten minutes? Twenty? Regardless, every second drags, stretching my nerves to the breaking point. My thoughts spiral through the worst possibilities…
Oliver Whitney’s expectations.
The details Liam might be sharing.
And the looming threat of the dungeon.
The toast and eggs I forced down this morning want to make a reappearance. I hug my rebellious stomach and turn on my heel once more, and that’s when the door creaks open.
Liam steps out, followed by Oliver, who’s even taller than I remember, easily clearing six feet. The precision of his tailored suit clashes with the unruly fall of midnight hair grazing his ears. His brown eyes, lighter than Liam’s by several shades, sweep over me.
“I’ll give you a minute to say your goodbyes.” Oliver strides toward the elevator and stops a few feet away, allowing us space to breathe.
As Liam closes the distance between us, a strained silence lingers. He clears his throat, as if he’s trying to dislodge something heavier than words. “I don’t know what to say.” His hands slide into the pockets of his light grey trousers, shoulders stiff. “I’m not ready for this.”
My gaze lowers to his rustic brown shoes. “Did you tell him about last night? I mean the cliff.”
“He’s aware. We also came to an understanding.”
“What kind of understanding?”
“We agreed that you need to see Dr. Price.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Sullivan Price, from the House of Pisces. He’s a psychiatrist.”
“I don’t need a shrink.”
“Oliver disagrees. So do I.”
“You can disagree all you want.” I fold my arms, the picture of petulance. “You might be able to drag me there, but you can’t make me talk.”
“Then you’ll be very bored.” He lifts his chin. “Because you’re not leaving Sully’s office until you cooperate.”
“You can’t do this!”
“You’re right. I can’t. But Oliver can.” Liam’s stare is unwavering. “He’s also assigning someone to watch you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snap.
“Your stunt on the cliff says otherwise.”
“I said I wouldn’t do it again.”
“I know what you said.” He scans my face, studying me as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “And I believe you meant it, but I have to be sure. Until I know you’re not a danger to yourself, the babysitter, as you called her, stays.”
The fates must be laughing, because a woman rounds the corner from the tower’s grand foyer, the tap of her heels sharp against the floor. Dressed in navy slacks and a fitted cream blouse, she carries herself with a no-nonsense air that sets my teeth on edge.
Oliver rejoins us, his gaze settling on the woman I assume is my babysitter. “This is Astrid,” he announces. “She’ll be staying with you.”
The woman gives a single nod, her face an unapproachable mask. She’s tall and poised, the embodiment of composure, with her dark hair swept into a sleek bun.
I press my lips together and fight the impulse to argue. Objecting outright won’t get me anywhere, not with Liam’s mind made up, so I shift to Oliver instead.
“I understand the concern, but is this really necessary? I’m sure Astrid has better things to do.”
“Better things than her job? She’s a professional, hired to keep you safe.” Oliver adjusts his cuff. “And I agree with the chancellor. We can’t risk you, my queen.” His words leave no room for debate, so I bite back any further protest.
If I’ve learned anything from these men, it’s that resistance is pointless.
Liam meets my gaze, and though he says nothing, emotion swells behind the quiet. The message is clear.
Don’t forget your promise to me.
Only then does he look away, his voice rough as he turns to Oliver. “Take care of her. I’m counting on you.”
“Of course.”
Liam hesitates, jaw set, his earth-toned eyes revealing too much. Without another word, he turns away, and I can’t bring myself to watch him go.
A beat of disquiet hangs, but Oliver doesn’t extend the moment. “Follow me.” He moves forward like a man used to being obeyed.
I fall in step beside him, Astrid trailing behind, and no one speaks during the short elevator ride to the fourth floor. When we enter the House of Capricorn, I’m not prepared for what awaits.
The space is the opposite of the penthouse’s contemporary design, and while its layout mirrors the other floors of Zodiac Estate, Oliver’s taste for antique decor sets it apart. High end pieces of mahogany furniture define the sitting room, each sofa, chair, and accent table carved with meticulous detail. A grandfather clock marks time in quiet, deliberate beats, and low lighting glints off crystal decanters on a sleek bar cabinet.
But the true centerpiece of the room isn’t the furniture or the clock.
It’s the walls.
They’re nothing short of scandalous, adorned with life-sized paintings of the same faceless woman in intricate forms of bondage.
The provocative imagery isn’t what stops me cold. It’s the devastation that follows, stealing my breath, because I’d recognize that beautiful, exotic style anywhere.
“Sebastian painted these.” It’s not a question. His signature, SAS, haunts the bottom right corner of each canvas, etched as permanently as the scars he left on my soul.
“Yes,” Oliver answers, matter-of-fact, as if he doesn’t notice how the sight of those paintings tears me apart. “As artists go, he was the best.”
I stumble after him, exhaling in a rush, and force myself to keep pace as he moves through the fourth floor with brisk efficiency.
“Kitchen. Home office. Gym.” He gestures at each area as we pass, then pauses at a great room. “I call this the solarium.”
Beyond the towering wall of glass, the sea sprawls in endless motion. I’ve watched those waves a thousand times, crashing against the cliffs, always in flux. Last night, I almost saw them up close and personal.
But there’s no time to dwell on my mistakes.
Oliver is already moving again, and just as I catch up, he falters in front of a set of double doors. “This is the library. You’re welcome to use it whenever you like.”
With a touch of awe, I take in the towering rows of books. The collection spans classics and thrillers…and, surprisingly, romance novels. My fingers itch to reach for one and disappear into someone else’s story for a while.
He continues past the library, stopping next at a heavy door. Dark engravings spiral across its surface, elaborate patterns twisting into something almost hypnotic—until my gaze snags on the keypad embedded in the frame.
“This room is off-limits for now.” He swings his gaze from me to the door. “Until I decide otherwise.”
I tilt my head, more curious than wary. “What’s in there?”
His lips curve, amusement sparking in his chestnut eyes. “Something you’re not ready for.”
He’s got me there, because I’m not ready for any of this. I never am.
We continue deeper until the hall opens into a large suite. “This is where you’ll stay for the month. I’ll have an extra bed brought in for Astrid.”
Stepping past him, I take in my surroundings. Rich cherrywood furnishings, a massive bed dressed in a charcoal-gray duvet, and a sitting area near the fireplace, its warmth painting the walls in burnt amber. An arched mullioned window seat promises the perfect place to disappear into a book.
Or zone out into nothingness.
The babysitter enters behind me, while Oliver stalls on the threshold, assessing each detail to ensure it meets his exacting standards.
“I had some of your things brought in.” He motions to the writing desk. “Sketching supplies, a few of your books. The wardrobe has some of your clothes as well.”
I glance at the familiar items, and my stomach tightens at the unexpected consideration.
Kindness from these men always comes with strings.
Before I can decide whether to reach for my sketchbook or pretend it doesn’t exist, he’s speaking again.
“I’ll come for you in two hours. Stay here until then.”
“What happens in two hours?”
“Your first session with Dr. Price.”
I fold my arms, already tired of this routine. “That will make me late for the monthly dinner.”
Crossing his arms to match my stance, he leans against the doorjamb, but the smirk I expect doesn’t come. Instead, his jaw tightens. “How do you figure? It’s a ninety-minute session.”
“Liam said I can’t leave until I talk.”
“Then I suggest you talk, or you’ll be there a while.”
“Hence,” I say through gritted teeth, “why I said I’ll be late tonight.”
“Good thing dinner’s been cancelled, then.”
I blink. “Cancelled? Why?” Not that I want to attend another gathering, but I prefer it to having a stranger prod me into spilling my guts.
“We held dinner last night…though you had other priorities.” His clipped words simmer with reproach.
I gape at him, thrown by the severity of his tone. Before I can make sense of it, he straightens in the doorway.
“Two hours,” he reminds me, holding up two fingers. “In the meantime, I’ll have lunch sent up.” His smooth voice drops. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“Where would I go?”
His gaze veers toward the window and the cliffs beyond, and a dark cloud hovers over his expression. “Nowhere. Be here when I return.”
He leaves the door open, and my pulse stutters as I watch his retreating back. I don’t know what rattles me more—the bite in his tone or the eerie sense that, somehow, what happened on the cliffs is personal to him.
And I’m left wondering whose pain I brushed against without meaning to.
9
The babysitter is definitely not here to be my friend. Not that I want one right now, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy someone watching my every move. Her presence is inescapable as I pick at my lunch alone, because sharing a meal with me isn’t part of the job.
Her rule. Not mine.
When does she even eat? In the dead of night? While I’m in the tub? Except…she followed me into the bathroom once already, much to my dismay.
I don’t have time to dwell on her schedule, though. Oliver returns as I’m setting down my fork, signaling it’s time to send me off to the shrink.
The ride to the main floor is quick, punctuated by Astrid’s nonverbal form of communication. I’m on autopilot as I navigate the halls, the babysitter keeping pace behind me.
But as we pass a familiar door I haven’t dared approach in weeks, my steps almost falter.
Sebastian’s studio.
A jagged pang rips through my chest. I don’t stop, but that closed door hovers in my periphery, dragging me back to a time I’d give anything to go back to.
The day he had me sprawled in a chair, shy and innocent, yet somehow wearing my nudity like power beneath the heat of his ocean eyes. I’d savored the way he brought me to life on his canvas. God, how he painted me.
Not like a girl, but a woman.
A woman with undeniable sensuality.
A woman he wanted.
Sebastian saw me, his brushstrokes a possessive caress, discovering every curve through his art. Those hours weren’t forbidden or stolen, but they were ours.
Now the shadows of what could have been haunt me down the hall. My pulse wavers, throttled by regret, and I don’t fight the fog waiting to swallow me whole.
It’s the only way to survive.
I reach Dr. Price’s office and find it oddly empty. Untethered without instruction, I hesitate before sinking onto a plush velvet settee as Astrid melts into the background. Still, the weight of her surveillance remains, blending with thought, time, and the cushion beneath my thighs. Unsure of what else to do, I press a thumb into my damp palm and give myself over to a mindless rhythm that erases the world.
