The next morning, the soft click of the lock was her only warning. Naomi remained curled under the duvet, a tight knot of misery and guilt. The covers were a shield, a weak barrier against the world and the crushing weight of her own thoughts. She heard the maid approach, the footsteps light and respectful.
"Ma'am, breakfast is here," a soft voice said. Naomi peeked her head out from under the covers, just enough to see the young woman standing by the bed, a tray in her hands. The maid's eyes were filled with genuine pity.
"I'm not hungry, take it away," Naomi said, her voice hoarse from disuse. She pulled the duvet back over her head, wanting to block out the sight of the food, of the pity, of everything.
Instead of leaving, the maid lingered. "Ma'am, pardon me for speaking out of term when it's not my place," she began, her tone full of a gentle concern that made Naomi's chest ache.
"But you need to eat, Madam." She paused, her voice dropping even lower. "You didn't eat yesterday. You cannot starve yourself."
The words, spoken with such simple, genuine worry, cut through Naomi's wall of self-pity. She slowly peeked her head out once more, really looking at the maid for the first time. She was young, maybe only a few years older than herself, with kind eyes that seemed out of place in this house of horrors.
"What's your name?" Naomi asked, her voice a rough whisper.
The maid seemed slightly taken aback by the question but answered immediately. "Georgia," she responded softly.
"And Georgia," Naomi continued, a flicker of her old self, the curious sister, stirring within, "how old are you?"
"I'm twenty-one, ma'am," Georgia responded, her hands tightening slightly on the tray, as if she were nervous but determined to stand her ground on the matter of Naomi's health.
"Well then Georgia," Naomi began, her voice sharp and brittle, cracking like thin ice. She sat up, the duvet pooling around her waist, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce light.
"If you were nineteen and forced to marry Xavier Thorne by your own father, do you think you'd be able to eat anything?" The question was a verbal slap, each word laced with a venom that wasn't meant for the maid, but for the entire, screwed-up world.
Her voice grew louder, more desperate, the carefully constructed walls of her composure crumbling under the weight of the maid's simple kindness. "If you knew that this was how you're going to spend your life, a prisoner in a room where your favorite colour is your only companion, would you eat?" She gestured wildly around the beautiful, suffocating blue room, a tragic queen in her cage.
Tears began to prick her eyes, hot and unwelcome. She hated crying in front of people, hated showing weakness. But she couldn't stop it. "If you knew your husband could destroy everything you love just by a snap of his fingers," she said, her voice breaking on the last few words, the image of her shattered phone and Anaya's face flashing in her mind, "Would you be eating?"
She stared at Georgia, her chest heaving, the anger draining out of her as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a hollow, aching emptiness. She hadn't meant to be so harsh, to unleash her storm on the one person who had shown her a sliver of compassion. But the words were out now, hanging in the air between them, a raw, testament to her pain.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry," Georgia said, her voice soft but firm, a delicate balance of sympathy and duty. "I cannot understand your predicament, but I do sympathize. Is there anything I may do to help?" She didn't realize the magnitude of the offer, the tiny crack of light she was presenting to a woman drowning in darkness.
Naomi's head snapped up, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in her eyes. "Can you relay a message to my sister?" she asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper, as if saying it too loud might shatter the possibility.
Georgia's face fell, a look of deep regret crossing her features. "I don't think I could, Ma'am," she replied, her voice barely audible. "Mr. Thorne... he monitors everything. I couldn't possibly do such without him knowing."
"Just as I thought," Naomi sighed, the hope extinguishing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind the bitter taste of despair. "I'm sorry I'm no help, Ma'am," Georgia said, her tone pleading now, "but you really should eat. Please, Madam." She gestured to the tray, the food now cold and unappetizing.
Naomi ignored her, turning her face back to the wall, ready to sink back into her pit of misery. But then, an idea, sharp and dangerous, popped into her head. She turned back to Georgia, her eyes wide with a new, frantic urgency. "Can I borrow your phone?" she asked.
The maid immediately hesitated, her body tensing. Her friendly, concerned demeanor vanished, replaced by the look of a cornered animal. "Ma'am, I really want to help but I..." Georgia began, her voice trailing off, her eyes darting towards the door as if she expected Xavier to be standing there.
"Please," Naomi cut her off, her voice rising in a desperate plea. She sat up fully, her hands clasped together, begging. "He won't know. I need to speak to my sister. Please, I'm begging you." The words tumbled out, a raw, desperate stream of consciousness.
Her eyes, wide and swimming in unshed tears, locked onto Georgia's, pouring out all the pain and desperation of her situation. It was a risk, a huge, terrible risk for them both, but it was the only chance she had.
A war raged behind Georgia's eyes. The cold, hard logic of self-preservation, the ingrained fear of Mr. Thorne, battled against the warm, aching pull of compassion. To defy him was to risk everything—her job, her safety, maybe even her life. But to look at Naomi, to see the proud, beautiful girl reduced to a desperate, pleading prisoner in a blue room... it was more than her conscience could bear.
It was the look in Naomi's eyes that finally broke her. It was a look so raw, so naked in its desperation that it transcended the barrier between maid and mistress. It was the look of one young woman begging another for a lifeline.
"Okay... uhm, here," Georgia whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Her hands shook as she reached into the pocket of her crisp uniform and pulled out a small, cool rectangle of rebellion. She held it out to Naomi like a holy relic. "Please be quick, Ma'am."
Naomi nodded, a single, jerky motion of understanding. She didn't just take the phone; she snatched it, her fingers closing around it with a desperate, almost painful grip. The entire mansion, the guards, the locked door—it all faded into a meaningless blur. The world was reduced to the small, glowing screen in her hand.
Her thumb, clumsy with haste, fumbled for a moment before stabbing at the screen, typing in the number she knew by heart, a lifeline to a world she thought she'd lost forever. She pressed the phone to her ear, her own breathing loud in the silence, her heart pounding a frantic, terrified rhythm as she waited for her sister to pick up.
Naomi
The lock clicked, and I burrowed deeper under the duvet, like a kid thinking the blankets can protect you from monsters. The soft footsteps approached, and a tray was set on the bedside table.
"Ma'am, breakfast is here," a soft voice said. Ugh, another one. I peeked out. The maid was young, with these big, sad eyes that looked at me like I was a puppy in a shelter. It was so freaking annoying.
"I'm not hungry, take it away," I mumbled, pulling the cover back over my head. Leave me alone to drown in my own misery, thank you very much.
Instead of leaving, she sighed. "Ma'am, pardon me for speaking out of turn... but you need to eat, Madam." Her voice was full of this gentle concern that just made me want to scream. "You didn't eat yesterday. You cannot starve yourself."
That did it. Something inside me just snapped. I threw the covers off and sat up. "Well then, Georgia," I said, my voice coming out way sharper and harsher than I meant it to. "
If you were nineteen and forced to marry Xavier Thorne by your own father, do you think you'd be able to eat anything?" Her eyes went wide. "If you knew this was how you were going to spend your life—a prisoner in a room where your favorite color is your only companion—would you eat?" I gestured around the stupid, beautiful room. "If you knew your husband could destroy everything you love just by snapping his fingers, would you be eating?"
Tears were pricking my eyes, and I hated it. Hated looking weak in front of her.
She just stood there, stunned. "Ma'am, I'm sorry... I cannot understand your predicament..." she stammered. "Is there anything I may do to help?"
"Can you relay a message to my sister?" I asked, my voice all small and hopeful again.
"I don't think I could, Ma'am," she said, and just like that, the tiny flame of hope was snuffed out. "I'm sorry I'm no help, Ma'am, but you really should eat, please, Madam."
I ignored her, turning back to the wall. But then, a thought, a crazy, stupid, wonderful thought, popped into my head. I turned back to her, my heart starting to pound. "Can I borrow your phone?"
She hesitated instantly, her whole body tensing up. "Ma'am, I really want to help but I..."
"Please," I cut her off, my voice cracking. "He won't know. I need to speak to my sister. Please, I'm begging you." I was sitting up now, my hands clasped together. I probably looked like a total mess, but I didn't care. I was desperate.
She looked at my pleading eyes, then at the door, then back at me. It was like a battle was going on inside her head. Finally, with a shaky sigh, she reached into her pocket.
"Okay... uhm, here," she whispered, handing me the phone. It felt like a winning lottery ticket. "Please be quick, Ma'am."
I nodded so fast my head almost fell off. I grabbed the phone, my fingers fumbling as I stabbed in Anaya's number. The number I knew by heart. I pressed the phone to my ear, my own breathing so loud I couldn't think. Please pick up, Anaya. Please, please, please pick up. It just kept ringing. And ringing. And with every ring, my heart sank a little lower.
Xavier
The shrill, insistent buzz of the secure line cut through the pre-dawn silence like a knife. I was already awake, of course. I rarely slept more than a few hours, a lifetime of looking over your shoulder will do that to you. I glanced at the clock. 5:17 a.m. Only Enzo would dare call this early.
I snatched the phone from the nightstand. "What," I said , my voice rough with sleep but sharp with authority.
"Boss, we have a problem," Enzo's voice came through, strained. "Cargo bay. We caught a rat. A fucking spy."
I was out of bed in a single motion, pulling on a pair of black trousers and a silk robe. "I'm on it."
The office was cold, the world outside still a blanket of stars. I poured myself a coffee, black and bitter, and got straight to work. My first call was back to Enzo. "Report."
"He's not talking, boss. Professional. No ID, nothing on him."
"Torture him," I said, my voice flat, as if I were ordering a pizza. "I don't care what it takes. I want to know who sent him, and I want to hear him scream his own name before he dies. Call me when he sings."
I hung up and dialed another number, this one to a port in Spain. "The shipment," I said without wasting time with introductions.
"It arrives tomorrow. No excuses. If it's a minute late, I'll personally fly there and feed your balls to the sharks. Do you understand me?" The sputtering on the other end was confirmation enough.
One more call. This one to my head of security. "Scout and secure the entire cargo bay. I want it locked down tighter than a nun's cunt. No one gets in or out without my say-so. Go over it with a fine-toothed comb. Find out how this fucker got in."
I slammed the phone down, a rare surge of anger pulsing through me. incompetence. It was the one thing I had no patience for. I paced the office for a few more minutes, making a few more calls, ensuring my empire was secure, cleaning up the mess.
It wasn't until the first rays of sunlight began to pierce the skyline that I glanced at the clock again. 9:05 a.m. The morning chaos was handled. A flicker of another thought, a more interesting one, cut through my irritation. Naomi.
Time to check on the little bird. I wanted to see if my little speech yesterday had sunk in, if the defiance had been replaced by the sweet, hollow-eyed acceptance of a prisoner.
It would be a nice little diversion before I truly started my day. I turned and headed for the third floor, curious to see the state of my new pet.