Chapter 27: Little Liar: Chapter 27

The wallpaper is curling at the corner. My fingertips glide over it, tearing it a little as I continue walking the length of the bedroom I’ve been trapped in for the last three weeks.

Round and round I go. Over and over again. Like a toy race car on one of those tracks kids get at Christmas—as basic as they come. That’s me. One foot in front of the other, as my fingers guide me where I need to go. My eyes are closed. I won’t walk into anything—there’s only a bed in here, and the small bathroom with no window for me to escape through.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four.

If I focus on my breaths and the sound of my feet shuffling on the carpet, I can make up a song in my head. An imaginary drum, a bass, a singing voice mixed with a guitar that’s actually someone using a drill nearby in the manor.

Manor.

It’s not a manor at all. It’s a prison. My prison. An old asylum bought over by the Reznikovs nearly a hundred years ago that’s been refurbished into a fancy fortress with too much security and non-stop parties. A home that will be passed down for many generations.

They need an heir—Igor demands one. Xander hates the idea of being in my vicinity despite the war he caused to get me here, and Adryx has disappeared. He was caught helping us, and now he and his cousin have been in hiding. So it’s safe to say Igor has so far gotten nowhere in his plan after kidnapping me and shooting my father and brother.

Dad took a bullet to the leg, and while I was being dragged out by the hair, Malachi was shot. He was already bleeding heavily from his side—but he must be alive.

He can’t be dead. I would know. Igor or Xander would throw it in my face if they’d murdered him—they’d make a party of it.

Malachi is alive. I refuse to believe otherwise.

I only know about Adryx from Xander’s secret phone calls to his banished brother through the night when he thinks I’m unconscious. They don’t think I know, after the first night, that they crush pills into my night-time glass of water.

I pretend to drink it. There’s a section of the carpet under the bed that’s soaked with drug-laced water. The first night, Igor forced Xander into the room and locked it—he warned him to get the job done while I was struggling to stay awake, and I’m certain I heard him telling me to breathe and to stop panicking, that I was safe.

I swayed, fell on my ass, and woke up the next morning.

I didn’t feel violated. He hadn’t touched me. Xander was threatened again because there was no proof he had, and my mother suggested Igor send in a witness with him—that I’d crack under pressure, though Xander refused.

She’s a dirty traitor.

I hope she dies. I hope Malachi kills her, and Dad forgives him for it.

I hate Xander too, but the longer I’m here, the more I realize he’s a product of his environment and only trying to please his father—he’s controlled greatly, hates the idea of being forced to be with me, and spends a long time staring at himself in the bathroom mirror with a drained look on his face.

He gets to take over Reznikov Industries if he finds a wife and has her push out the first grandchild. His reward. The only thing he seems to think he needs to focus on.

He’s failed for years, and Adryx wasn’t given a second look for some reason, so Igor paid my mother millions because he heard she used to sell her daughter.

My fingers pause on the wall, my head tilting to listen. I never know if it’s real. There are voices. Sounds. Music. Laughter. I can’t make out words, as if I’m trapped down in the basement or up in the attic, far away from life.

Xander throws a lot of parties. One night, when I was bored, I watched him scroll through pictures while he sat on the bed beside me. He’s a womanizer, that much is obvious, but he has a touchy spot when it comes to Abigail. I asked him a few days ago if I could see her, and he went deathly pale and could barely get his words out before shouting at me to stop trying to be his friend.

He only comes here to sleep—or yell at me to walk down the aisle since I keep refusing. When I only refuse more, he tells me I’m making his life harder then leaves me here, all alone, with only the voices in my head and in the walls keeping me sane.

I won’t marry him. I’ve stood my ground on that. Igor has tried to blackmail me. If I don’t marry his son and combine our wealth and power, he’ll hurt my mom. When that didn’t work, because fuck my mom, he said that if he ever finds my father, he’ll make me watch him being murdered.

All I got from that is my father is hiding too. Maybe with Malachi?

Xander’s father is a powerful man. It makes sense for my dad and Malachi to hide. Would Molly be with them since Mom is here, in the manor?

They might be working on a plan to save me. And maybe Malachi needs more time to recover. It’s only been three weeks.

I’m terrified of Igor. I was always scared of Xander, but his father is a monster compared to him.

He slapped me across the face and ordered Xander to take me to his bedroom and deal with his future wife. I’ve been here ever since. Within these four walls with peeling wallpaper, no window to see what time of day it is, and the only time I eat is when a little old lady brings me my meals.

I pause walking again when the door opens, inwardly begging the world that it isn’t Igor. He recently told Xander that if he doesn’t get the job done, then he’ll do it himself.

When I first got here, I used to jump and go into defense mode. I’d shy away into the corner while Xander took all the good energy in the room and tainted it with his presence until I realized he wasn’t the real enemy. I mean, he was, still is, but it’s not the same now I know he’s being forced. Like I was when I was a kid.

I glance over my shoulder to see a tall Reznikov running his hands through his hair. I look to the side of him, to see out into the hallway, the faraway window showing me it’s night-time.

Xander sighs and shuts the door, locking it, then removes his tie and tosses it on the bed we’re made to share.

My shoulders slump as I relax. I’m not hiding or begging him to let me go like the first week—I simply turn my head away again and continue walking along the edge of the room, tracing my fingers over the wallpaper.

He says something, but I block him out, counting my steps, humming to myself as I focus on the way the wallpaper feels under my fingertips.

“Has my father broken you already?”

I freeze, dragging my gaze to him. I say silent, but anger runs through me, probably obvious in my expression.

“Good. Being mad means you can still feel, so you aren’t a complete shell. He wants us to attend a charity event this weekend,” he says, unfastening the buttons of his shirt. “I’m sure you miss being outside of this room. Will you attend with me and behave? You are supposed to be marrying me, so we can’t have you being a nuisance in public.”

My teeth grind. “I’m not marrying you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Making this more difficult helps neither of us.” Then he pulls off his belt and drops it on the ground. “You look like shit. Go shower and wash your hair.”

When I don’t move, he takes a step towards me. “Unless you want me to drag you in there and do it myself? We still have loads of areas to explore with our new relationship.”

“We have no relationship, and you’re not going to touch me. We both know that.”

He glares at me, his jaw tensing. “My father already said he would allow you to leave the room and have access to the manor, with your own free will, if you just let this happen.”

I raise an unplucked brow. “I’m not marrying you. I’m not fucking you and birthing your heir. I’m not going anywhere near you, regardless of who your dad threatens. Take no for an answer, Xander.”

Despite the threats from Igor making me itch, Xander’s threats mean nothing, considering I’ve been here for weeks and he hasn’t even attempted to touch me.

Which is still a shock. He was very vocal about what he wanted from me before I was kidnapped. I can still remember how sore my throat was from screaming so loud as the bullet lodged in Malachi’s chest. They had to knock me out in the yard to shut me up and stop me from fighting them. I kicked and screamed and begged, but I woke up in here, and I’ve been here ever since.

Xander comes closer, pinching a strand of my hair and rubbing it between his fingers. It usually smells of coconuts now, from the shampoo Igor makes me use. The same as his wife—Xander’s mother.

If he comes any closer, I’ll kick him in the balls.

Three hard raps interrupt whatever he was going to do.

Xander huffs. “What?” he snaps, gritting his teeth while glaring down at me as he waits for a reply.

When none comes, he releases my hair and goes to the door, swinging it open to reveal one of his father’s men—suited in black—standing with his lips pressed together.

“What?”

“I understand it’s late, sir, but we have a potential sighting of Miss Hempill.”

I narrow my brows. “Abigail?”

“Shut up,” Xander snaps at me then turns to the man. “Adryx?”

“No. Only her. Do you want us to go for her?”

“I’ll go,” he says, rushing to his jacket and throwing it on. “I don’t want anyone going near her without my permission. And make sure Olivia stays in this room.”

The guard nods, and then the door is closed in my face, leaving me alone within these four walls once more, wondering why Xander is trying to find my best friend and why he looked deathly pale again.