CHAPTER 004

The Eye Behind the Patch

Ana’s Point of View

The silence between us had been a knife. I heard the voice of Max still, sharp, steady, and impossible to ignore. It was sufficient to remind me that here he made the rules. I did not mind when the maid, Katie, came to pick me up. She spoke low, her feet not, but her presence obedient.

She had presented herself with the sort of composure that fear brings, rather than benevolence. I trailed her feet down the long passage, but I was thinking of other things. On his left eye. The only one I could see.

It was not the dullness of old metal but a living flame, copper. It reflected the light in such a manner that it was difficult to take your eyes off it. Within it swam hues of gold, as though the sun had been caught up there.

That eye was alive. Dangerous. Hypnotic. And the patch that covered the other. What hid behind it? A wound? A scar? Or something worse, something he himself did not wish the world to see? I was whispering before I could stop. Katie... why does he have an eye patch?

Katie did not slow. Her face was still, her step fast, as though she had not heard. I pressed again. “Mr. Blackwood. Why does he cover it? ”That made her stop. She stood like a stiff spine, her hands clasped over her apron.

She glanced around and looked at me, just far enough to see me. "We do not talk about such things, Mrs. Blackwood," she said, in a flat tone. If you want to know, you ask him. ”I almost laughed.

Ask him? The man who had nearly choked me the day before because I had dared ask him something?

Right, I said, shaking my head. “Like that would end well. ”Katie was before two tall doors. Then she turned and walked on.

I fell silent. Not that I wished to, but because I had been taught the price of speaking when nobody wished to listen. The passage continued and was hung with pictures, which were costly but chilly, as all in this house. All the details shouted of power, of wealth, of control.

It was a place where people talked in low tones and followed. The room was large, luxurious, and plain. She opened them and bade me come in. My breath caught. Katie opened another door. The walls were grey, a soft grey, the sort of color that made all the rest of the world look sharper and cleaner.

The bed was in the middle, and it was made up in white sheets, the edges of which were lined with a blanket that was too nice to feel. The scent of the air was faintly lavender, an unobtrusive luxury that was irritating after the rattle of my day.

The bathroom was a magazine. A marble tub was under a skylight, and its smooth edges were shining in the light. There was a rainfall shower in the corner, divided by glass. She had no warmth, no cruelty in her voice. Katie put toiletries in a nice place on the counter. Toothbrush. Soap. New towels cut into squares."

You will have clean clothes when you are done," she said. I stood still, and my hands trembled. Just duty. Then she turned and left. The door closed with a soft click that was louder than a slam. Here again I was pushed into the world of a different man.

At last I unzipped the garments that still hung about me like chains. The water was hot, and I slipped into the tub, the heat oozing into my flesh, begging the pain out of my bones. I shut my eyes and allowed myself to sink.

But the pain within me did not go. The water could not cleanse the sting of his hand round my throat, nor the voice of his voice that I was his to dispose of. I rubbed my arms more vigorously, like I could wipe out the memory of the touch of Chase as well. His hands, his fists, his lies.

The bruises under makeup. The artificial smiles on the front of cameras. I had lived years pretending. Years wasting inwardly as the world looked on. No one knew. No one cared. I tried to hold the sound of my sobs with my hand, but in vain. Another cage.

Tears blurred my vision. Hot bitter tears that spilt into the water. I cried at the woman I was, the girl who thought she was in love. The sorrow ripped out of me in shreds. To the treachery that cut my heart. I wept for the years I had lost. But he had not lived as long as I had. Yet there is anger under the sorrow.

I could see the flash of Max in my mind, molten copper burning into me. His hand gripping my throat. His voice explaining the rules to me. He thought I was weak. He thought I was his. But he did not know me. I was broken, yes. Scarred, yes. It fit me like a well-chosen one when I put it on.

And I was not done fighting. As the water became cold, I got out. I threw on a towel that was soft enough to taunt me with its luxury. On the bed lay a dress. Simple, elegant, and cream-colored. I looked in the mirror. The broken girl Chase was not the woman looking back or the obedient doll Max wanted.

I will know what you want. Max Blackwood. She was someone else. Someone is still breathing. And she was not finished yet.

I put my palms on the counter and talked to myself. I stood still at the sound of footsteps. And when I do, you will be sorry you think you own me. I glanced in the mirror one more time. A knock. Firm. Certain. Ana called Ryan, as always steady. “Mr. Blackwood wants to see you. ”My heart raced.

I flattened the dress and gulped. "I will be there," I said, and I had to make my voice steady. Ryan made no reply, but I heard the shuffle of his boots dying away.

Why was this man now the monster that now stood between me and liberty? The copper eye haunted me. The patch over the other made my skin crawl with curiosity and fear.

What lay behind it? And what would I do when I knew?