Eden’s POV

The wine cellar is freezing cold.

I huddle in the corner of the cellar, between shelves of red and white wine, all of which are more expensive than the bottle before it. I can’t even have any to drink, or anything to drink at all, with my hands still bound behind me.

My wrists have raw, exposed cuts, and I can’t even feel the sting of pain from them anymore. My face is throbbing with bruises, along with my neck and the rest of my body over ...