Elena's POV
I woke up not knowing where I was.
The bed was too soft. The room was too quiet. And the air smelled like expensive leather and pine—nothing like the musty cottage where I'd spent the last five years.
Then I remembered. Damien's room. His mansion. His world.
I was trapped here.
My hands searched the nightstand for my white cane. Gone. I'd dropped it somewhere last night when that man—Marcus's man—broke into my old room. Before Damien dragged me through his maze of a house and locked me in here like I was some kind of precious prisoner.
My stomach growled, loud in the silent room. When was the last time I ate? Yesterday morning, before the wedding that wasn't really a wedding. Before my whole life turned into a nightmare.
I needed food. I needed to find the kitchen or dining room or wherever rich people ate breakfast in mansions like this.
I slid my feet off the bed and stood slowly. Three steps forward, hands outstretched. My fingers hit a wall. Good. I could follow walls. Walls led to doors.
But which wall? And which door?
I tried to remember Damien's instructions from last night. "Bathroom to the left. Closet to the right." But left and right from where? From the bed? From the door? Why didn't he say anything about how to get OUT?
My hands found a doorknob. I opened it—and walked straight into a closet full of men's suits. The expensive fabric brushed against my face, smelling like Damien's cologne. Wrong door.
I backed out and tried again. Another door. This time, cool tile under my feet. The bathroom. Still wrong.
"Come on, Elena," I whispered to myself. "You've navigated spaces before. You can do this."
But I'd never navigated a mansion. I'd never been in a place this big, this confusing, this deliberately designed to make me feel small and lost.
Third door. This one opened to... nothing. Empty air. A hallway, maybe?
I stepped out carefully, hands on the walls. The floor changed from carpet to marble. Cold and slippery. I counted my steps. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Then the wall ended.
My hands searched for something—anything—to hold onto. Just empty space on both sides. I was standing in some kind of open area. A balcony? A landing? How many floors up was I?
Panic squeezed my chest. If I took one wrong step, I could fall. I could die. And no one would find me for hours because Damien made it clear he didn't care if I lived or—
"Are you lost, dear?"
I gasped and spun toward the voice. A woman's voice. Kind. Gentle. Not Maria, the maid from yesterday. Someone new.
"I—yes. I'm trying to find breakfast. Or the kitchen. Or—" My voice cracked. "I don't know where anything is."
Soft footsteps approached. "Of course you don't. This house is a maze even for people who can see. I'm Sophie, by the way. The nurse caring for Mrs. Cross—Damien's mother."
Catherine. The dying woman who forced Damien to marry me. The only reason I was alive.
"I'm Elena," I said quietly.
"I know who you are." Sophie's hand gently touched my elbow. "Come on. I'll take you to the dining room. Mr. Cross is already there, having his coffee and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist."
There was something in her tone—not quite disapproval, but close. Like she'd seen Damien's cruelty before and didn't approve.
She guided me through the mansion, describing each turn. "We're going down the main staircase now. Fifteen steps. There's a railing on your right... Now we're in the entrance hall. The dining room is straight ahead, past the ugly statue of some Roman guy..."
I tried to memorize everything, building a mental map. But there were too many turns, too many rooms, too many chances to get lost again.
Finally, Sophie stopped. "Here we are. He's at the head of the table, reading the financial section like it's the most important thing in the world. Good luck."
She squeezed my hand once, then her footsteps faded away.
I stood in the doorway, listening. I heard pages turning. A coffee cup being set down. Breathing—steady, controlled, bored.
Damien.
I forced myself to move forward, hands outstretched. My fingers found the back of a chair.
"That's not your seat," Damien said without looking up from his paper. I could tell by the rustle of pages. "Your seat is at the other end. Ten feet away."
Of course. Even at breakfast, he wanted distance.
I walked carefully, counting steps. Found another chair. Sat down.
Silence. Just the sound of pages turning and my own nervous breathing.
A plate appeared in front of me—I heard it being set down, smelled eggs and toast. One of the servants, moving so quietly I hadn't heard them approach.
I picked up my fork and tried to find the food. My fork scraped across the empty plate. Wrong spot. I tried again. Found something soft—the eggs, maybe. Brought it to my mouth.
Toast. Dry toast.
I chewed slowly, trying not to make noise. Trying to be invisible.
More page turning. More silence.
"How did you sleep?" I finally asked. My voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.
"Fine."
One word. That was it.
I tried again. "The room is very nice. Thank you for—"
"I didn't decorate it for you," Damien interrupted. "It's been my room for years. Don't read into it."
My cheeks burned. "I wasn't. I was just trying to—"
"Trying to what? Make small talk? Pretend we're a normal couple?" His newspaper snapped as he turned another page. "We're not. This is a business arrangement. I didn't marry you for conversation."
The words hit like slaps. Each one carefully aimed to hurt.
I set down my fork. I wasn't hungry anymore.
"You're right," I said quietly. "I forgot my place. I won't bother you again."
"Good."
I heard his chair scrape back. Footsteps. He was leaving. Walking away without even finishing his breakfast.
The door slammed.
I sat there in the empty dining room, fighting back tears. This was my life now. This coldness. This cruelty. This man who looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe.
"Mrs. Cross?" A new voice. Male. Deep. "I'm Gabriel Romano, head of security. Mr. Cross asked me to inform you that you're not to leave the mansion without an armed escort. For your safety."
"My safety," I repeated bitterly. "Or his convenience?"
"Both, probably." There was a hint of sympathy in Gabriel's voice. "Look, I know this situation is... difficult. But the boss isn't as heartless as he pretends. Give him time."
"Time to what? Decide if he wants to keep me or throw me away?"
Gabriel didn't answer. That was answer enough.
His footsteps faded, and I was alone again.
I stood up carefully, ready to try to find my way back to the room. But then I heard it.
A sound from somewhere above me. A soft thud. Then another. Like footsteps on the floor overhead.
But Sophie said Catherine was in the hospital wing on the main floor. Damien had just left the dining room. The servants were all downstairs.
So who was walking around on the second floor?
The footsteps stopped. Right above my head.
Then a voice—so faint I almost missed it. A woman's voice, but not Sophie's. Not Maria's.
"She's here... the blind girl... Marcus will pay well..."
Ice flooded my veins.
Someone was in this house. Someone who shouldn't be here. Someone who wanted to sell me to Marcus Steele.
I opened my mouth to scream—
And a hand clamped over it from behind.
"Don't make a sound," a man whispered in my ear. "Or you'll be dead before anyone comes to save you."