Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
The thought lands heavier than the joke.
“This is when it would be nice to know who the fuck our parents are,” Cal mutters. “At least then we’d have a little more info on how we were brought into this world and who our father is.”
Rook’s jaw tightens slightly. “We’ll never fucking know that, Cal,” he says flatly. “So don’t waste time on it.”
He’s right. We don’t know. We were dropped into foster care before we could remember anything.
“Well, we do know one thing—the elites are going to retaliate,” Cal comments. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Neither Rook nor I say anything, but it’s because there’s nothing else to say.
We’re all fucking in at this point.
Upstairs, Blair shifts in her sleep, and I feel it immediately.
The pull. The certainty. The bond.
I know without question why I took her.
And just like Rook said—there’s no going back now.
Blair
I wake up to silence, but unfortunately for me, it’s not the curated silence of a penthouse sixty floors above New York traffic.
This silence is dense and thick and feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
For a moment, I lie still, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember why it looks wrong.
But it doesn’t take long for the endless view of wood to bring me back to reality. Dark beams stretching overhead like something out of a wilderness catalog. The faint scent of pine lingers in the air.
I’m in a cabin, like some Little House on the Prairie bullshit. I sit up and look out the window, and instantly, I’m hit with the sight of trees because I’m in the freaking forest.
Gross.
My chest tightens as a memory floods back—his hands, his body, the kiss.
That kiss.
No. I shove that thought away immediately. I will not romanticize kissing my freaking kidnapper.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and my bare feet hit the floor. It’s cold. “No heated floors?” I mutter to myself. “How do people live like this?”
The walls, the dresser, and the ceiling are all wood. There is no marble or travertine to be seen, and the finishes are cheap, like someone DIY-ed this cabin themselves.
“This is barbaric.”
I need to get the hell out of here before I start to smell like pine trees.
I push off the bed and cross to the door, twisting the handle.
It’s locked. Because of course it is. Because I’ve been kidnapped and locked in a lumberyard.
I should probably be panicking, but mostly, I’m insulted. My family is too wealthy for me to be stuck inside a wilderness cabin. My father is one of the richest men in our circle. He knows senators and CEOs. He has private security on speed dial. If I don’t show up in New York, people will notice. If I don’t call, if I don’t check in, there will be questions.
There will be action.
There will be a search.
There has to be.
I lift my chin slightly at the thought.
They’ll find me. They’ll trace the SUV he was driving. Surely our cameras caught his license plate. They’ll have the whole damn Boston police force out looking for me and might even call in the army.
This won’t last long. I’ll be rescued soon.
My gaze drifts to the window again, and all I find is an endless sea of trees. There are no roads or rooftops or neighboring estates. Just forest as far as the eye can see.
Immediately, my confidence falters.
We are in the middle of nowhere. Even if there is a search party, what are they searching? Miles of wilderness?
My stomach twists, but I refuse to fall to pieces. Windsor women do not fall to pieces, my mother would say. Windsor women are strong and confident and can handle anything.
I turn away from the window, and when I spot the bathroom, I make the decision to salvage some normalcy. I’ll take a shower. That will make me feel better. That will help me figure out how to get out of this hellhole.
I flick on the light, revealing a clean but painfully simple space. Again. It’s like the Dark Ages. There is no marble or gold fixtures or oversized mirrors. No lush bath towels or robes. Just plastic bullshit like a bathroom is meant for efficiency instead of luxury.
Clearly, the importance of self-care is not understood around here.
If only Kidnapper Kane had had the decency to toss my suitcase in his stupid SUV when he took me, I’d have everything I need to complete my twenty-step skincare routine and daily hair conditioning regimen. At least then, I’d have my doll.
There mere thought of my most beloved possession makes tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away fast. I will not cry. I will not show weakness. I’m a Windsor woman, for fuck’s sake, and Windsor women are strong.
When I turn on the shower and remove my clothes, I catch sight of the singular bottle inside the tub—yes, a freaking tub for a shower. I pick it up and stare at the words, three-in-one.