Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I’m the doctor; let me do my job.” Dr Brooks sneers, and then inserts the syringe into the port on my IV. I know I should be more concerned, trying to figure out what the hell he just injected me with but I’m still hung up on the ring perching on my wedding finger. The ruby is red, fiery red, catching every glint of low light in the room. It’s framed by smaller, but still pretty big, white diamonds.
With a gasp, I tug my hand free of his grasp and examine the ring a little closer. This can’t be what I think it is. Can it? Dread swamps me. I move to rip the ring off and toss it at him, but Sebastian clasps my wrist in one hand stopping me before I can do so.
His touch isn’t hurtful, but it's unyielding. "Don't even think about it. That ring is a form of protection. Keep it on at all times.”
"What? What do you mean? What is it?"
"A rare ruby. It belonged to my grandmother, and now it belongs to you."
"But why?" The words are out as the answer pops into my head. This is so much worse than I could’ve imagined. "No."
His lips tug up into a smile. “No? No, what?”
While I stare at him, my mind churning slowly, so very slowly, he inspects the bandage on my arm closest to him and raises a questioning eye to the doctor, who watches us closely.
"It's as you requested," Dr. Brooks snaps as if he’s annoyed with Sebastian’s prying eyes.
What the hell is going on?
“I’m happy to hear that.” Sebastian replies coolly.
“I can’t wear this. I won’t wear it.” I reach for the ring to pull it off again, but Sebastian’s hand closes over mine before I touch it.
“You will wear the ring, or I will have a tattoo put on your finger in place of that ring.” The words echo in my ears. A tattoo? He can’t be serious. But the tone of his voice, and the way he’s acting, leads me to believe he is serious, dead serious.
Panic claws at my insides and I look away from where he holds my hand, and back up into his eyes. He’s different. This is different. I don’t know him. Actually, no, I do. I just failed to see who he really was all along. “Please…. I’m begging you.”
His voice is clipped. “Don’t fuck with me, Elyse. You’ve only seen the tamed down version of me. I can be far more ruthless when given the motivation.”
“I won’t be your wife.”
He smiles, “You already are.”
My eyes grow heavier, and I blink to refocus my attention. There is no way I heard him correctly. I have to get out of here. Out of this bed. Away from him. I’m not safe. No one is safe around him. Everything about him is a lie, and he's dragged me into his fucked up fantasy world.
"This," I shake off his grip and lift my hand, showing him the ring, like he can’t see it. "This means we are engaged. It’s not permanent, it's an act until..."
"Until what?" he asks curiously, sliding closer on the bed, always careful not to jostle me.
A knot forms in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. I force a steady breath into my lungs, which has become more of a pant over the past minute, the staccato beeping on the monitor near the doctor accompanying every breath.
"Until what?" He asks again.
I can't bring myself to say it, maybe because it doesn’t matter. Yanov is dead. He’s dead, and it’s my fault. It feels wrong to be relieved instead of sad. And while I’m not sorry he’s dead—he deserved to die—I’m having trouble processing the fact that his death is on my hands. I killed him. I ended his life. Not Sebastian. Not anyone else. Me.
I try my hardest to blink back tears, because crying in front of him isn’t going to fix what’s already happened, but that’s impossible when the emotions are overtaking me. Sebastian leans forward, and his huge hand cups my cheek in such a tender way. It’s a mockery of the roughness of his words and voice. The lighting is just right, and I catch sight of a gold band adorning his ring finger.
Oh god. It’s real. It wasn’t just a dream.
We’re married.
"Does…why’re you wearing that?” I choke out. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t.
“Why do you think, Elyse?”
“I… I’m sorry, but I think I’m confused. We aren’t really married? It’s a joke right? You’re messing with me.”
Lord, please tell me we aren’t married.
His mouth twitches up at the sides, like he wants to smile again, but it isn't a smile he gives me. It’s the look of a predator, all teeth, with determination rippling through its veins moments before it strikes.