Page 61 of The Captive
My breath caught in my throat. The thought crystallised with beautiful clarity. Aoife O'Malley wasn't just an obstacle—she was the corruption in what should have been perfect. That night in the maze, Alexander had seen my true self, understood my darkness, claimed me completely. But now, watching him look at her with that same intensity, I understood the problem.
She was making him soft. Domestic. The dangerous predator who had hunted me through the maze was being tamed by O'Malley sentiment and false domesticity.
Remove the corruption, and the natural order would restore itself. Alexander would remember what real darkness felt like,what we could build together from the ashes of these weak family empires.
Without her distracting influence, he would remember what we'd shared, how perfectly matched we were in our appetites, our darkness. She was the only thing standing between Alexander and me, between the future we were meant to have.
I hugged my knees tighter to my chest, smiling in the darkness. Yes. This was the solution. The only solution.
With Aoife O'Malley gone, Alexander would be mine again...
Eighteen
BEATRICE O'BRIEN
A door slammed somewhere above,jolting me from a fitful sleep. Footsteps moved across the foyer, then faded.
I waited with newfound patience as darkness fell completely over the estate. The house gradually quieted—security guards changing shifts, night staff completing final tasks, doors locking. Through a small opening on the side , I watched the main hall fall into shadow, illuminated only by security lights casting eerie blue glows across marble floors.
When the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed midnight, I eased the cupboard door open. My muscles screamed in protest after th prolonged confinement, but the pain felt distant, unimportant. I moved with deliberate care, each step calculated to avoid noise such as creaking floorboards.
The servants' staircase—a narrow passage hidden behind a panelled wall—provided the perfect route. I knew this house intimately, had explored every hidden corner over the years here. The knowledge served me well now as I ascended, placing each foot with precision, pausing at the slightest sound.
The kitchen lay dark and still when I emerged, illuminated only by the digital numbers on the oven clock. My stomach clenched painfully, reminding me how long it had been since I'd eaten. I moved to the bread box, retrieving a sliced half-loaf and tearing into it with animal hunger. The taste—simple, bland sourdough—exploded across my palate like the finest delicacy. I devoured three thick slices, barely pausing to breathe.
When the edge of hunger dulled, I moved with renewed purpose to the knife block. My fingers trailed lovingly across the handles before selecting a carving knife with a long, tapered blade. I tested its weight, its balance, nodding in satisfaction. A proper tool for delicate work.
"Just a little longer," I whispered to the blade, watching how the dim light played along its edge. "Just a little longer, and everything will be as it should be."
The main staircase creaked treacherously beneath my careful tread, but the sound was swallowed by the vastness of the house. I paused at Alexander's door, pressing my ear against the polished wood. Silence. Was he asleep? Or perhaps not even there?
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the handle. What if Aoife was with him? What if they were together, right now, their bodies entwined in the bed where he should have been with me?
The image sent a wave of molten rage through my veins. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, forcing myself to think clearly. No—I couldn't risk confronting them together. Alexander was too strong, too big a threat, formidable. I needed to catch Aoife alone.
Moving down the hallway, I came to my old bedroom—I knew she was using this room after hearing the sounds of doors opening and closing above me. The door opened with a whisper, revealing a space both familiar and alien. Nothing had changed since I'd last been here—the same damask wallpaper, the sameantique vanity where I’d applied my makeup while dreaming of a true life of luxury and power.
I perched on the edge of the mattress, running my hand over the embroidered duvet. It was the exact replica of my mother’s. I’d try too hard to be like Eleanor Ashford, a woman just as deprived as I was, or more.
The Beatrice she knew no longer existed. In her place stood someone I was still getting to know. Somebody I liked though…
I rose, leaving the ghosts of my past behind. Only one more room to check—my mother's old chamber at the end of the hall, the place where Eleanor Ashford had plotted marriages for her daughters, arranging our lives like pieces on a chessboard.
The door opened silently beneath my touch. Moonlight streamed through partially opened curtains, illuminating a form beneath the covers. My breath caught. There she was—Aoife O'Malley, auburn hair spread across the pillow like spilled blood, her breathing deep and even in slumber.
I closed the door with painstaking care, my eyes never leaving her sleeping form. Each soundless step across floor brought me closer to my objective. The knife felt alive in my hand, eager for its purpose.
Standing over her, I could see her face relaxed in sleep—the aristocratic features, the long lashes, the full lips slightly parted. In another life, we might have been allies, two powerful women carving our places in a man's world.
But she had taken what was mine. That alone deserved a death sentence.
I raised the knife, moonlight catching its edge as I positioned it over her heart. One clean thrust. That's all it would take. One moment of pain, and then everything would be as it should.
"For us," I whispered, drawing my arm back for the killing blow.
My hip bumped against a small side table, sending a delicate porcelain figurine wobbling. I gasped, lunging instinctively to catch it with my free hand, a whimper escaping my lips as my fingers closed around empty air. The figurine crashed to the floor with a sound like breaking bones.
Aoife's eyes flew open, instantly alert. Even in the darkness, I could see the moment comprehension dawned—the intruder standing over her bed, the knife gleaming in the moonlight.
