Page 55 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
It should be dead by now. Cut flowers don't last this long, not without special preservation techniques. But this one refuses to die, refuses to wilt, refuses to be anything other than perfect.
Like him. Beautiful and impossible and utterly wrong.
I stand up and walk to the table. Pick up the glass with the dahlia in it. Carry it to the trash can.
I'm going to throw it away. I'm going to get rid of this reminder of what he's done to me, this symbol of his control. I'm going to—
I set the glass on the counter instead.
I can't do it. Even now, even after everything, I can't make myself destroy something so beautiful.
What's wrong with me?
The question echoes in my head, unanswerable. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I respond to him the way I do, why fear and fascination have become so tangled together that I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
I only know that I signed the contract. That I'm going to work for him. That I'm going to enter his world, his space, his presence, and I have no idea what will happen when I do.
The thought should terrify me.
It does terrify me.
But underneath the terror, there's something else. A dark current running beneath the surface of my fear, pulling me toward something I can't name.
Anticipation.
I'm anticipating seeing him again. Working in his space. Being close enough to watch him, study him, try to understand what he is and why he chose me.
The part of me that's still sane recoils from this realization. That part wants to run, to hide, to pretend I never signed that contract. That part knows that whatever's waiting for me in Gabriel Ambrose's world is dangerous in ways I can't begin to understand.
But there's another part. A darker part. The part that drew serpents and keeps dying flowers and dreams of being held in cool, scaled coils.
That part wants to see what happens when the serpent finally catches its prey.
My phone buzzes again. Another email, this one from an address I don't recognize—[email protected].
Ms. Rivers,
Mr. Ambrose has requested your services for a private dinner party this Thursday evening at the Ambrose Estate. Please arrive by 4:00 PM to begin setup. A full brief of requirements is attached. A car will be sent to collect you.
Please confirm your attendance at your earliest convenience.
Regards,Eleanor VanceExecutive Assistant to Gabriel Ambrose
Thursday. Four days from now.
Four days until I walk back into that estate, back into the place where I witnessed a murder, back into the serpent's den.
I type my reply with steady hands:Confirmed.
Then I sit down at my kitchen table, surrounded by the wreckage of my life, and wait.
The dahlia watches from the counter, dark and patient.
Just like him.
Chapter 14 - Gabriel
Thursday arrives like a promise kept.
