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 Copyright
Natalie Bennett/BB Books
© 2024 by Natalie Bennett.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Natalie Bennett does not condone or consent to the use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) or generative AI.

EDITING: PINPOINT EDITORS

 DEDICATION
When your toxic trait is romanticizing the most irredeemable villains.
This one is for you.
 Contents
Copyright
DEDICATION
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SEMPER
DUET PLAYLIST
!IMPIO Translations!
!CONTENT WARNING!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Books from Natalie Bennett
Books from Mae Royal
THE SECT
SOCIALS
 AUTHOR’S NOTE
Hi! Thank you for taking a chance on my book. You can find the link to the TWs at the end of this note. As you read,
please keep the following in mind.
Stygian Isles is romantic horror, meaning romance is not the central focus of the story, but a major plot point. This duet
contains various triggers some readers may find objective as well as content that could be distressing.
The MMC within these pages believes there’s not a single thing wrong with him. He does not become soft and
apologetic as the story unfolds, if anything he becomes much more OTT and brutal by the end. He is possessive, obsessed, and
almost completely bankrupt of morals.
The heroine is one of my favorites, but whether you agree or disagree with her way of thinking and the choices she
ultimately makes is entirely personable.
Her development is gradual and much of it happens in book two. As for the romance aspect, the connection between the
characters is a slow burn. Lolita does not fall head over heels for her captor because he makes use of her body at every
opportunity.
Finally, last but not least, Muerte ends on a cliffhanger with plenty of loose ends to be tied up in Semper, including the
resolution of Del Diablo. The Isle is vast and there’s much to be revealed.
TWs have been listed in the back of the book for sensitivity.
If you prefer going into this blind, please keep in mind absolutely nothing within the Stygian Isles world is off limits.
The inhabitants live by set rules and an established hierarchy with given titles and roles. There will be graphic and grotesque
scenes of horror and explicit sexual situations, ninety-five percent of them dub/non con.
TW can be found HERE
 CHAPTER ONE

There are moments in life we pass off as insignificant that later become crucial
pieces of a catalytic chain. The kind of moments we look back on and only then begin to
realize all the warning signs that were ignored.
Some would call this hindsight.
I had a different name for it.
Misfortune.
But before we get to that part of my story, it’s best to start from the beginning.
Everything changed the morning I walked through Millennium Resort’s arched glass
doors.
I’d never seen it in such upheaval. The upscale establishment prided itself on
running smoothly and efficiently. Regardless of any fires that may have needed putting out
behind the scenes, the lavish resort maintained a solid front, so seeing my colleagues
rushing this way and that had me momentarily taken aback.
I would have asked what was going on, but that meant stopping someone in the
middle of what they were doing, and I loathed it when anyone did that to me.
I didn’t see Anya anywhere to ask her either. She was probably still in the bathroom.
She’d practically sprinted inside while holding her stomach before I was fully parked. I’d
told her not to eat the leftover take-out for breakfast, but she hadn’t listened and had
added an entire cup of coffee on top of it. She was in for a rough morning.
Not wanting to be in anyone’s way, I focused on my own job, quickly discerning
that the chaos was happening away from the guests. The upper levels were relatively quiet,
to the extent that as I settled into my usual workflow, I forgot all about what was
happening below.
I did one last sweep of the room I’d just finished refreshing to make sure it was
postcard worthy and then went back into the hall. I got to my cleaning trolley just as Anya
stepped out from her refresher a few doors down, having made it onto the clock after her
rendezvous in the bathroom.
Her dark hair was still coiled in a tidy bun while mine was fighting to escape the
ponytail I’d pulled it into earlier. I reasoned that was because hers was pencil straight and
mine a thick mass of waves.
“Anything new?” I asked.
“No, same as usual. Unmade beds. Used towels and washcloths tossed all over the
place, wet ones at that. It’s disgusting.”
“That’s why we have gloves.”
“We need hazmat suits. I think you should seriously consider attending the next
staff meeting and request they put neon signs above the hampers. They’re obviously too
hard to see.”
“Why do I have to be the one to do it?”
“Because you’re more responsible and well-spoken, duh.”
I breathed a laugh and slipped off my latex gloves, tossing them into my mini trash
bin before scooping up the tablet I was provided to mark down my daily progress. I noted
how full the resort was. More than half the room blocks were lit red, indicating they were
occupied.
There must have been a conference or something. That didn’t explain the chaotic
scene in the lobby, though.
Even when booked for a reception or gala, things weren’t so hectic. I quickly
checked off the rooms I’d finished and then dimmed my screen.
“You know most of these people probably don’t know what a hamper is.”
Anya made a sound of annoyance as she retrieved her tablet and did the same. “Are
you ready for break? I’ve been ready since we clocked in.”
“Sure.” I took hold of my cart, steering it in the direction of the staff elevators.
It was an official rule that we didn’t use the ones meant for guests. Upon reaching
them, Anya waved her employee badge in front of the card reader to bring one up,
allowing me to get in first. I eased my cleaning trolley all the way over, careful not to
brush against the mirror that made up the sidewall. Anya backed inside, leaving a small
gap between the two of us.
She jabbed the button for the floor we needed. “I still can’t believe this is what our
lives have come to. Cleaning up after rich people.”
“This is way better than our last job. I still can’t look at raw chicken without
wanting to vomit.” I nearly shuddered just thinking about it. “Plus, we could be making
less and cleaning up after the poor.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’d just be cleaning up after ourselves?”
“Yeah, but at least then we’d know who the wet washcloths belonged to,” I pointed
out as the glossy elevator doors slid shut.
We had multiple variations of this conversation at least once a week. I knew she
wanted more from life. That was only natural. I did too. It wasn’t like I woke up ecstatic to
go to work and toil with a bunch of strangers’ dirty linens. And I had plenty of opinions
about the occasional sneer or upturned nose directed my way.
But all that aside, this job wasn’t terrible. We were given some pretty decent perks.
Complimentary meals were provided from some of the attached restaurants we’d never be
able to afford otherwise, and there was a set period during the off season that granted us
free stays as long as we had perfect attendance.
More important than the benefits, the bills at our apartment were mostly all paid up.
The same couldn’t have been said a little less than a year ago. Back then we’d been on a
strict ramen budget, struggling to keep a roof over our heads and the lights on.
“What are we doing this weekend?”
I glanced over at her. “Unless it involves long walks from my bed to the couch or
kitchen, I’m doing absolutely nothing.”
“Oh, come on Lo! You never go out with me anymore.”
“Going out with you always adds a flair of drama or douchebag to my life that I have
no patience for.”
Her brow knitted as if she was confused. I was glad the elevator doors chose then to
slide open and let us out. We pushed our trollies to their designated area. Halfway there
we were forced to stop and move aside for a man pushing a satin covered cart down one of
the private lower halls. I caught the tail end of a conversation from the walkie on his hip as
he passed.
“What’s the deal with this Bacchus Trade Show?”
Anya shot me a look, her dark brows rising in disbelief. “Sometimes I wonder if you
live in the same world that I do.”
I slid my trolley into its numbered spot and waited for her before walking towards
the break room. “Hey, I knew it was coming, just not what a huge deal it apparently is.”
“That’s subjective. Some would say it’s not the show but who will be in attendance
that makes it such a huge ordeal.”
“Oh. Well, that explains why the resort is so booked up then.”
“Yeah, there’s going to be some important people coming in. I’m surprised they
didn’t hold a staff meeting just to brief us. I guess that would have exposed too much.”
“Maybe, but I’m more interested in the show.”
“Of course you are,” she replied with a dramatic sigh. “It’s an auction or something
for rare items. I’m not sure what yet, but if the rumors flying around are anything to go by,
this event is ultra-exclusive, so I’ll probably have a hard time finding out.”
She undid the top button of her uniform to show off more of her perfectly rounded
cleavage. One of her signature thirst traps.
 I hated it when she did this, but I’d gotten so accustomed to her antics that I knew
better than to waste my breath with reprimand.
“And?” I urged her to continue.
“I heard it costs a fortune just to step foot inside the room unless you’re a member
of some elite group. Based on the usual people who stay here, I envision a bunch of old
dudes stuffed in suits with hella rings on their fingers and smoking fat-ass cigars.”
I laughed softly. “I think you’ve got an overactive imagination.”
“Tell me you don’t consider half the guys in the rooms we service high-class sugar
daddy material.”
I wrinkled my nose at the visual that created. “Can you not refer to this as servicing
ever again? You just made us sound like private escorts.”
“Hmm.” She brought a finger to her dimpled chin and pretended to consider that
idea.
Actually, there was a slight possibility she wasn’t pretending. With Anya it was
sometimes hard to tell. I gently shoved her shoulder as we ducked into the staff room
where our lockers were.
“Anya, I was joking.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You didn’t need to. Sometimes you’re an open book. And anyways, there have been
more than a few nice-looking, younger guys staying here that clearly had money.”
“You mean those arrogant assholes with authorized credit cards? I would never
stoop that low.”
“Um, you’ve literally stooped lower.”
She gasped dramatically. “Lolita!”
I shot her an apologetic smile, not entirely sorry at all.
“Let’s just agree that the kind of rich men we’d be into only exist on the other side
of a screen or within fiction, making them statistically unobtainable. They either live
billions of miles away or don’t exist.”
I just barely stopped myself from questioning this we she was referring to. That
would open the door to a whole different kind of conversation.
“Have you forgotten the men who own this resort, technically our bosses’ bosses?
What about all their friends?”
“They don’t count. They’ve all got wives that they’re shockingly devoted to.”
“So?”
“I don’t want to split custody of dick, sharing the holidays and weekends. I need
commitment.”
Lord, help her. “How did we go from talking about their looks to you screwing
them? And when did this change of opinion come about?”
“I had an epiphany about the scandal that would break out if a man like that got
caught balls deep in the help.”
So, not because she suddenly felt remorse for all the previous married men she’d
slept with. “Anya, I know this may sound insane to you, but maybe going for a regular
nine-to-five man wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
“You’re right. You’ve lost your mind.”
I ignored her rebuttal and proceeded to wash my hands, grabbing my bag afterward.
She waited for me to finish, checking her cell notifications with a small smile I didn’t dare
ask about.
The last time I did that she thought it was a green light to show me some random
man’s genital selfies. The secondhand embarrassment I had for him lasted nearly two
weeks. Some poses shouldn’t be done clothed, let alone naked.
We headed back into the hall and through the double doors that gave us access to
the main lobby. Now knowing what was going on, the craziness from that morning made a
little more sense. In fact, I think it had gotten worse now that an onslaught of guests had
arrived for check-in.
Men and women all fashionably dressed were clustered together in small groups,
conversing with one another while bellhops rushed around with carts of luggage, going the
extra mile to earn bigger tips. Navigating through all of this to reach the corridor that led
to the restaurants was as tempting as skipping over hot coals barefoot.
There were so many people.
I could handle the judgement that came with this job in the presence of one or two,
not an entire army. Anya didn’t have such reservations. She looped her arm through mine
and urged me onward.
“Don’t worry about these judge-y motherfuckers, Lo. Think about food, because I’m
starving.”
Leave it to her to know exactly what my hesitation stemmed from. “Do you have
some idea of what you want to eat then?”
I hoped she chose the bistro. It was always the least busy, and hopefully today
wouldn’t be an exception. With a whole thirty-five minutes to order, eat, and then be back
on the floor to finish our remaining rooms, time was always of the essence.
As we made our way through the maze of guests, I tried to pretend I didn’t feel the
needling of multiple eyes on us. I placed one foot in front of the other and let the beauty
of Millennium distract me.
The lobby had always been my favorite part of the resort. It was purely designed for
opulent tastes. The marble floor never went unpolished, resembling smooth, untouched
glass.
There were bouquets of fresh, beautiful flowers that were replaced every other day,
always in shades that complimented the cream and wood-toned hues of the Millennium’s
color pallet. But my absolute favorite part of the resort’s design was the domed skylight
that made up the ceiling.
Catching a flash of movement in my peripheral, I glanced over and saw a bellhop
rushing our way with a cart of luggage proportionate in size to my entire lower half.
I untangled myself from Anya and made sure she was clear of his path with a gentle
shove, and then did a quick skip-hop to avoid being run over, bringing myself within
centimeters of a man’s broad back.
I held my hands out to steady myself, taking a quiet breath of relief when I didn’t go
bulldozing into him. The bellhop had the decency to breathe out an apology as he whizzed
by.
I didn’t recognize him as one of the regulars. The resort must have called in
reinforcements. I quickly moved away from the man and his companions, catching a
fragranced note of cologne—something exotically warm. I’d never associated the scent of
cologne with money, but whatever that man had on was undoubtedly expensive.
I slowed briefly so Anya could catch up to me, allowing her to loop our arms back
together. She immediately leaned closer and whispered, “Did you see them? Please tell me
you saw them.”
“No. I was too busy saving my dignity.”
“You should have left that on the floor. I take back what I said earlier.”
Finally reaching the other side of the lobby, I looked over at her. “Can you be more
specific?”
“They were fine!”
Her elevated voice caught the attention of everyone within a few feet of us. I didn’t
have the courage to look back and see how many more people were staring now.
“Did you need to announce that to the entire resort?”
“Hell yeah! I swear I’ve dreamed of at least two of them before.”
Cheeks flaming, I couldn’t help but grin at her. The girl was shameless, the total
opposite of me. I loved her exactly for that reason and had from the moment we’d met at a
mutual foster home years ago.
“I hope you die a happy woman now.”
“That won’t happen until one of them bends the knee and professes their undying
love for me.”
“You have issues. Maybe you should see about talking to someone. I’m sure Shana
could squeeze you in. You know how much she loves to remind us girlies that she’s
always here if we want to talk.”
She laughed lightly. “You’ve got jokes, but just wait. One day I’ll be living a lavish
life and putting you on as my sister-wife.”
“Uh, I think I’ll have to pass on that.” Sticking my hand in a high-speed blender
would be more enticing. “I thought you weren’t into sharing?”
“I’m not, but I can still make sure you’re taken care of. All joking aside, I would
never go from rags to riches without you, Lo.”
Her tone was playful yet genial. That warmed my heart and also sort of broke it. “I
appreciate the sentiment, but don’t ever let me stop you from living your dream.”
She scoffed and nudged me with her shoulder. “It wouldn’t be much of a dream
without you.”
“I am pretty irreplaceable.”
“Exactly. And this goes for you too. If you get on with a rich guy, bring me along for
the ride.”
I smiled but didn’t reply.
The chances of that ever happening were about one in a zillion, and I wasn’t at all
put off about it. Unlike me, Anya was dead set on manifesting herself into fortune by
adorations from a man. There was no doubt in my mind that the kind of men she wished to
pursue wouldn’t refuse what was offered.
Her Asian-Konkani ethnicity took a vibrant soul and wrapped it in a ridiculously
gorgeous shell. I would proposition Anya if I swung that way. But that was never the issue.
The problem was with the men she allowed to know her intimately. They treated her like a
novelty with a short-term shelf life instead of a priceless treasure.
She’d been down the road of wealthy men already, which was why I didn’t
understand her endless need to have one. Every time she got to the inevitable end, I helped
her pick up the pieces of a broken heart and slighted ego.
I wondered if she realized that her hurting hurt me too. Bearing witness to her crying
and raging was mentally taxing. Over time it had hardened my resolve to remain single. I
was too unsure about life at the moment to get involved with anyone. I had no clear-cut
path I wanted to walk. I couldn’t project a visual of me in any one profession.
Whatever my calling was, I hadn’t gotten it yet. Dragging someone along while I
figured it out didn’t seem right or fair, not to mention distracting. And the bar men thought
they had to reach was in hell. I had plenty of time to settle my love life in the future.
“All I’m saying is that you’re aware from experience that wealth doesn’t make a
person decent. Why not try something different?”
She looked at me as if I’d just announced I could fly. “Because I want to be
disrespected and have my guts rearranged on a pile of money.”
“I…I don’t know how to respond to that. Have I told you you’ve got issues?” I
reiterated with a laugh.
“Yeah, but I also know you love me because I’m a headcase.”
“Whatever. You’d better be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” she retorted.
I urged her in the direction of the bistro, deciding where to eat for the both of us.
 We were ten minutes late getting back to work. Luckily, the suite on my roster was a prep and not a check-out or
refresher. Normally, the regular rooms were supposed to be done in less than thirty minutes.
Suites tended to take longer since they were bigger. If they’d been thoroughly used, I could forget any kind of timetable.
Having to come in after a bachelor party was a new kind of torture. I would be scarred forever by some of the things I’d found
under and in these beds. If it weren’t for the resort’s vigorous cleaning policy, I wouldn’t think any of them sanitary.
I finished fluffing the decorative pillows in the sitting area and then went to check the bathroom, making sure the toilet
paper and mini bottles of soap and lotions were presentable before moving into the bedroom. I grabbed the silver bed tray
from a nightstand and began to load it up with more of the resort’s customary welcome novelties.
Hearing a man’s voice carry from across the room, I paused and looked in the direction it’d come from.
The drapes were still drawn, prohibiting me from seeing outside, but someone was definitely out on the balcony, and
there wasn’t supposed to be anyone in here. I quickly searched for signs of luggage but didn’t see any. If it weren’t for the event
going on today, I would’ve found this odd. The bellhops never delayed in bringing up bags.
The front desk must have forgotten to mark this room as preoccupied. That, or it was a self-check-in and the app had
glitched because it couldn’t handle the traffic. Either way, this was a major oversight. I hadn’t even announced myself. I’d
waltzed right in like I lived here. I needed to promptly waltz right back out.
No sooner had the thought registered and I began to move away from the bed than the balcony door slid open, sending
my plan for a stealthy escape up in flames.
The thick drapes parted and a man in a fitted button-down stepped from behind them, a suit jacket draped over one of
his forearms. We both froze at the sight of one another, him clearly not expecting anyone to be in his room and me fumbling for
my best customer service smile.
I could smell his cologne from where I stood, belatedly realizing the aroma had been lingering in the air since I walked
into this suite. It was the same one I’d smelled on the man I’d nearly run into down in the lobby. I managed a smile that I hoped
looked genial, struggling to keep my eyes trained on his face.
I prayed the sudden rush of heat in my cheeks wasn’t broadcasting how insanely attractive I found him, like some cliché
anime schoolgirl. Was this one of the men Anya had seen downstairs? I couldn’t imagine many scenarios where she wouldn’t
notice someone who looked like this.
He was so good looking that it was actually a bit…unsettling. His golden-brown skin was a shade or two darker than
my own. His nose perfectly centered. Cleft chin. Angular cheek bones and chiseled jawline framed by freshly shaven stubble.
A head of healthy jet-black hair tapered at his nape and curled slightly behind his ears.
 It was as if Augusta Savage herself had sculpted him, ensuring he was close to perfect, but not without flaws. There was
a scar on the right side of his face. The only mark on otherwise flawless skin.
It started near the edge of his brow and extended a good three to four inches down. It had faded with time and added a
subtle savagery to his beauty. His eyes were something to behold on their own. They reminded me of imperial topaz. I became
tongue-tied in the few seconds it took to look him over from head to toe.
Fortunately, working in the retail and service industry since I was old enough to have a permit saved me from remaining
an incompetent, speechless idiot.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone had checked in yet,” I explained, offering a tentative smile.
“I told the front desk not to worry about the pleasantries,” he replied, his cultured voice deep and a touch gravelly.
“I think there may have been a mix-up with everything going on.”
“You think?” he repeated, clearly not pleased with that explanation.
“Sorry,” I apologized again for lack of better response.
“Why are you apologizing when you’re not the one who couldn’t follow simple instructions?”
I found myself at a loss for words again, but at least this time it was for a sensible reason.
I didn’t think this was that big of a deal, but I also wasn’t wealthy enough to afford a single night in the suite he’d
chosen. I couldn’t afford this room for a few hours without parting with a chunk of my soul. He looked from the bed and then
back to me as he reached behind him to pull the balcony door shut.
“Have you finished then?”
Oh, I guess I had just been standing here like I wasn’t sure what to do. “Um, yes. I’ll be on my way now. If you need
anything, the phone on the nightstand can connect you to the front desk. Just dial two.” I turned away from him and retrieved my
trolley.
“Wait.”
His softly spoken command carried clearer than any shout, sending a trickle of apprehension down my back. I plastered
on a smile that put my dimples on full display and turned around.
“Yes?”
He retrieved something from his rear pocket—a wallet—and flipped it open, removing a few crisp bills. “Is this
enough?” he asked, extending them towards me.
Eyeing the money with confusion, I couldn’t help but notice how large his hands were, and the thick metal band on his
ring finger. Unsurprisingly, he was married. “What’s that for?”
“Your tip.”
I shook my head and reached for my trolley again. “Thank you, but I can’t accept that.”
“After coming in here unannounced, I think it’s the least you could do.”
Excuse me? What kind of backwards logic was that? I turned towards him once more, failing to suppress a frown. He
stared back at me with an inscrutable expression. I struggled not to shift beneath the unexpected weight of it.
For as large as this suite was, with him inside it might as well have been a shoebox.
I was rescued from having to deal with this further when a beep came from the door. The man who appeared in the
doorway half a second later was almost as attractive as the one who now stood behind me.
His dark, almost chestnut-hued hair was styled in a carefree manner, suggesting he often ran his fingers through it. His
face was sharply chiseled, revealing high cheekbones and a squared jaw that had a smattering of stubble. When he saw me,
whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. He stepped into the room and looked at the man behind me with a roguish
smile.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
I didn’t like what that seemed to be hinting at. I glanced at the man offering me a tip and quietly told him to have a good
evening before I headed for the door.
What sounded like a whisper of Lolita followed on my heels, replacing my earlier apprehension with a deep, unsettling
chill.
I didn’t stop to see if I was hearing things.
I had to be.
We didn’t wear name tags, and I’d never given him my name.
 CHAPTER TWO

I didn’t tell Anya about what had happened. While the encounter was uncomfortable, she would make it a much bigger
deal than it needed to be. Unless the man decided to report me, it was best to just forget the whole incident. I’d dealt with much
worse guests before.
We finished our shifts and returned to the staff room to gather our personal belongings and clock out. I wasn’t expecting
it to be as chaotic as the lobby. Shana was occupying the center of the room, shouting at someone one second and speaking
frantically into a walkie-talkie the next.
For someone who had a striking resemblance to Ms. Frizzle all the way down to the mass of curly orange-red hair, it
was entirely unlike her to look so frazzled.
“You two!” Her green eyes lit like sparklers the second she spotted us. She waved off the young guy she was talking to
as if he were a pesky fly and came rushing over with two garment bags wedged beneath her arm. “You’re exactly who I’ve
been waiting for. You girlies have serving experience, correct?”
“Yes,” Anya answered hesitantly, shooting a quick look my way. “Why?”
“I’m missing three servers. How do you feel about stepping in to help with the trade show this evening?”
“Fuc—freak yes! I would love that. We would be honored,” Anya enthused.
Her excitement was so palpable it almost made me feel the same.
Almost.
I had no desire to rub elbows with the rich and even less enthusiasm to subject myself to the scrutiny of the ‘elite’, as
Anya had described earlier. Sensing my hesitation, Shana turned towards me, widening her smile to the point I could see the
silver tooth in the back of her mouth. There was a speech coming on. I could practically see her puff up her chest in
preparation. If she wasn’t one of my bosses, I would’ve fled from the room.
“I know it can seem a little daunting, being around such old money, but this is a great opportunity. You’ll get twice as
much as you normally would for the overtime and gain some nice consideration for future promotions.”
Was she trying to convince me or scare me? Even Anya’s face fell a little. Her heavy enunciation of the word money
was highly unnecessary. I didn’t care about these people or their tax bracket.
I also didn’t have a lifelong dream of being a hotel maid for the rest of my life. This job was one in a long line of
stepping stones to pay my bills, not a career I was ready to bleed and sweat for.
I couldn’t tell her any of this without hurting her feelings or pissing her off. Shana had been employed here for well over
a decade and was vocal about never leaving. I wouldn’t be surprised if she requested to be buried somewhere on the property.
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to fill in like this? I heard the event was exclusive.”
“It won’t be a problem. You were both pre-screened a few months ago.”
“Shouldn’t we have consented to something like that?”
“Oh, that was smart,” Anya replied, jubilantly, gently elbowing me in the side.
Her perception of that tidbit of information was the total opposite of mine.
“You can never be too careful with events like this, which is why for privacy reasons there’s an NDA that will need to
be signed and no employee is permitted to have their phones once inside, but that’s no different than usual for you girlies,”
Shana hastily explained.
“An NDA for what exactly?”
Her walkie came to life again before I got an answer, this time with someone from maintenance requesting assistance.
She sighed and all but shoved the two large bags into Anya’s arms.
“Here, these should fit you two. Go put them on and then meet me back here in ten minutes tops so I can explain what
needs doing and have you fill in the paperwork.”
As soon as she was gone, I turned towards Anya to plead my case on why this wasn’t a good idea. The spot I expected
her to be was empty. She was already hurrying away to get changed.
“Come on, Lo,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Wait!”
She pretended not to hear me and kept walking. I followed, intent on convincing her we shouldn’t get involved in
whatever this trade show gig was.
“Anya, I know you heard me.”
She finally stopped and turned around. “I was hoping you’d just go along with it. Should’ve known better.”
“And you should also know this is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“How so?”
“Our kind of serving experience is for 24-hour mom and pop diners, not fancy dinner shows.”
“I don’t see what the difference would be.”
“Anya,” I huffed, “serving dino nuggets and fries isn’t comparable to this and you know it. I never had to sign an NDA
for a pancake platter.”
Selectively ignoring me, she turned and thrust one of the garment bags into my gut so that she could unzip the other. I
clasped the shiny plastic with a grunt, scowling when she revealed the dress inside.
“What is that supposed to be?”
“It’s gorgeous,” she awed, tugging, and pulling until it was free.
“That doesn’t look like a uniform.”
“Yes, it does. We have to dress the part.”
I surveyed the little black number and grew more determined to get out of this. That thing would be like a second skin
and show more chest than my workout bra did.
“I’m not participating.”
Seeing how serious I was, she quickly adopted a new attitude. “Why are you so against this, Lo? What’s wrong?”
“I just…I don’t know. It feels like something is going to happen if we go in there. I can’t explain why.”
She quirked one of her perfectly threaded brows. “Repeat that back to yourself. Does it make sense?”
“Not really, no but that doesn’t change how I feel.”
She reached out and gently clasped my upper arm. “It’s just one night, Lo. A few hours at that. At least try for me and if
you really hate it, we can make up an excuse to leave. Deal?”
“Do you really need me here for this? I can always come and pick you up when you’re done.”
“Oh, come on. Please? I don’t want to do it without you.”
“Why do you want to do this so badly?” I slightly tilted my head, eyes narrowing. “It’s not for the money, is it?”
“Not entirely,” she freely admitted, adding before I could lecture her. “We’ll never get an opportunity like this again.
The extra cash is a good incentive too.”
Her pleading eyes held mine and weakened my resolve. She wasn’t going to take anything less than a yes from me, and
as she’d pointed out, I didn’t have any specific reason to turn down this offer other than I was off tomorrow and ready to get
home. It would only be for a few hours…
I exhaled softly, and she knew I was caving. With a little yip of excitement, she jumped forward and hugged me with one
arm. When she stepped back, there was a wide grin on her face.
“This is going to be fucking amazing! Let’s get ready.”
“So exciting,” I deadpanned as she grabbed my wrist and hauled me off to change.
 Within seconds of walking into the room, I knew this was on someone’s bucket list as a firsthand experience in hell. I
was so far out of my depth here. I’d been in the resort’s amphitheater a handful of times and though the changes made it
stunning, the large space was unrecognizable.
Its usual warm color scheme had been replaced with this event’s palette of deep burgundy and gold. The crystal
chandeliers had been dimmed to allow the candles within towering glass centerpieces to be the focal point.
A masked string quartet played in a darkened corner, adding to the room’s desired ambience and giving it a sense of
ominousness. Our uniforms, if they could be called that, were on par with the aesthetic. All the women were in the same deep
cut A-line chiffon dress that hit just above the knee while the men donned simple button downs with slacks—black on black.
Anya had been impressed by this until she saw what the attendees were wearing. Perfectly tailored suits and elegant
cocktail gowns. But now that we were inside, I wasn’t as bothered about the outfit anymore. This dress was the least of my
worries. There were so many people it was impossible to slink into the shadows and remain hidden.
Even if I managed to, Shana would probably be waiting there to drag me back out. She’d instructed Anya to work the
west wing and I was on the east, along with a few other employees I didn’t know well.
Now she was routinely patrolling the perimeter to make sure none of us were marring the Millennium’s flawless image
by slacking off.
Balancing my serving tray on one hand, I weaved between a pair of round tables and approached another group of
attendees.
Their attention was fixed on the center of the room where the dance floor had been reduced in size to accommodate a
dark red dais of sorts to serve as a stage. This turned out to be my saving grace. I was as interesting as the flickering tealights
thanks to the items being brought forth. I had no clue what made them so valuable.
There were a bunch of odd paintings and macabre sculptures—one deemed the Veiled Virgin with a contorted face,
among other things I couldn’t possibly name. I stopped a few feet behind a balding man and curvy blonde having a conversation
about a painting.
The man looked old enough to be her great grandfather, but seeing as his weathered hand was firmly planted on her ass,
that likely wasn’t the case. I took a quiet breath and braved approaching them. With the looks I’d been receiving half the
evening when I dared speak to some of these pleasant individuals, I loathed to interrupt, but it’s not like I had much of a choice.
“Beef carpaccio?” I asked politely, keeping my voice low.
Without sparing me a glance, the man let go of his partner’s ass and reached back for one of the delicacies. I counted
what was left and silently rejoiced. If I could hand off the final three, I’d have a valid excuse to slip away for a few minutes. It
shouldn’t be too hard. These things seemed to be a crowd favorite. I personally didn’t see the appeal in them. Even if I had all
the money in the world, I couldn’t imagine myself fancying thin slices of decorated raw meat.
It brought back memories of when I handled freshly skinned chickens.
I stepped away from the couple and made my way back around my side of the room. I was waved off twice and then
completely ignored before finally ridding myself of the last meaty delicacies. I added my serving tray to the small pile waiting
to be collected by kitchen staff and lingered near the back of the room, giving myself a few minutes breather.
More guests arrived as another set of items were brought onto the dais, the room full of soft chatter and music. There
was no auctioneer, just two older men in suits minding the stage so no one got too close.
I’d worked out that this was a silent auction kind of thing. Selections up for bid would remain for a set amount of time
during which the bidders would be tapping away on their phones. They didn’t have to give them up like we did.
The process wasn’t nearly as exciting as someone firing off numbers and specs. I imagined it had to be done this way
due to the heavy degree of privacy they were aiming for. Anya hadn’t been exaggerating when she mentioned how exclusive it
was. All the entrances and exits were being safeguarded so that outsiders couldn’t sneak in.
I searched the room to see if I could spot her, not having any luck. A few men looked my way, one’s gaze lingering for
longer than was socially polite. As I contemplated going to get another tray of appetizers to pass around—or plotting an escape
—a dark-haired woman stepped into my line of sight.
There was a look in her eyes that gave immediate cause for concern, yet no one paid her much attention. She started to
approach me and faltered. I smiled to reassure her I was staff, but the look of trepidation remained.
She subtly glanced behind her and then came forward with a renewed determination.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” I asked once she was closer, keeping my voice low.
“Quickly,” she whispered, making a motion with her hand.
I looked down and saw a small slip of paper grasped between her fingers. Deducing she wanted me to be discrete, I
plucked it from her as subtly as I could and read what was written.
Diabolus has come for you.
I re-read it, brow pinching in confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
From just over her shoulder, I caught sight of Shana making her way towards us. The second my attention shifted
elsewhere, the woman snatched the paper back and stuffed it into her mouth.
Bewildered, I watched as she chewed and swallowed, rendering me speechless. The trepidation morphed into what I
could only describe as something that rang of desperation before she turned and walked away without another word.
What in the world?
“What’s with her?” Shana echoed my private thoughts once she reached me, staring after the woman.
“I have no idea.”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I should’ve warned you, some of these people are a bit, er, different.”
I wasn’t sure if that applied to what just happened. Everything about her behavior indicated something was wrong.
I decided right then to keep my mouth shut. If she needed help, maybe this was her way of trying to get it. I wasn’t sure
what Shana would do if I told her.
I’d feel terrible if I made a bad situation worse by involving the wrong people. I wanted to find her again without being
obvious about it, but first I had to deal with this.
“Did you need me for something?”
“Oh, yes. I need to borrow ya for a moment.”
She took gentle hold of my wrist and led me across the room towards a table that was closer to the dais. Three men and
a woman with red hair were sat around it. A nervous flutter went through my stomach as I recognized two right away. Had they
lodged a complaint because of earlier?
“Is something wrong?” I questioned, testing the waters.
“Not at all,” Shana replied, flashing me a smile that didn’t match her easygoing tone.
As we closed in on the table, everyone seated turned to look our way. Shana stopped and positioned herself behind me,
placing both her hands on my shoulders.
“Here she is.”
The man who walked in on me in his suite was the first to stand. He smiled and it gave him an entirely different aura.
Upstairs he’d come off as unapproachable and somewhat cold. His smile morphed that demeanor into one of charm and
intrigue. Lord help anyone with ovaries he graced with an actual grin.
This time I couldn’t stop myself from shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of his unflinching gaze. I looked at
Shana, so I didn’t have to hold his stare. “What did you need me for?”
“Mr. Hawthorne wanted to meet you.”
Hawthorne? Where had I heard that name before?
“I was just telling Ms. Dolion how impressed I was by you.”
This had to be some kind of joke. Even his tone was degrees warmer. He came around the table to stand in front of us.
He’d changed since earlier. He was now dressed in a black three-piece suit that fit him perfectly. I tried and failed not to notice
the way in which it seemed to hug his arms.
“I didn’t do anything other than my job,” I stated evenly, forcing myself to meet his stare.
“She’s always so modest,” Shana gushed, giving me a light squeeze.
Mr. Hawthorne made no attempt to hide his perusal, his gaze traveling over my body from head to toe. The people still
sitting were doing the same, albeit a less thorough exam. I suddenly felt very much like one of the objects being brought to the
dais.
My hands began to feel clammy from the unwarranted attention.
“You look different with your hair down.” This came from the man who’d made the sly remark upstairs.
Unsure how to take his comment, I forced a smile. At this rate, my face was going to split in half. I’d removed my
ponytail and run a quick brush through it after changing into the provided uniform for this event. I hadn’t dared come in here
with the mess atop my head that they had been subjected to earlier.
“You didn’t take the money. That says a lot about your character,” Mr. Hawthorne continued.
“I was simply doing my job,” I reiterated, probably harsher than necessary, but I was beginning to feel like a broken
record.
“Bishop.” He made a gesture to his dark-haired companion. Almost immediately, he was handed a cylinder glass full of
something ruby red.
“This was imported from our isle for tonight.” He turned towards me and extended the cup.
I was reminded of earlier when he offered me a tip. If I knew not accepting it would lead to this, I would’ve snatched
the money in a heartbeat. I glanced at the glass and shook my head.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this either. I really didn’t do anything extraordinary.”
Shana stepped out from behind me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Go ahead and have a sip, sweetie. You
deserve it.”
Sweetie? She hated that endearment. Had she undergone a personality transplant in the last few hours? There was so
much wrong with this I didn’t know where to begin. For starters, she knew I wasn’t old enough to drink. In the privacy of my
own home was one thing. Here was a completely different story.
Not only that, drinking on the job was expressly prohibited. It was a two-part clause in the employee contract we signed
before working at the resort. She’d fired three girls for breaking it less than two months ago.
Her abrupt change in attitude further heightened my discomfort. As respectfully as I could, I removed her arm and put
some space between us. She shot me a look that was a mix of apologetic and something else. Pleading? Desperate? Just like the
woman who ate the scrap of paper.
My stomach knotted. Who the hell were the people at this table to make a veteran employee switch up so drastically and
practically tremble with nerves? Specifically, the man in front of me. Would he take this rejection personally? When I looked at
Shana again, I knew without a reasonable doubt she was doing this to please whoever this man was.
I was missing a crucial detail in this unfolding scenario, but I didn’t want to cause issues for Shana by flat-out rejecting
him again. Withholding a sigh, I decided it was best to just get it over with and go about my night so I could find the woman in
need of help.
Begrudgingly, I took the glass and brought it to my lips. The smell reminded me of tobacco mixed with mint, an odd
combination. I knew very little about wine, preferring the fruity drinks from gas stations or shots of Silver Patron.
I took a generous swig, pleasantly surprised at how good it tasted. A mix of raspberry, red fruit, chocolate, and black
licorice combined into liquid silk. I finished half the glass off and refrained from wiping my mouth with the back of my palm.
“Do you like it?” He sounded as if he genuinely cared about my opinion.
I nodded and rolled my lips together, swallowing one last time. “It’s really good, thank you.”
His attention dipped to my mouth where it remained for three long seconds before flitting back to ensnare me once
again. He didn’t seem to mind all the eyes that were on us, and I was unable to look away. As much as I wanted to put space
between him and me, I couldn’t deny how captivating he was. He radiated an aura of magnetic charm, interlaced with a hint of
danger.
“Finish it,” he prompted, breaking the mystifying spell I’d begun to fall under. His underlying command was like barbed
wire against my skin. A faint smirk said he noticed.
I lightly cleared my throat and tightened my grip on the glass. “No, I need to get back to work. Thank you again, though.”
Before he or anyone else could say anything else, I hurried away.
Anya rushed up to me as soon as I’d made it a fair distance from the table. She’d watched the entire interaction from the
sidelines.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better. Want some wine? It was imported from an island.”
“An island? Sure.” She gingerly took the glass from me. “Now tell me what the hell just happened.”
 I was still wondering that myself. “I’m not sure, but I need some air. Cover for me?”
“Yeah, of course.” I heard her soft reply as I walked away. This day was proving to be one for the books. All I wanted
was to go home and put it behind me. Anya owed me big time.
 CHAPTER THREE

I blinked a few times to clear my vision, confused by what I was seeing.

Dark vaulted ceilings.
The aromatic scent of lavender and labdanum.
Ice slithered through my veins, chasing all my drowsiness away. This wasn’t my bedroom and definitely not my
apartment. I sat up, panic flaring when a weight around my leg made itself known. I flung a heavy comforter onto the floor in
search of what had ahold of me.
“What is this?” I reached down and skimmed my fingers over a thick chain wrapped around my ankle.
“What the fuck is this?” I breathed out harshly, searching for an opening, some way to get it off. My fingers sunk into a
slight indentation, and I realized there was no way to remove this without a key of some kind.
I sucked in a ragged breath and twisted around, crawling across the bed to follow the chain. I shoved aside a nightstand
and found a small metal plate affixed to the wall. The end of the chain was bolted into its center. Logic and rationality failed
my cognitive ability. I pulled and tugged, cursing loudly when nothing happened.
I nearly tripped as I spun to study the room. Of the two massive floor lamps inside, only one was on, giving the large
space a soft glow. The furniture was like something you’d see in a high-end catalog, or one of those scripted shows that staged
luxury houses.
Long, thick drapes hung on the far wall, blocking any view a window may have given me. I couldn’t get to them anyway.
The chain wouldn’t stretch that far. A little further down was a small bathroom that lacked a door. The sight of it had my pulse
ratcheting. No one would set up a room like this without having some kind of specific purpose for it.
I didn’t want to think about what that could entail, not when I had no way of breaking free of the chain around my leg
and I was to be at the mercy of whoever brought me here. I shifted in place and looked my body over. I was still in the chiffon
dress. The only thing missing was my shoes and aside from the dull pounding in my head, I felt physically fine. This gave me a
small measure of relief.
I racked my brain, trying to piece together how I could have wound up here.
The last thing I remembered was telling Anya I needed air and managing to slip out onto the amphitheater’s private
terrace.
What happened next? Why couldn’t I remember? Everything after was a black stretch of nothing until I woke up here. I
hadn’t eaten or drunk anything other than the wine Shana encouraged me to try. Wait, was it the wine? The glass had already
been filled when I got to the table. If it was spiked, someone could have done it beforehand.
No, it wouldn’t have been just anyone…
At the sound of a handle turning, my attention flew to the only other door in the room. Time seemed to slow as it swung
open. When he stepped in, my suspicions were confirmed. A million thoughts flitted through my mind, but I found I couldn’t
voice a single one. My heartbeat was like a drum, drowning them all out. He slowly shut the door, his eyes never leaving me.
He'd changed clothes again.
He was no longer in a suit but a quarter sleeved button-down and slacks—sans tie. That could only mean that night had
turned to day. I took a step back and then another until I felt the mattress against my legs and was forced to stop. His predatory
eyes tracked every step.
“There’s no need to be afraid.”
How could he say that? I was chained to a wall like some kind of animal ensnared in a trap. I’d been kidnapped. Taken.
I had no idea where I was or what he intended to do with me. Fearing I might provoke him if I revealed my inner turmoil, I
swallowed and wet my lips, willing my voice to come out without shaking.
“Where am I?”
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he came closer, stopping just outside arm’s reach “Do you remember me?”
I nodded sharply. It would be impossible to forget him. Just as I would never forget this moment. “Why am I here?”
“Are you feeling okay? Sometimes Rohypnol can be a bit hard on the stomach, or so I’ve been told.”
My lips parted slightly. There wasn’t a hint of guilt or remorse in his tone. He might as well have been telling me the
day’s forecast. I curled my hands into fists.
“What do you want from me?”
“You’re cold.”
“Huh?” I looked down and saw goosebumps all over my arms. If he hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have noticed them.
“Regrettably, I can’t stay with you today. I only came in to see how you were doing and to let you know you’re safe. No
one here is going to hurt you. I’ll adjust the temperature and have a light meal brought in. Do your best to relax until then.”
Was this man serious? Relax? No one in my situation would sit back and kick up their feet. He turned to leave, causing
another wave of panic to wash over me.
“Wait!” I stepped forward so quickly the chain smacked loudly against the floor. “Please, just tell me where I am.”
He paused with one hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure you really want to know?”
His question was as unsettling as whatever possible answer he would have. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before
nodding.
“Where you’ve always belonged, Lolita. You’re finally home.” He pulled the door open and walked out, leaving me to
process his reply.

True to his word, the air shut off moments after he left. It had been blowing steadily through a vent high above the bed. I
waited for as long as I could to see if he would return, but he never did.
I wandered around the bed and into the bathroom, replaying what he’d said to me before leaving. I didn’t want to read
too much into it. I couldn’t trust a word he said. Although, he did come right out and tell me he’d laced the wine in an unsettling
manner. But it didn’t matter how honest he chose to be. He wouldn’t be winning any awards for his sane and rational
disposition. I was chained inside his house, for fuck’s sake. If that’s what this place even was.
I took advantage of the freedom I did have and explored my surroundings, hoping something within the chain’s perimeter
would help me figure out where I had been taken. I turned a small dial on the wall and bright light filled the bathroom. I was
disappointed to see only the bare necessities were inside. A toilet with a single roll of tissue resting on the lid and a toothbrush
still wrapped in plastic, placed beside a fresh tube of toothpaste.
I reached for the back part of the toilet and found no give. He’d had the foresight to make sure it didn’t come off. Next, I
examined the toothbrush. Rubber handle. And the mirror didn’t look like glass. I ran my fingers across the smooth surface just
to be sure. I was right. This was nothing more than some type of reflective paper. With a frustrated sigh, I swept my hair away
from my face and returned to the room, checking as far as my restraint allowed.
I tried to lift one of the massive floor lamps and quickly realized that wasn’t going to happen. It was as heavy as the
silence was thick. He'd covered his bases. I couldn’t make a weapon from anything in here.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the drapes. With nothing to focus on, my thoughts began to race, indulging my
worst fears. Maybe it was shock, or some kind of delayed response that stopped me from screaming and wailing until my lungs
collapsed in on themselves.
I wanted this not to be real.
How could this have happened to me?
I’m sure everyone in the history of being abducted asked themselves that, but I really couldn’t make sense of this.
There’s no way I would have willingly left with him, or allowed myself to be chained up, which begged the question just how
he managed to get me away from the resort in the first place.
Had Shana been in on this? She was the one who brought me to him, and she’d seemed so nervous. I wasn’t going to
hold out hope for her to bring the cavalry. The only person I could count on to find me was Anya. There’s no way she hadn’t
noticed my disappearance. We rode to and from work together. We lived in the same damn house. She’d likely already sought
out help. but I didn’t know how long it would take for anything to be done about my disappearance.
“God.” I dropped my head into my hands as a more terrifying thought suddenly occurred. Could anything be done?
Maybe my panic was causing me to overthink and jump to conclusions, but this man—Mr. Hawthorne—had money.
Wealth sometimes came with connections. How big of a stretch would it be to assume he had the kind that guaranteed I’d never
be found or seen alive again?
A sudden crash from somewhere beyond the drapes brought my tumultuous thoughts to a halt. With a sniffle, I swiped
angrily at my cheeks and then slowly lowered my hands, not daring to breathe too hard as I prayed for some sign that I’d
imagined what had my stomach sinking into the ground.
With a heavy breeze it came again, sweeping away a little more of the hope I was clinging to.
Whether it was a lake, an ocean, or a river mattered little to me. Being this close to a large body of water meant I
wasn’t remotely close to home.
 CHAPTER FOUR

I was completely alone. Even the waves weren’t frequent enough to fill the stagnant silence. My mind continued to
conjure irrational possibilities for breaking out of this place and all types of worst-case scenarios.
Hours had to have passed before the door opened again. I nearly fell off the bed as a woman bustled into the room
carrying a food tray in her hands. Her long blonde hair was in a simple braid, and the dress she had on looked similar to mine,
but with a higher neckline that had a white pleated collar.
I immediately stopped my feeble attempt to free myself of the chain and drew myself to my full height.
The way her large round eyes settled on my face reminded me of an owl. I knew right away that I would find no ally in
this person. I could sense her displeasure, as if my presence alone caused her a deep personal grievance. She cleared her
throat and looked me over with thinly veiled disdain.
“There’s no reason to waste time on pointless endeavors. That chain won’t come off.”
Her cold tone and prickly demeanor set my teeth on edge. I’d never been disliked by someone without having uttered a
single word to them. I didn’t allow that to deter me from asking questions.
“Can you tell me where I am?”
She carried the tray to the other side of the bed and placed it on the nightstand.
I frowned as I watched her lean down and pucker her lips. Was that necessary? I had no intention of eating whatever
she’d just brought in here, but if I had, I definitely wouldn’t take a bite of something a total stranger blew their hot ass breath
on.
“Be sure to eat it all,” she ordered in the same clinical tone. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes! For you to tell me something. Anything. Please,” I implored, not above begging at this point. “Why was I brought
here? Are there other girls? Am I the only one he took?”
She visibly stiffened, bringing her hands together at her waist. “A Diabolus does not carelessly choose.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“You’ll come to learn soon enough. All you need to keep in mind is that it’s an honor. He’s cast out—” She clenched her
jaw so hard I heard something pop.
I watched helplessly as she marched back around the bed, demanding that I eat one final time before leaving the room
and slamming the door so hard it rattled.
“Fuck.” I squeezed my eyes closed and pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead. She’d been right on the verge of
telling me something that might’ve been useful.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhaled, telling myself to stay calm. Hysteria would do me no good right now. I looked at
where the tray rested. Food was the furthest thing from my mind, but curiosity sent me to see what she’d brought in. I circled
around the bed, chain dragging along the hardwood beside me.
The meal was simple. Soup and oyster crackers with a bottle of water. Tomato if I had to guess, but there was something
floating in the broth.
I used the plastic spoon and dragged it through a small patch of bubbles, scooping up something thick and phlegmy.
Was this…spit? Ugh. Face scrunching in disgust, I let the spoon fall onto the tray and slowly walked back to the other
side of the bed.
 CHAPTER FIVE

A torrent of emotions whirred within me as the door closed and I left her. My mind was a storm of emotions. Every
thump of my heart was a reminder of the time I'd spent waiting. The countless nights watching her, yearning for her presence
and every calculated move I made leading up to this pivotal moment.
The intoxication of my own triumph and anticipation coursed through me. I’d had plenty of time to plan her acquisition
and only decided on a method exactly twenty-six days ago.
It was unusual for me to make a decision so last minute, but I needed to be absolute in this.
There’d been the classic approach to consider, where I snatched her off the streets. I could’ve let myself into her
apartment and taken her while she was fast asleep. If I was one for theatrics and confident that my self-control wouldn’t
weaken, I could have pretended to be a gentleman by luring her into my arms with no intention of ever letting go.
There’d been so many different angles to contemplate. Did I give her trauma or seduce her with lies?
Neither option appealed to me.
I wanted Lolita to know exactly who I was. Presenting her with a façade of someone that didn’t exist would be
detrimental to our future. In that same regard, there was no reason for unnecessary distress. If I were to be the reason her
assimilation was delayed, I’d never forgive myself.
Rohypnol had been the best solution. She wasn’t hurt or terrified during the trip here because she wasn’t aware it was
happening. Taking her was easy. What came next is where I foresaw things getting complicated, but I had planned for this.
I’d been anticipating when I would finally bring Lolita home with an eagerness I hadn’t felt since I was a boy. A small
weight had been lifted from my shoulders now that she was in my possession. But I couldn’t fully relax yet. I had to make sure
she was mine in every way possible and by any means necessary.
Imprisoning her in the boundaries I conditioned her to and ensuring that she could never leave me were paramount
above all else. Unfortunately, I couldn’t brush aside my day-to-day responsibilities and dedicate round-the-clock focus to the
process.
Lolita would have the best of everything, and to ensure she lived above the station of a queen, I had business to handle.
I used the thermostat app to turn down the air inside her room, simultaneously running down a mental checklist of the
tasks I needed to complete for the day.
“Kennedy,” I called for the servitor and grabbed my briefcase off the breakfast bar.
She appeared within seconds with a bottle of window cleaner in her hands. “Yes?”
“Fix something light for Lolita to eat and make sure she gets plenty of water. If there’s an issue, get Isaac straight away.”
“Of course, Diabolus.”
I did one last check to make sure I had everything I needed and then headed for the door. The drive from my home to
Stygian Chapel was almost fifteen minutes to the second.
That left me enough time to get there and swing by the office before my meeting. Ambrose had already pulled the X5
around and was waiting for me. He was a dignified man who had served our family since I was a child. Despite his age, he
still carried himself with an imposing presence.
“Good morning, Diabolus.”
 I acknowledged him with a nod and slipped into the backseat. He returned to the front and wordlessly pulled away from
the manor. We’d established a routine over the years where no words were exchanged unless I engaged him in conversation
first. I dealt with so much bullshit on top of my daily tasks that these short rides were often the only silence I got until I returned
home in the evenings.
The Isle bustled with activity from sun up to well beyond sundown. There was always something that needed to be done
or decided upon in a timely manner.
It was an endless endeavor, but I didn’t mind. My disciples would be the first to preach that I loved our island and
deeply appreciated their diligence in its upkeep, but I’d be damned if I didn’t take every moment of peace I could get.
As Ambrose drove through the streets, those who recognized the vehicle waved before going back to prepping their
establishments for the day. A few of the shops and eateries that opened earlier in the morning had already accumulated a decent
number of tourists. It was nice to see my people profiting.
I’d never cared for the visitors that ventured here from the mainland, but I wouldn’t deprive the Isle of the benefits they
brought. Their curiosity ensured a steady influx of revenue, funds that helped maintain the Isle’s daily operations and provided
ample profit.
Outsiders paid a premium for the experience of visiting what to them was a mysterious place. Each person unaffiliated
with our society was extensively screened and vetted before being granted a durational pass.
On the rare occasion someone decided to disregard our policies and the clauses they agreed to before their arrival, they
and whoever was unfortunate enough to be with them simply disappeared through our disposal system.
We didn’t give warnings or second chances, nor did we discriminate based on age or gender. That would require a
semblance of mercy I and many others found hard to possess when our society was potentially put at risk.
I checked my phone, shooting off a few emails and replying to my brother’s last text asking for an ETA.
Ambrose passed the street where the original chapel had been located and drove away from town, taking a final left turn
a few miles out onto the access road. This part of the Isle wasn’t open to tourists, and if anyone foolishly tried their luck they’d
be met with armed guards, watchdogs, and a twelve-foot fence topped with electrified razor wire that were an additional
measure to what would await them on the other side. It was all to guarantee the sanctity of the grounds was never
compromised.
Ambrose slowed behind two vehicles in front of us that were currently passing through inspection. One belonged to an
older Tenebrarius that once served my father, and the other was my cousin Bishop. The latter I knew without needing to look.
His shitty choice of music was a dead giveaway. He was waved through the gates ahead and then the next car moved forward.
I pocketed my phone and watched as the guards verified the necessary credentials before giving the green light for the
gates to open again. With permission to skip the checkpoint, Ambrose followed right after.
The private tarmac wound through a portion of the Isle’s densely populated woodland. A healthy amount of greenery
served as an extra barrier against prying eyes. Our current place of worship had been constructed back here a few years ago
exactly for that reason
She loomed just up ahead. Black as a starless midnight sky and ornately crafted with blood and sin.
Stygian Chapel.
My home away from home.
As our vehicles went their respective ways at the fork in the road, Bishop wound up directly in front of us. Ambrose
pulled around the gargoyle fountain to drop me at the walkway leading to the chapel’s entrance.
I gathered my things and let myself out once he came to a stop, checking how I was for time while I waited for Bishop
on the sidewalk.
“Not a scratch, Jimmy,” he playfully warned the disciple on duty as a parking attendant, tossing him his Corvette’s key
fob.
“That man’s name is Peter.”
“Is it? Looks like he’s Jimmy today.” He transferred his briefcase from one hand to the other and adjusted his tie. “Good
morning, by the way. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Why? I see you almost every morning.”
“True, but I was expecting you to take some time off. How did our little princess settle in?”
“I plan to, just not today. She was just waking before I left, but thus far she’s handling it better than expected.”
“That’s great news. You owe me four hundred dollars, by the way.”
“I owe you nothing,” I replied, acknowledging a few people that bowed their heads to us as we walked.
“Emilio bet me you’d still show up. I swore you would be too busy.”
“Your piss-poor decisions very much sound like a personal problem.”
“You make it seem as if I have a list of them.”
“I listen to your shitty mumble rappers every morning, so I’d say you do.”
His grin flashed in my peripheral “That’s awful pretentious coming from a man too good to drive himself around.”
 “I drive myself plenty.”
“That’s a lie. Actually, I’ve been curious for some time now. Does Rosie wipe your ass for you too?”
I laughed and started up the second set of wide set stairs. “If he did, I can guarantee wiping my shit would be preferable
to hearing your playlist.”
“Damn, you got me,” he conceded, entering the Chapel’s lobby alongside me.
Straight ahead, on either side of the arched double doors that led into the heart of the chapel stood two masked
disciples. Both bowed their heads respectfully and gave their greetings.
“Diabolus. Magistri, Bishop.”
“Gentleman,” I returned, moving towards the door on the right where the staircase that led to the office floor was
located.
“What’s on our agenda today?” Bishop asked as he followed behind me.
“We need to finalize numbers for the shipments being placed next week and confirm the details of tomorrow’s
ceremony.”
“Seems simple enough. While we’re on that subject, what are you going to do with the other girl?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder and pressed down on the push-handle. “Are you interested?”
“You know how I feel about her. Besides, I have another interest. I’m sure one of the acolytes wouldn’t mind. As long
as she doesn’t speak.”
I chuckled, sobering as I seriously considered his question. Anya Kalani had come into Lolita’s life when they were just
shy of fourteen, three years before we found her. At first, I’d been relieved to know Lolita had a friend by her side to endure all
the unnecessary hardships she had to deal with—that was until I learned all about this disaster of a human being.
Anya was an unsightly fucking stain I wanted to eliminate. I’d considered killing her long before this day arrived, but
then Lolita would have been sad, and I wasn’t there to be her comfort. Her happiness was the only thing that saved Anya’s life.
I had hoped the two would drift apart somehow but they remained inseparable. I always knew that realistically; she’d
end up here too. This was the downside to always being right.
“Truthfully, I don’t know what to do with that viper. I’ll take advantage of her being here for now. Maybe she can be
used as a Progenitor. If we can’t find some way to make good of her alive, she’ll benefit us when she dies.”
We turned down the hall that led to my office, and I spotted my brother waiting up ahead.
“I knew you’d be here,” he stated as I approached.
I hitched a thumb in Bishop’s direction. “Our cousin owes you four-hundred dollars.”
Emilio grinned and looked at him. “I’ll accept my winnings in cash.”
“In that case, I’ll make sure it’s a delayed bank transfer,” Bishop joked.
“I’m assuming you both have everything for our meeting. I don’t, so if you’ll excuse me.”
I left them to their banter and went to my office to retrieve the files I needed. Once I reviewed them, I checked the time
and saw I still had some to spare. I fished Lolita’s cellphone from my briefcase and sat down at my desk, pulling the manor’s
camera system up on my personal device. I hadn’t had a chance to look through her phone yet.
The operating system was bugged months ago, but there was always the slim chance something had been missed. I
scrolled through her browser history, finding nothing I hadn’t already seen.
Next were her text messages. I’d viewed most of these already too. I clicked Anya’s name to re-read her thread and
strongly began to lean towards making her a Progenitor. She wouldn’t be worth much elsewhere on the Isle.
Almost all of her texts were about men. A few were sent trying to lure Lolita out to bars to meet someone she had
known all of ten fucking minutes. Somehow in that short span of time, Anya deduced they would be a good fit for my future
bride.
"Come out and have a good time!" Anya had urged, her words accompanied by laughing and…eggplant emojis and
tantalizing pictures of nightlife. A surge of disdain washed over me. How could Lolita ever have been charmed by such a
superficial existence?
In my mind's eye, I could almost see the scene: the overwhelming music, the mob of faceless people, and amidst it all,
Lolita, being approached by random men. My grip on the phone tightened, almost cracking its case. I took little comfort in
knowing Lolita never went and rarely replied beyond telling her friend to stay safe and not go home with strangers, which
should have been common sense.
Other than Anya, she didn’t talk to anyone. That made things easier for me. It took more effort to clip the wings of a
social butterfly versus a lone one. I sat the phone aside and shifted my focus to mine. Lolita was making use of her limited
mobility and exploring her surroundings.
It felt almost criminal that a lens could capture but a mere fraction of her allure. The way her hair cascaded down her
back, her full lips that held a hint of natural rosiness, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed; everything about her
was intoxicating.
Her dimpled smile and expressive brown eyes had caught me off guard back at the resort. I wanted to be the sole reason
she smiled. Just as I wanted to see how beautiful she was when she cried. This wasn’t a passing desire, but a profound, soul-
deep yearning. I wanted her—every inch, every secret, every thought.
I craved to be the only thought in her mind, the only desire in her heart. Now that she had come home, there were so
many things for us to experience together. Years that needed to be accounted for.
I checked the time again and began gathering up my things, powering off Lolita’s phone before I returned it to the
confines of my desk drawer and headed to the conference room. I would destroy it later. She’d have no use for it anymore.
My brother and cousin were already inside. As were my father, uncle, and two of my respective Tenebrarius. Rarely
was I the last to arrive. I almost checked the time again to make sure I wasn’t late, but I knew that couldn’t be possible. It was
them who had shown up early.
The disciple who delivered our morning coffee bowed her head to me as she exited the room and pulled the door
closed, giving us our privacy.
“How are you?” my father inquired, pulling a small flask from his inner suit pocket.
“Never better.” I sat my briefcase down and took a seat at the head of the large oval table, directly across from him.
“And how is our girl?”
“So far, she’s handling this rather well.”
He nodded and poured a shot of whiskey into his coffee. It was the sign I needed to know that his mind was in a
strategic tailspin. Otherwise, he’d have no issues saying exactly what he was thinking. It didn’t matter how it might be
received.
I’d been told countless times that I’d inherited his same scalding degree of bluntness, among other traits. As far as
appearances went, I could almost be his doppelganger. The color of my eyes is what truly set us apart. I’d gotten little from my
dear mother, whereas Emilio strongly favored her.
I turned my attention to Phoenix and Osiris, the two men I trusted the most outside of my blood. I’d talk to Father later
when we wouldn’t have an audience.
“How did your Electi settle?”
“It was a long night,” Osiris confessed, reaching for his cup of coffee.
“I didn’t think it was too bad,” Phoenix countered amicably. “I’m more inclined to see how tonight goes, since she’s
awake now.”
I shared his thoughts on that, but Osiris’ Electi had woken during the ferry trip to the Isle and nearly thrown herself
overboard. Of course, his morning had gone much differently from ours. Lolita could very well have a delayed reaction to her
acquisition once she had more time to process everything. Right now, she would be disoriented, no doubt frightened, but I was
prepared to deal with her however her mood swung.
My uncle Corbin flipped open the folder in front of him and began to tap away on his tablet, until a spreadsheet was
mirrored on the large projector that hung on the back wall. All conversation of the prior evening was put on hold, and we
transitioned into the first priority for today’s meeting.

I accepted the small glass of bourbon my father offered to me and settled into the leather chair across from his desk. My
brother had left already for the day to handle a few additional tasks for me, so I wasn’t out all night. The sun had already begun
to set. It would be completely dark by the time I arrived back home.
“Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about so deeply earlier?”
He looked away from his phone with a grin. “I sometimes forget how perceptive you are.”
“Largely due to you.”
“As much as I would like to give your mother credit, I have to agree.”
“How is she doing?” I asked, taking a sip of my drink.
“That’s what I was thinking about, partially.”
“When do you plan to tell her?”
“You just did it again.” He laughed and sat his glass down. “I’m telling her tomorrow. You and your brother will want
to stay away from the house for the next few days. When Esther isn’t assisting you, she’ll be at your Aunt Gwyneth’s.”
I nodded once in understanding. “Do you think she think she’ll handle it that badly?”
“It’s reopening old wounds, but she knew this day would come eventually. Lolita belongs here; she always has. I’m
more concerned with how she’ll handle the Rite ceremony.”
That made sense.
My mother had seen and participated in more than a few ceremonies when my father was acting Diabolus, but those
were different. They weren’t for women she grieved or cared for.
“Maybe some of the things you had me acquire at the trade show will help smooth things over.”
“Why do you think I was so selective?”
I laughed. “I’ll keep Lolita away until we’re ready for them to meet.”
“I’ll find my way to her before then,” he replied, adding, “And then you and I are going to talk about how you’re doing
with everything.”
I accepted that without complaint.
My father had such a relationship with me and my siblings that discussing our mental health had always been a positive
thing. He knew it was important for our heads to be clear.
We spoke about a few trivial matters as I finished my drink. Occasionally I pulled up the camera feed, always seeing
Lolita in the same exact spot, sometimes in a different position. I didn’t like the forlorn expression that came and went from her
face.
I needed to go to her.
“Are you staying longer?”
“Yes. I’m waiting on a call and need to finish a few things.”
I rose from my seat and began to gather my things. “I’m going to head back to the manor.”
He remained seated, watching me closely. “It’s nice to see you getting what you’ve always deserved.”
“My only regret is that it didn’t happen sooner,” I replied, exiting his office.
 CHAPTER SIX

It was a quarter past ten when I finally walked through my front door. All the lights were off except for a few metal
sconces that lined the wall. I made my way to the kitchen and sat my bag on the counter, fixing myself another drink before
going to the guest room.
Lolita didn’t startle when I opened the door. That was a good sign. I knew from watching the cameras earlier that after
exploring as far as her restraint allowed, she simply sat on the bed facing the wall with the covered windows, that forlorn look
coming and going.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she were planning an elaborate escape that wouldn’t happen. I’d never let her leave me, not
while her heart was still beating. Not even when it stopped. She turned my way with a wariness she tried and failed to hide.
I carried my drink to the small chest across the room, taking note of everything. Her dress was a bit wrinkled, but aside
from that, she looked just as beautiful as she had the night before. I felt her eyes on me as I moved. There wasn’t so much fear
as there was apprehension. Given the situation, it was a reasonable response. She needn’t feel either, though.
Not tonight.
I had no intentions of making a mess of this beautiful woman until I could pin her beneath me, bending her body to my
will. I dreamt of the day she would bleed and scream for me in mindless ecstasy.
Knowing I wouldn’t have to imagine it anymore…
Fuck.
I took a generous sip of liquor and reigned myself in. I would not—could not—have her until after the first Rite was
done. I took a seat in the wing-backed armchair angled towards the bed, not bothering with loose words of comfort despite my
honorable intentions.
“Did our servitor attend you well?”
“Is that the woman who came in here?”
“More or less.”
She wet her lips and adjusted her position on the bed, a sign she was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. “A few
lessons in hospitality couldn’t hurt.”
There was a dry sarcasm in her tone I didn’t expect. I took another sip of my Balvenie to suppress a pleased grin. “What
did she say to you?”
“Nothing I understood.”
“Then she said too much.”
“None of it was helpful to me,” she doubled down.
“So unhelpful you couldn’t find the will to eat?”
She glanced at the untouched bowl of soup and then looked away, her expression becoming shuttered. “I wasn’t hungry.”
I sat my drink to the side and stood. Her gaze flew to mine, and apprehension colored her features. I started to walk
towards her, and she slowly moved off the bed.
It was mildly amusing that somewhere in that pretty head of hers, she might’ve had the notion she would be able to
prevent me from doing whatever I wanted. Even with adrenaline racing through her veins and the kind of power that came with
desperation, nothing could save her from me.
I reached into my pocket to retrieve my cellphone and held it up to convey I meant no harm.
I moved past her and resisted the urge to reach out and touch every visible part of her soft skin. I knew once I felt her
beneath my fingertips, I wouldn’t want to stop, and tonight wasn’t about that. I’d waited all this time to have her home. Holding
out for another twenty-four hours would make it even more worthwhile.
I studied the tray Kennedy had left. The bottle of water was empty, so she’d at least been somewhat hydrated. There
was a small tinge of dark red on the end of the spoon. Other than that, it seemed the food was relatively untouched. I sent a text
to Isaac and returned to my chair, enjoying the look of confusion on Lolita’s face. I could practically see the cogs turning inside
her head as she tried to figure out what I was doing.
Minutes later, a light knock sounded, and I called out for Kennedy to enter.
Isaac opened the door and nudged her forward but didn’t follow. She was in nothing but a thin nightgown that left little
to the imagination and her normally plaited hair was down. He had to have snatched her right out of bed.
“Thank you, Isaac.”
He touched the rim of his Breton and walked away to resume patrolling the property. Kennedy stood motionless, a
neutral expression on her face.
“Diabolus,” she greeted quietly.
“Do you know why I called for you?”
“It has come to my attention I’ve made a mistake,” she replied without hesitation, taking up her usual submissive stance.
I had to give it to her, she’d always known how to play the role she was educated for. In the three years she’d served my
household, I’d never had to reprimand or give her any warnings while other servitors came and went.
This time, however, she did her part a little too well and chose to serve the wrong person.
“Remove the tray.”
She kept her head bowed and made her way around the bed. I reached for my drink and took another sip, allowing
myself a moment to enjoy the smoky flavor. If I wasn’t watching her so closely, I would have missed the subtle look she sent
Lolita’s way. They made eye contact for no more than two or three seconds, just long enough for me to confirm what I already
knew.
I waited for her to be back at the foot of the bed and then ordered her to stop. She came to an immediate halt, dropping
her gaze to the untouched bowl of soup.
“I thought I told you to make sure she had plenty of water throughout the day. Is there a reason you only brought one
bottle?”
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”
So that’s how she wanted to play it. I finished my drink and moved to stand in front of her. She remained motionless, but
her grip on the tray had turned her fingertips white.
“You’re afraid.” I reached out and touched the side of her throat. Her pulse was throbbing. “No, you’re terrified.”
She drew a shallow breath. “I hate to disappoint you.”
“After all the time we’ve spent together, I’m beginning to think you find me cruel.”
Kennedy shook her head and finally met my eye. “You are nothing but merciful, Diabolus.”
I skimmed my fingers up the side of her neck, watching Lolita in my peripheral.
“If you’re sure of that,” I paused and slid my hand into her hair, gathering it at the scalp. “Stop with this placating
bullshit and tell me what you did.”
“I didn’t serve her as I was meant to.”
She cried out as I wrenched her head back. “You mean you disrespected her, which is the same thing as disrespecting
me.”
I grabbed the rim of the tray and pulled it away from her. Lolita flinched when the bowl shattered against the floor. She
shouldn’t have had to see this tonight, but I needed her to understand that I wouldn’t allow anyone to get away with treating her
as less than royalty. I released Kennedy’s hair and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her with ease.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, losing the last of her composure as I took away her ability to breathe. Tears began to slip down
her cheeks. I let her struggle for a few seconds, keeping my grip firm.
“Your apologies mean nothing.” I threw her to the floor and took a step back. “Clean this up.”
Coughing and struggling to quiet her ragged breathing, she shifted onto her knees and reached for a piece of the broken
porcelain.
“What are you doing?”
She froze but didn’t dare look up at me again. “Cleaning the mess.”
“Start with the soup and use your tongue.”
She hesitated for half a second before lowering her face to the floor. Slurping sounds filled the room as she began to
vacuum the soup with her mouth.
 “Is this… necessary?” Lolita asked, sounding amusedly disinterested and disgusted.
“I’m not making her do anything. She’s doing this all on her own, and she’ll keep going until I say otherwise.” I grabbed
my empty glass and walked out of the room.
After placing it in the sink, I grabbed a bucket from the utility closet and returned to the bedroom.
Kennedy had gotten a decent amount of the soup up already. There was some in the ends of her hair, but most of it
seemed to have made it into her mouth. I tossed the bucket down and nudged her with my dress shoe.
“Put the broken pieces in here and finish up. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen. She still needs to eat.”
“I don’t want anything,” Lolita objected, still watching Kennedy with a look on her face that was somewhere between
pity and disgust. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that she didn’t speak on the servitor’s behalf or ask me to spare her.
“It’s been over twenty-four hours since you had lunch. You need to eat something.” I didn’t give her a chance to rebut
and left the room yet again, keeping the door open just in case Kennedy decided to be daring.
I shot off a few texts and set my phone aside to wash my hands, contemplating what I could make for Lolita.
I decided it was better to go with something light and simple so there was less chance of her stomach becoming upset. I
was in the middle of chopping up fruit when Federico came around the corner. Isaac was with him.
“Finally shipping er off, Diabolus?” Freddy asked, his thick accent laden with humor. There weren’t too many
occasions where he wasn’t in a good mood. He’d been one of my watchmen since I was nineteen and it’d been the same back
then.
“I should’ve gotten rid of her when I did Clarice.”
“At least you gave her a chance,” Isaac remarked, ever the voice of reason.
“I didn’t allow her to stay out of kindness. I wanted someone who knew my routines and was familiar with the house.”
I added another orange slice to the dish.
“You’ll find someone new,” Federico assured confidently.
“I’m not worried about that. There are more pressing matters to concern myself with right now.”
Isaac looked past me, and I turned to see Kennedy had emerged from the hall that led to where Lolita was being held. At
the sight of them, she became cemented in the doorway. She knew their presence could only mean one thing. Her eyes widened,
and the bucket slipped from her hand.
“No.” Her voice wavered, and she dropped to her knees. “Please, don’t do this.”
How melodramatic. Who the fuck did she think I was to be swayed by her pleading? “Get her out of my house. They’re
on standby at Carcerem.”
I turned away and resumed fixing Lolita’s plate, paying no mind to Isaac and Freddy approaching Kennedy.
She screamed and begged for mercy as they dragged her through the house. It ended abruptly after one of them knocked
her out. The second she was gone, a tranquil silence blanketed my home.
I grabbed the dish I’d just prepared and another bottle of water, carrying both to the bedroom. Lolita had retreated to the
corner of the room, as far as the chain would allow unless she hid in the bathroom. I could read her well enough to see she was
afraid. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. I didn’t want her to fear anyone other than myself, and even then, I only wanted to savor her
terror when the situation called for it.
“Sit back down,” I ordered softly.
“What happened to that woman?”
I withheld a sigh, mindful that this was as new to her as it was to me. I wasn’t accustomed to having to repeat myself or
wait to be obeyed. “Nothing that should have you cowering in a corner.”
“I’m not cowering,” she retorted with a hint of indignation.
“Sit back down then,” I coaxed.
I waited for her to move, pleased when she finally listened. I walked to the edge of bed and set down the bottle of water
before I offered her the dish. “You need to eat.”
She gingerly accepted it and studied the fruits and chocolate almonds as if searching for a hint of visible poison.
“It’s safe. I prepared it myself.”
Whatever she was going to say, she thought better of it and picked up an orange slice. Regardless of what was going on
inside her head, she couldn’t deny her body needed food and rest. I watched her eat, knowing my stare was making her
uncomfortable. I was too enraptured to care. Didn’t matter I’d spent hours on end watching her the past few years.
I never tired of it.
She was so beautiful. And most importantly, she was mine.
After taking a few more bites, she sat the plate down and rolled her lips together before fixing me with a curious, yet
guarded stare. “Do you have cameras in here?”
“They’re in the whole house.”
“That’s how you knew she spit in the food.”
I gave nothing away as that registered in my brain. Kennedy was fortunate not to be here anymore. To think she could
ever get away with such a disgusting act was naive at best. I would’ve gutted her like the lowly swine she was, right where she
stood. Of course, I knew she’d tampered with the food. I didn’t need to play any footage back to confirm that, but to spit in it?
The way she behaved was inexcusable.
Lolita took a small breath and stared at me.
I could tell she wanted to say something but was either unsure or afraid. I kept silent and waited.
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“Nothing you need to be concerned about.”
“Then… then what’s going to happen to me?”
This was the question I’d been expecting her to ask. I knew my answer mattered. Whatever I said would weigh on her
mind and subconsciously influence how she behaved. With less than twenty-four hours until the Rite, I wanted to keep her as
calm as possible. That left me unable to respond with full disclosure.
“As much as I’d like to answer you, this is a conversation for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Then you’re going to keep me chained up like this?”
“Lolita…” I swept my gaze over her face. I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. I’d grown up being told I was
blessed and highly favored by Carnalis Dominus. I’d never believed it more than in this moment. It was thanks to him I had
her.
“That chain around your ankle is the only thing stopping me from doing what I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw
you in my hotel room.”
She blinked and subtly shrank away. It made me want to reach out and pull her closer. “Finish your meal and get some
sleep.”
I took one last look at her and then left the room before I did something I couldn’t undo. I never had an issue controlling
myself or with being patient. Lolita had been home less than a day and I could already tell I would struggle to uphold those
values when it came to her. She wanted the chain removed, but it was the only thing keeping her safe from me.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

I couldn’t believe I’d fallen asleep. Not only that, but I’d slept better than I had in weeks. I wanted to blame Mr.
Hawthorne and accuse him of drugging me again, but the exhaustion that settled into my bones was a result of everything
catching up to me.
One of the first things I noticed upon waking was that he or someone else had been in here while I slept. The second
thing I realized was that the house was no longer quiet. I could hear pots and pans clanking, followed by an occasional
feminine voice. The aroma of bacon wafted through the air and caused my stomach to growl.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been this hungry. It felt like days had passed since Mr. Hawthorne brought me a
plate of fruit. There was no one to blame for that but myself. It was stupid of me to have refused food when I hadn’t eaten since
being at work. A hunger strike wouldn’t bring freedom or escape. It would only weaken me. That was the last thing I needed, to
be so stubborn I put myself in a more vulnerable position.
I looked towards the windows and saw hints of sunlight stretching beneath the drapes. It was most likely early morning.
I slid from the bed and tugged the excess chain along with me as I entered the bathroom.
After wearing the same clothes for going on two days—a work uniform—and not being able to shower, I felt gross and
in desperate need of some personal hygiene.
Maybe it was a trivial concern considering my predicament, but brushing my teeth was one small normalcy I wanted to
take advantage of. I took my time applying toothpaste and going through the motions. I rinsed my mouth with water from the
faucet and then splashed some on my face.
When I opened my eyes, I found Mr. Hawthorne’s in the make-do mirror. I whirled around with my heart in my throat
and took a few steps back. I hadn’t heard him enter the room or come up behind me. He stood in the doorway, dressed
differently from last night but still just as sharp.
Every time I saw him, he was dressed so formally. Today it was a black dress shirt beneath a vest that was meticulously
tailored to his cut body, making him appear even more imposing than he already was. A dash of color was added with a deep
crimson cravat secured by a silver pin.
“Good morning,” he said softly, clearly amused by my reaction.
The small space seemed to grow even smaller when he stepped forward and shut the sink off. His dark hair was damp
from a recent shower, the stubble lining his jawline freshly trimmed.
I took a breath and inhaled the exotic scent of his cologne. Something about it was irrationally calming. I studied his
side profile and cursed myself for still being unable to deny how gorgeous he was. It made this all the more confusing. I knew
someone’s appearance wasn’t a direct correlation with the way they behaved, but I doubted he struggled with finding a woman
to entertain.
He turned and surveyed me from head to toe. I was suddenly overcome with a nervousness I hadn’t felt since I was in
high school. I reached up to smooth down my hair without realizing I had done so.
“Don’t.” He grabbed me by the wrist and gently pulled my arm back down. “You’re beautiful exactly as you are right
now.”
Thanking him didn’t seem appropriate, so I said nothing. He released me and stepped forward, almost bringing our
bodies together. And then his hands were cradling my face.
“Relax,” he demanded softly, his thumbs gently brushing the water droplets from my cheeks. His lips were so close I
could smell the minty mouthwash he’d used on his breath. He tucked some of my hair behind one of my ears before lowering
his hands.
“You can shower after we’re done.”
His words had me taking another step back, and with nowhere left to go, my back hit the wall. Unperturbed, he
followed, crouching when he was right in front of me. Seeing this man nearly on his knees tangled my stomach into a knot.
He reached for the chain, and the warning he’d given before leaving last night flashed through my mind. “What are you
doing?”
“Taking you for breakfast.” He retrieved a sole metal key from his pocket and placed his palm a few inches above my
ankle, slowly sliding his hand down.
I curled my fingers and did my best to ignore the sensations his touch evoked.
“I’m curious.” He stopped and looked up at me, the hint of a smile inching across his lips. “What did you think I
meant?”
He knew exactly what he was doing and where my thoughts had gone. That was irritating beyond reason.
“Nothing possibly good,” I replied evenly.
His fingers wrapped around my ankle and his slight smile became a devious grin. “I promise you deliciae, it will be far
better than that.”
I wasn’t going to respond to such a remark. He inserted his key and unclasped the chain, leaving it to hit the floor with a
light thud. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or terrified. Mr. Hawthorne stood and returned the key to his pocket.
“Shall we?” He held his hand out and after a moment of hesitation, I reluctantly accepted.
He led me from the room and down a short hall with plain dark walls. We emerged into a kitchen, and I couldn’t believe
my eyes. I thought where I was being kept was nice. This was a stark contrast to that. Modern appliances coexisted with dark
gothic décor, creating an even mix of old and new. Dark cabinetry with intricate carvings lined the walls, while the stainless
steel had been shined so thoroughly, I could see my reflection in it.
The potent aroma of recently cooked food hung in the air along with a floral scent. I didn’t see anyone, though.
“The staff will be here tomorrow,” he explained, answering my silent thought.
From the kitchen, we entered a dining room with a round table at its center that had already been set. Large, gilded
chairs were placed around it. The crimson upholstery paired well with the rest of the room. It reminded me of how the resort’s
amphitheater had been decorated. There was even a fancy candelabrum as a centerpiece, but the candles weren’t lit.
The drapes in here were drawn as well. I figured this was so I couldn’t see outside. Mr. Hawthorne released my hand
and pulled out one of the chairs for me to sit. Once I was seated, he began to load the empty plates in front of me with food
from the various dishes someone had prepared.
“This is too much,” I protested. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.”
“I’d rather you have more than you want than too little.” He poured what appeared to be fresh orange juice into my glass
before sitting in the chair to my immediate right. “I rearranged my schedule to be here with you this morning. I wasn’t going to
risk you refusing to eat, so I made sure I’d be around to force the food down your throat if necessary.”
That was an incentive I couldn’t ignore and a warning if I ever heard one, no matter how softly spoken it was. I bit the
inside of my cheek and reached for a cloth napkin, placing it on my lap before picking up a fork. I’d never thought of myself as
subservient, but if this is what I needed to do to keep him from hurting me, I’d do it without complaint.
The worst he’d done so far was spike a glass of wine and bring me here.
Compared to the crime dramas and Criminal Mind episodes I frequently binged, things could be much worse. I had no
way of knowing when that would change, but I wasn’t willing to test the limits of his patience to find out. I began to eat and
noticed he didn’t have a dish in front of him.
“You’re not eating?”
“I usually don’t until I get to the office.”
Office. Did he do something corporate then? I didn’t get that vibe. He seemed more like a man who owned a company
or two, not who ran one.
I continued to eat, hoping he couldn’t tell how unnerved I was by the way he was watching me. Despite my unease, the
food tasted better than anything I’d had in a long time.
“Good?”
I nodded and reached for my glass of orange juice, contemplating how to get him to open up.
The two most important things for me to figure out were where I was, and what he planned to do with me. That mattered
more than the reason why. I’d never been great at small talk outside of work settings, but I had to at least try.
“Who made all of this? I assume not you.”
“Are you implying I can’t cook?” His tone was light—I dared say playful.
 Seeing as I didn’t know who he was or anything about him, I couldn’t be sure. Something told me he was good at most
things that required at least some level of skill. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. I made it seem as if I was thinking about
it before answering.
“I think you know the difference between a spatula and a colander.”
He laughed lightly. “I do. My mother made sure of that. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for this. After last night, I made
a few changes for the better. You’ll meet the cooks soon.”
If his mom taught him his way around the kitchen, that implied they were close. And it sounded like there was more than
one person that cooked his meals. I had heard a woman talking to someone a little bit ago.
Suddenly remembering he’d been wearing a ring, I scooped up some hashbrowns and subtly glanced at his hands. The
band was gone. What did that mean? Was he a divorcee? Maybe a widow? I felt irrationally compelled to know. I didn’t know
why. It wasn’t like his relationship status changed the fact that he’d kidnapped me.
“Curious?”
“What?”
“You were looking for my ring.”
I blinked, caught off guard by how easily he’d just read me, and how casually he brought it up. I didn’t think I’d been
that obvious.
“Are you married? Or divorced? Maybe…widowed?”
His brow rose the slightest bit. “From your perspective, I suppose I would be all three.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I’m not single,” he replied calmly.
I didn’t know what to make of that. Had he removed the ring because I was here?
“Does your partner live with you?” I glanced around the room as if his admission would summon her.
“Would that bother you?”
“I knew you were married when I saw you in your suite. I wasn’t surprised then and I’m still not now. I just don’t
understand why I’m here.”
“You say you weren’t surprised.” He sat back and regarded me with a look on his face I couldn’t decipher. “What kind
of man do you think I am, Lolita?”
“I don’t think I should answer that.”
His lips quirked. “Well, now you have to.”
“I think…”
“Speak freely. I never want you to be anything but honest.”
Telling him exactly what I thought of him wasn’t wise, given my situation. Sticking with the basics was my safest option.
“I think you’re someone that’s used to getting what you want…and you either come from money or you do something that
allows you to afford a certain lifestyle.”
“That’s a good observation,” he replied thoughtfully. “I do come from money. My family is a strong believer in
generational wealth, but I also work my ass off to ensure you never have to worry about a price tag.”
“I don’t have to worry?” I placed a hand on my chest to reference myself.
“Never.”
His quick agreement and the finality with which he spoke that single word made me lose my train of thought.
“There is something you got wrong, however.”
“Which part?” I asked against my better judgment.
“I’m not used to getting what I want. I take what I want by whatever means necessary.”
“Is there a difference?”
“The first implies I occasionally don’t. The second guarantees I always do.”
Yet again, I found myself lacking a response. I looked from him to my plate, and then around the room. All of this was
so surreal. Not only was Mr. Hawthorne one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen, if I hadn’t already known after seeing
him in a suite that cost a pretty penny, his own admission confirmed he was wealthy.
And married. Or at least something like it, whatever that meant.
“Why am I here? Why did you take me?” I broke down and asked. I couldn’t think of a single reason he’d have to kidnap
me. I had nothing of to offer value and was essentially a no one.
The realization made this all the more real and terrifying. Up until now, I had been doing a great job holding myself
together. I was beginning to feel as if I were balancing on the edge of a dangerously steep ravine. One misstep would send me
plummeting.
“Lolita.”
Why did he keep saying my name with such familiarity, as if it meant something to him? I trained my attention on my
plate and forced myself to hold back the bitter, angry tears I could feel gathering in my eyes. The food I’d just eaten settled into
my gut like a bag of stones.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice firm, yet oddly soft.
Begrudgingly, I turned my head and met his arresting stare.
“What did I tell you when you asked where you were?”
“You said I was home,” I replied quietly, only now remembering his parting words from the day before.
“Precisely. I haven’t kidnapped you, Lolita.” He reached out and took hold of my hand. “By my side is where you
belong.”
There it was again. That undertone of finality. I felt like he was implying something I should’ve understood. I didn’t. If
anything, I was growing more confused.
“How can I belong with you? I have no idea who you are. You don’t even—” I stopped and took a shuddering breath.
“And your wife. Where does she fit into this dynamic?”
“You need to calm down.”
Hearing that from the man who’d kidnapped me—because regardless of what he called it, that’s exactly what he’d done
—triggered something in me. It was a response I would later look back on and berate myself for.
“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.” I tore my hand free of his and all but dove from my chair.
It hit the ground with a clatter that echoed from behind me as I ran. My heart beat at a frenetic pace as I sprinted through
the intricate corridors of a home I’d greatly underestimated in size. I had no idea where I was going. The only thought in my
head was getting away—from him. From this place.
Each footfall seemed to reverberate through the halls, carrying a resonance of my determination and fear. I dashed into a
grand foyer that was bathed in the golden glow of sunrise and hurried to a set of elaborate black doors that I hoped would lead
me outside.
I swore harshly when neither opened.
They had been locked with some unseen mechanism. But there had to be another way out of this house. It was far too
nice to only have one entry point. I shoved away from the doors and raced out of the room, reducing its grandeur to a blur of
arches. I was terrified that with one wrong turn, I’d be caught by a dead end.
I burst into another open room and came to such an abrupt stop I nearly tripped over myself. A sob lodged in my throat
as I was greeted by a breathtaking view. A vast, shimmering lake stretched endlessly in front of me.
I knew I’d been taken far away, somewhere near a body of water. I never imagined it would be this isolated or
unfamiliar. There wasn’t a single other house in sight. The view brought a newfound understanding and daunting recollection.
The wine he gave me had been imported from an island. If I was there…No. I couldn’t be trapped somewhere like that.
I refused to believe it.
His sudden presence enveloped me in dread. Slowly, I turned to face him. He was a dark angel, emerging into a swathe
of daylight. His beautiful eyes held something dark and inscrutable as they locked onto mine with an unsettling intensity. He
moved with an unnerving grace, closing the distance between us effortlessly and without urgency.
“Why did you run? You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”
“You’re insane!”
“Am I?” He laughed , a blend of seduction and malice that defied explanation. It effectively cemented me in place. His
gaze traveled over me and sent shivers down my spine.
I’d never had a man look at me like this—unyielding and possessive.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are, even when you’re terrified.” In a heartbeat, I found myself in his arms. His
embrace wasn’t harsh, but I felt the confinement of it all the same. He was solid and fit, capable of easily crushing me while
his cologne and natural scent were intoxicating.
“Did you honestly think I’d let you get away from me, deliciae?”
His voice was chidingly soft. I expected anger or violence for trying to escape. Instead, he pulled me into his chest and
began to affectionately stroke the top of my head with one hand. “I’ve told you twice and now I’m telling you again. You’re
exactly where you belong.”
I couldn’t voice a response, afraid if I opened my mouth, I would release the scream building in my chest. I remained in
his embrace for an indefinite amount of time, and all the while he continued to stroke my head and hold me.
I began to feel like I had when I first woke and discovered the chain. I was ensnared by a predator that seemed to enjoy
doting on its prey. I’d endangered myself by running away. I wasn’t going to risk doing anything else.
“I think you’ve had enough freedom.” Without any strain, he scooped me up as if I were a doll and carried me out of the
room.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

He shut me away again. The chain was back too. He’d fastened it around my ankle with such gentleness one might think
it was a rare piece of jewelry instead of a restraint.
I didn’t understand him. I couldn’t think clearly enough to try to, and even if I could, I wasn’t sure it would matter. All I
wanted was to go home—back to the cramped and cozy apartment I shared with my best friend. I wanted to wake up after
hitting the snooze button and blast my Adele vinyl while getting ready for work.
But I wasn’t going to waste time fooling myself into thinking that would happen.
The man who brought me here was insistent I belonged with him. I didn’t want to care about that, but I was having
trouble doing otherwise. It was no exaggeration that I’d seen hundreds of guests while working at the resort, but I knew I had
never met him before. I wouldn’t have forgotten someone who made me so self-aware simply by existing.
His presence was impossible to ignore, and I wasn’t so innocent that I was oblivious to the way he looked at me. His
eyes held a dangerous desire that both unsettled and—loathe as I was to admit—intrigued. But that didn’t change my
circumstances. My captivity hung over me like a dark, suffocating cloud.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall. Each minute stretched into an eternity. The stagnant silence had returned,
interrupted only by my troubled thoughts.
I dozed off at some point, waking when soft whispers penetrated my dreamless state. I immediately sat up and looked
towards the door. Two unfamiliar faces greeted me, both smiling warmly. One dark haired and the other a honey blonde, they
couldn’t have been much older than I was.
The way they were dressed instantly caught my attention. I could tell right away they weren’t like the woman that had
spit in my food not just from their clothing, but how they carried themselves.
“Hello! I’m Esther and this is Nicolette,” the one with dark hair exclaimed with a bright smile, gesturing towards her
friend, who was a dead ringer for Jessica Alba.
“You can call me Nikki,” Nicolette added, her demeanor more reserved but no less good-natured.
“I’m so glad I can finally meet you!” Esther gushed as she fully entered the room.
I found her bubbly exuberance somewhat disarming. So was her uncanny resemblance to Mr. Hawthorne. The classy
black evening gown that she wore hugged her curvy figure in all the right places. Her hair was loosely braided and adorned
with a thinly jeweled headpiece that screamed money.
“Esther, calm down. We just talked about this,” Nicolette reprimanded with playful exasperation.
She was taller than both of us and built like a runway model, wearing a similar black evening gown that mirrored her
quiet and steady charm. Her hair was styled the same but lacked any adornments.
"We've been assigned as your—”
“We’re here to help you get ready,” Nicolette cut her off with a clear warning in her tone.
Esther kept speaking, her enthusiasm undeterred.
“We’re going to make you look stunning! Not that you aren’t beautiful already."
“And why do I need to be made up?”
“Because tonight is special,” Esther replied matter-of-factly.
 Nicolette’s gaze met mine, her expression calm and understanding. "We were sent here with strict instructions to make
sure you’re expertly prepared. Failure is not an option.”
I frowned as her underlying meaning became clear. She’d just given a warning, but it wasn’t for my wellbeing. It was
for theirs. I took a quiet breath and looked around the room. I didn’t know either of these girls from a stranger on the street, but
if something happened to them because of me, I would feel guilty.
I hadn’t forgotten about the woman who spit in my food. What she’d done was disgusting and unwarranted, but her fear
when being dragged off had been palpable.
Even if these two were on different levels than her, they could possibly suffer because of me.
“So, Lolita, are you ready for a night you’ll never forget?” Esther asked. Her voice held a gentle warmth.
I nodded hesitantly, the urge to refuse bubbling beneath the surface.
“Yes!” Esther surged forward and quickly removed the chain from my ankle.
I wasn’t sure where or when she’d gotten a key all of a sudden, seeing as her dress had no visible pockets. But before I
could question it too much, the chain was off and I was being helped out of bed.
“Please don’t run,” Esther murmured to me as I was steered towards the door, and for the first time I heard a hint of
uncertainty beneath her cheerfulness.
“I won’t run,” I answered loud enough for them both to hear. I meant it too. I’d already made that mistake once.
The next time I ran I would make sure I had a plan, or at the very least knew a clear-cut path for safely getting away
from this place.
They guided me out of the room and down a corridor that felt both familiar and foreign since seeing it earlier. As we
walked, Esther continued to talk a mile a minute. I noticed her words were careful, chosen with a sense of discretion. I wasn’t
to know what was happening. That didn’t sit right with me at all. I’d agreed to behave for their sakes, but I had wound up in
this very situation doing something similar for Shana.
“Can one of you tell me what’s going to happen to me?”
Esther stopped mid-sentence and looked over. “Nothing bad. Tonight is going to be a celebration. It’s a new chapter for
all of us."
Nicolette nodded in silent agreement as we arrived at a door relatively close to the bedroom that I was being kept in.
Esther opened it to reveal a large bathroom illuminated in a soft glow.
"Here we are," she announced with a renewed pep in her tone. "This is where the transformation begins."
I walked inside and was greeted by an array of beauty products. Everything had been carefully laid out with precision.
Nicolette gestured toward the various items. "We've got everything—makeup, hair tools, and of course, the dress you’ll
be wearing."
My gaze was already on the obvious centerpiece. A dark red dress that seemed to pulse with its own energy. It was both
alluring and daring, nothing like I had ever worn before.
“I’m supposed to wear that?” I pointed to the dress, not bothering to hide the fact I wasn’t a fan.
"Yes, and you’re going to look absolutely stunning in it," Esther assured me, her voice carrying a genuine sense of
excitement.
Nicolette added, "Trust us, you're in good hands."
I withheld a sigh and eyed the dress again. It reminded me of something Anya would wear. My heart twisted at the
thought of my best friend. She would be losing her mind by now. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was camped out at the
police station trying to do their job for them.
The sooner I got through whatever was coming, the quicker I could figure out how to make it back home. I looked
between Esther and Nicolette, offering a tentative smile. “So, what’s first?”
"Over here," Esther instructed, gently guiding me toward a large glass shower.
“Everything you need is already inside. We’ll be waiting out here.”
I swallowed and nodded. Of course, they wouldn’t leave me all alone. I kept my back to them and quickly undressed,
relieved when I glanced over my shoulder and saw they weren’t watching. I stepped into the shower and pulled the glass doors
closed, shutting myself inside a temporary haven of privacy.
I shifted on the cool tiles and brushed my fingers across the sleek brassy fixtures. There were more handles than I knew
what to do with. I finally managed to figure them out and adjusted the water until comforting warmth cascaded from a rainfall
showerhead. Steam gathered on the glass and I slightly relaxed. I needed this more than I’d thought. The water seemed to carry
away some of the weight my circumstances had dumped onto me.
I washed my hair with a shampoo and conditioner I’d never heard of before. It smelled good and it made my long waves
feel like silk. I reached for the shower gel next. It was at least a name I recognized, but I hadn’t been aware Chanel made a line
of hygiene products. For a moment, all I could do was stare at the bottle, my mind grappling with the reality of the situation.
Everything was brand new. As much as I wanted to deny they’d been bought specifically for me, my intuition said
otherwise. The fact that Mr. Hawthorne wanted to make sure I was well fed and pampered only deepened the complexity of the
situation. I finished my shower, struggling to reconcile his actions.
There was a fluffy towel and silk robe waiting for me when I stepped out. Once I was dry Esther and Nicolette went
right to work styling my long hair into a half-up, half-down style that framed my face elegantly.
A light layer of makeup was applied, enhancing my features in a way that surprised me given how little had been used.
"You're looking stunning already," Nicolette remarked, her words accompanied by a genuine smile.
"You are,” Esther was quick to agree. “Now for the final touch!”
With careful precision, they helped me step into the alluring red dress. The silk fabric clung to my form, the boldness of
the design leaving me feeling both exposed and strangely empowered. I thought the neckline on my uniform dress had been bad;
this was downright scandalous.
I turned to face a large floor-length mirror. A slightly transformed version of myself stared back. My internal struggle
resurfaced, bringing with it the weight I’d shed in the shower and a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Defiance and
resignation warred within me.
I couldn't help but wonder what was in store for me, what secrets this evening held and would hopefully reveal. I knew
no matter what was to come, if I had any chance of finding a way out of here, all I could do was navigate the path that lay ahead
and hope it proved useful for reconnaissance.
 CHAPTER NINE

Hours had passed since I’d last seen him. As I stood on the threshold of Mr. Hawthorne’s home, fading sunlight cast
long shadows across his secluded property.
“We’re leaving?” I couldn’t keep the surprise or concern from my voice.
“Diabolus is waiting at our destination,” Nicolette explained not unkindly.
There was that moniker again. And I saw I still wasn’t going to get a straight answer as to where I was being taken. I
stepped out and took a look around. On the other side of an expansive slate driveway, a large SUV was on standby.
The sight of it brought forth a mixture of nervous anticipation and trepidation.
“It will be alright,” Esther softly assured me, placing a gentle hand on my arm.
I didn’t believe that. Not for a single second. Something told me whatever they were being so secretive about would be
anything but okay. The ability to see everything around me could either mean my chances of escape were slim, or I was being
underestimated. There was only one way to find out. I swallowed and forced my silken flats to carry me forward.
Esther and Nicolette stayed on either side of me, an invisible guiding force. A cool breeze brushed against my skin as
we walked, carrying a refreshing scent from the lake. I glanced back only once and immediately wished I hadn’t.
I wasn’t sure house accurately described what was behind us.
It looked more like a miniature castle—a masterpiece of sinister grandeur. The arching opaque windows seemed like
sentinels, guarding the secrets of their master’s home. The landscaping was a blend of natural beauty and careful cultivation
surrounded by the massive lake I’d seen earlier, its water now darker than the night sky, no doubt harboring secrets of its own.
Drawing closer to the waiting SUV, a man rounded the front and approached the passenger door to open it for us. My
steps faltered as I took in the sight of him. Or maybe it was a woman. Cloaked in black and wearing a smooth, expressionless
mask that concealed their features, I couldn’t say for sure.
“Why are they dressed like that?” I whispered, watching them wordlessly open the door.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s merely a custom of our faith.”
The realization hit me like a sudden jolt as pieces of a puzzle clicked into place. I didn’t know how I’d missed all the
obvious clues. The enigma that was Mr. Hawthorne and those around him were part of some sort of group. That trade show
revealed hints of this too.
A weight of uncertainty clung to me and gnawed at my thoughts. What would any of that have to do with me? I stared at
the SUV and the driver, their silent invitation hanging in the air. The vehicle's presence now seemed almost like a harbinger.
“Nothing bad will happen to you,” Esther assured again.
A bitter chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. "Something bad has already happened. I’ve been kidnapped."
Esther turned and looked at me, her brown eyes taking on a note of confusion.
“You think you were kidnapped? It’s not like that at all, Lolita.”
I didn’t bother responding to her delusion. Just like Mr. Hawthorne, Esther was part of this enigmatic world. Nicolette
shook her head and stepped closer, her eyes reflecting a deeper understanding.
"I know you're scared and none of this is making much sense. You have no reason to trust us. If I were in your position, I
would feel the same, but you will get through this night."
 Her genuine empathy offered a glimmer of solace. With a reluctant sigh, I closed the distance between me and the SUV,
seating myself between the two of them. The driver shut the door and returned to his position behind the wheel, not speaking to
any of us. I wondered if Mr. Hawthorne was confident that I wouldn’t run, or rather he wasn’t concerned about finding me if I
did. My guess was on the former.
The SUV's engine hummed, the only sound as it journeyed away from where I was being kept.
With each passing mile, more of a world that was both unfamiliar and strangely captivating was revealed. I had no idea
where I had been taken to. Once the seclusion of Mr. Hawthorne’s home fell away, we passed through a village of some sort.
The cobblestone streets were lined with buildings that had been well maintained and seemed to whisper tales of secrecy.
Everything was bathed in the soft glow of lantern lights and ornate streetlamps. There were people too—as normal as
they came. They wandered in and out of shops that seemed to hold different trinkets and restaurants that exuded enticing
aromas. None of them paid more than a fleeting glance at the SUV driving through the streets. But why would they?
The village was alive with a deceptive tranquility. There was no way for these people to know I was here and not of my
own free will. The people and the nightlife gradually fell away, and a few more minutes rolled by before the SUV took a turn
onto a long road.
An imposing fence lined with some kind of barbed wire cut through the center of it. Unmasked guards patrolled the
perimeter with vigilant canines at their sides. I counted two that were a breed of mastiff and one Doberman.
As the SUV proceeded through a tall set of gates, I sat back, pressing myself into the leather seat. Each passing second
deepened my sense of unease. When the truck completed its half turn around a bend that had been blocked from view by a thick
cluster of trees, my stomach sank.
More masked figures awaited me.
They stood on either side of the long road in cloaks of black, all wearing some type of mask. A few held iron torches
that flickered in the dark.
“What the hell is this?” I murmured to myself. My gaze shifted from the windows and landed on a box-like structure that
resembled a carriage without wheels. “And what is that?”
It was covered in intricate carvings, sitting in the middle of the road. I couldn't quite grasp its purpose or the meaning of
what was happening. No one was speaking. The silence was broken only by my questions and our breathing.
“What’s going on?”
Esther reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“The palanquin will take you the rest of the way. We’ll be right behind you.”
A sense of panic rose up as I realized I would be getting inside the box.
“Remember what I told you,” Nicolette said so quietly it was barely a whisper.
I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw that there was more to this sense of understanding that she was trying to
convey. There was something else there too—sadness. Had this happened to her as well? I wasn’t sure if that made me feel
better or worse. It was a relief to know she’d survived whatever came next and appeared healthy, in the physical sense. It was
also terrifying, because that meant she’d never escaped.
I couldn’t have that same fate. Still, her words helped calm me just enough that when it came time to exit the SUV, I
went willingly. I couldn’t see the faces of the people watching me, but I could feel their watchful gazes. I placed one foot in
front of the other and kept my sights trained on the box.
It was larger up close, with a domed roof supported by dark gilded wood and obsidian glass that made seeing inside of
it impossible. Esther pulled open the door and together with Nicolette, they helped me get in. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but
it wasn’t an intimate cocoon fit for royalty.
Intricate carvings continued on all of the walls but two. The two panels of glass in front of me were like a one-way
mirror and free of any markings. I sat on a seat made of rich, dark velvet and looked up. The domed ceiling was lined with tiny
lights, so at least I wouldn’t be shut in total darkness.
“Keep calm,” Esther whispered as she closed the door.
Her words inspired the opposite effect. I didn’t get the chance to dwell on them too long. There was noticeable shift in
the air, and then the silence was shattered by a symphony of whispers.
Masked figures surrounded the box and lifted it with such care I didn’t have to steady myself. They began to carry me
forward, the rhythmic motion only serving to magnify my apprehension. The trees that lined the path added to the obscurity. It
felt like I’d been transported to another realm.
The low whispers never ceased. They kept repeating the same thing over and over again. I couldn’t understand what
was being said. The language was as mysterious to me as their ominous words. My mind raced with thoughts of what could be
about to happen.
As we emerged from the woods, the building that loomed into view seized my breath and heightened my fear.
Positioned at a vantage point, I took in the massive structure. The essence of darkness seemed to be etched into every detail in
different hues of black, creating a malign aura that sent a chill down my spine.
 Half of the building resembled a church, its spires piercing the starless sky. At the center of the walkway stood a
fountain adorned with a gargoyle spewing water. Its presence added to the eerie ambiance. To the left of the church, seamlessly
extending its form into a contemporary design was a long building. Its windows were shrouded, mirroring the church’s
aesthetic.
I was transported through one pair of arched doors, and then another, going right into the heart of the church. They
closed with a muffled thud, and the whispering ceased, enveloping the space in a dense silence. As my eyes adjusted to the
dimness I was gripped by a distressing sense of awe.
My eyes swept across a barrage of splendor and dread. Dark marble flooring stretched before me like a cold, endless
sea. In its center was a pentagram with the letter 'A' etched into its center, some sort of emblem.
Above me, from what I could see, towering ceilings formed a void that seemed to swallow the light while stained glass
on the bottom halves of the windows depicted some type of ritual. Rows of blackened pews were filled with a congregation of
masked figures, their hidden faces adding to the bizarre scene. I was grateful now that this box couldn’t be viewed from the
outside. I felt like enough of a freak show as it was, and their masked gazes weren’t helping.
The atmosphere was charged with an intensity that was almost palpable. At the front, amidst the masked figures and in
front of an altar hewn from black stone stood a man donning a leather beaked mask.
Mr. Hawthorne.
I didn’t need to see his face to know who commanded the entire room. Threads of fascination wove into my thoughts,
despite my inner turmoil. He was a beautiful embodiment of sin.
His clothes were regal, a fusion of gothic and ceremonial elements that made him look like a dark prince reigning over
an insidious court.
Beside him were four men, their presence of authority and allegiance. Two shared his distinguished attire but wore
different masks. The other pair were dressed in cloaks of red. One man's hair triggered recognition. I’d seen him before. He
was at the resort with Mr. Hawthorne.
I expelled a quiet breath and leaned back, lifting my eyes to the imposing statue behind the altar. It was huge and carved
with meticulous detail, meant to portray the devil himself. His tattered wings were spread wide in a symbol of rebellion and
pride. The statue’s features were a blend of beauty and corruption, reminding me of Mr. Hawthorne.
Especially with the way its intense gaze was trained on the woman of stone that knelt at its feet.
The way she’d been crafted struck a deep chord of discomfort. Her head was bowed as she wept crimson tears. Spiral
pillars of blackened stone stood on either side of the statue. Tapestries of the same symbol etched into the floor hung on both.
Mr. Hawthrone stepped forward and began to speak. His voice resonated through the chapel, its tones carrying the
weight of authority and reverence. "My loyal disciples, tonight marks a momentous occasion," he declared, his words
punctuated by a pause that seemed to emphasize their significance. "We have gathered here to partake in a rite of initiation—a
sacred honor that has been foreseen and patiently awaited."
As the assembled masked members waited in attentive silence, Mr. Hawthorne’s masked gaze swept over them.
His mere presence seemed to demand their allegiance. His head turned in my direction, and it felt like he was staring at
me directly.
"Amongst us, we have my Electi," he continued, his voice resonating with pride. "And not only her, but two additional
chosen brides who have come to join our fold."
My heart raced as his words reached my ears. I knew what an initiation was from watching TV and being an avid
reader, but that was when someone was joining a gang. I didn’t know what occurred when someone was becoming part of a…
a fucking cult. And I certainly wasn’t ready to learn.
The atmosphere within the church seemed to intensify, the air charged with an energy that vibrated with a mix of
excitement. As my brain tried to keep up with what was going on, I latched onto something he’d just said.
There were other women here. I shifted and strained to see them, but they were hidden from view thanks to the confines
of my box. Mr. Hawthorne’s speech continued, and I saw a grim fate being weaved that I could do nothing to stop.
"Tonight, we stand on the cusp of ascension," he proclaimed, his words resonating with a sense of purpose. "But before
we can embrace our collective new family, two phases of penance must be administered."
As soon as he finished speaking an unseen door opened, its creak echoing across the vaulted ceilings. I watched yet
another hooded figure wheel a circular contraption to one side of the altar.
The design of it mirrored the pentagram with a star in the center, as well as a man. Leather restraints held him captive
and there was a gag firmly placed in his mouth.
On the opposite side of the altar, a woman was walked forward, this time by someone dressed as a masked nun. She
stood with a cloth bag obscuring her features, but I recognized the long blonde hair and nightgown from the night before.
“In case anyone has forgotten, there are consequences that befall those who challenge our customs,” Mr. Hawthorne
proclaimed. He turned towards the man first. "Tonight, observe what happens when you disrespect what is mine.”
At that, one of the men in red turned and lifted something from the altar. I leaned forward and squinted to get a better
Another random document with
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The Judge.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Very well. It is not the court that is judge, but the whole
country.”
General Gonse was then called, and asked by M. Labori at what
date the hydraulic check was introduced into the service.
General Gonse.—“I am not in charge of the artillery service, and
cannot answer.”
M. Labori.—“Will you permit me to comment upon the testimony of
the witness, to say regarding it that which is indispensable to the
truth, according to Article 319?”
The Judge.—“Ask questions only.”
M. Labori.—“Really, I ask myself if it would not be better to quit this
court-room than to suffer myself to be thus gagged and placed in a
strait-jacket.”
The Judge.—“Come, Monsieur Labori, say serious things.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, you abuse the right that your
lofty position gives you. You have no right to insult me. Do you
maintain that I do not say serious things here?”
The Judge.—“Ask questions.”
M. Labori.—“It is well. You do not maintain it; I continue. I ask
Colonel Picquart to explain what he meant in his testimony when he
indicated that one of the documents in the secret file applied rather
to Major Esterhazy than to another.”
Colonel Picquart.—“Had there not been mention of this document in
the Ravary report, I would not say a word about it. I say that it
applied rather to Major Esterhazy than to another, because this
document need only be seriously discussed in order to make it plain
that it can apply only to an officer of troops, and not to a staff officer. I
could give my reasons only behind closed doors.”
M. Labori.—“Was not Colonel Picquart appointed chief of the bureau
of information on July 1, 1895?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“When he entered upon his functions, did not General
de Boisdeffre say to him: ‘Occupy yourself with the Dreyfus case.
There is not much in the file’?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I have not to answer that question, for it relates
to conversations with the chief of staff.”
M. Labori.—“At what date did the witness say to General Gonse: ‘I
shall not carry this secret to the grave’?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I cannot speak of private conversations. I have
seen that statement in a newspaper, and asked myself who could
have given it out.”
M. Labori.—“Did not General de Boisdeffre in September and
October, 1896, after the letters of General Gonse, invite Colonel
Picquart to put questions regarding Major Esterhazy?”
Colonel Picquart.—“The obligations of professional secrecy prevent
me from answering.”
M. Labori.—“Was it not then that Colonel Picquart proposed to have
Major Esterhazy arrested for certain matters of indelicacy?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I considered that it would be useful to arrest
Major Esterhazy, and that, if the presumption that he was a spy was
not strong enough, there was enough against him in other directions
to warrant sending him to a fortress. My superiors did not agree with
me.”
M. Labori.—“This proposition having been rejected by General de
Boisdeffre, did he not ask Colonel Picquart to formulate another?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I cannot testify in the assize court concerning
the details of my service.”
M. Labori.—“Did not Colonel Picquart then frame another
proposition, which was first accepted, and then rejected because it
would lead to Major Esterhazy’s arrest? Does not that prove that the
authenticity of the dispatch was not disputed?”
Colonel Picquart.—“At that time nobody questioned the authenticity
of the dispatch.”
The stand was then taken by M. Stock, the publisher, who at the time
of the examination in the Esterhazy case had turned over to General
de Pellieux certain letters written by Major Esterhazy to M. Autant,
the architect.
“General de Pellieux undoubtedly took no account of them,” said the
witness, “for neither M. Autant or myself was called before him. At
that time Major Esterhazy said to M. Autant: ‘You must deny having
received these letters; you must deny that I am your tenant; you
must deny any acquaintance with me; and, if questioned about the
letters, you must say that they are forgeries.’ M. Autant refused,
saying that that was contrary to the truth. Moreover, it was childish,
for there were two registered leases, and everybody in the house
knew Major Esterhazy. Later the letters found their way into the
hands of Major Ravary, and M. Autant and I were called before him.
He was very courteous, but my testimony did not seem to please
him. He asked me why the letters had been photographed. I did not
know. He said that he considered it very strange that M. Autant
should have given up Major Esterhazy’s letters without his consent. I
found it very curious that this examining magistrate should tell a
witness to ask the opinion of the accused before deciding what to
do.”
M. Labori.—“Does the witness know anything concerning M. Zola’s
good faith?”
M. Stock.—“To me, as to everybody, it is absolutely evident.
Furthermore, I know, through the indiscretion of a member of the
council of war, that not simply one secret document, but several,
were communicated to that body. I can enumerate them.”
The Judge.—“No, it is useless. We have no right to say anything
about the Dreyfus case.”
M. Stock.—“I can enumerate four of these documents, if you like.”
The Judge.—“We are not concerned with the Dreyfus case.”
The next witness was M. Lalance, who formerly sat in the German
reichstag representing Alsace-Lorraine, as protesting deputy.
“I would like,” said the witness, “to tell the jury something about the
origins of this affair. I was acquainted with the Sandherr and Dreyfus
families,—that is, with the family of the accuser and the family of the
accused. I have lived with them and seen them very closely. The
elder Sandherr was a Protestant who became a Catholic and
showed the intolerance of all neophytes. In 1870, the time of the war,
bands of people said to be directed by him ran through the streets of
Mulhouse, crying: ‘Down with the Prussians of the interior!’ These
Prussians were the Protestants and Jews. These cries found no
echo. Protestants, Jews, and Catholics all did their duty during the
war and after it. When in 1874 the provinces were called upon to
send deputies to Berlin, it was a Jew who nominated the bishop of
Metz, and the Protestant deputies were nominated by the priests.
The younger Sandherr, the colonel, whom I knew from childhood,
was a good soldier and a brave and loyal citizen, but he had
inherited his father’s intolerance. Furthermore, in 1893 he fell a
victim to the brain disease of which he was to die three years later. In
that year he was sent to Bussang to be cured. During his stay there,
there was a patriotic ceremony,—the return of the flag to the
regiment of light infantry. All the bathers went to see it. Near them
was a Jew, undoubtedly an Alsatian, who wept with emotion. Colonel
Sandherr turned to his neighbors, and said to them: ‘I distrust those
tears.’ His neighbors asked him to explain, saying to him: ‘We know
that there were Jewish officers in the army who were patriotic and
intelligent and did their duty.’ Colonel Sandherr answered: ‘I distrust
them all.’ Such was the man, gentlemen of the jury, who proffered
the accusation. It is legitimate to suppose that he was governed by
his feelings rather than by justice. As for the Dreyfus family” ...
The Judge.—“Say nothing of Dreyfus.”
M. Lalance.—“The family, Monsieur le Président.”
The Judge.—“No, it is useless.”
M. Lalance.—“I desist, in obedience to your orders. But I thought it
might be useful for the jury to know what the elder brother did.”
M. Labori then read the following letter received from M. Gabriel
Séailles, professor of philosophy at the Sorbonne, who had been
summoned, but was kept at home by illness.
Why did I sign the protest?
A man of the study. I can bring here only the testimony of my free
and sincere conscience. After the Dreyfus trial it never occurred
to me for a moment to call in question the legality of the verdict. I
do not wish to lessen the initiative of M. Zola, but it is not he who
opened this debate. It was opened by the unknown person who
transmitted to ‘Le Matin’ the fac-simile of the famous bordereau.
On that day the question was submitted to public opinion; an
appeal was taken to the conscience of each of us. There is no
escape from the logic of events. Other things occurred, other
documents have been presented to us. We have seen a bit of
writing which, by the confession of its author, bears a frightful
resemblance to the handwriting of the bordereau. We have
witnessed a trial the conduct of which astonished us,—a trial
where the witnesses were transformed into the accused. We
have read an indictment which disconcerted us, because we
sought in it in vain for what we expected to find there. We may be
condemned to silence, but we cannot prevent ourselves from
thinking. So my mind worked on the data that had been
furnished, and my ideas concentrated themselves in the following
dilemma: of two things one; either Dreyfus was convicted on the
strength of the bordereau,—that is, without proof,—or he was
convicted on secret documents not communicated to the
defence,—that is, illegally. This almost involuntary conclusion fell
heavily upon my heart. If the law, which is the security of all of us,
and which we may have to invoke tomorrow, should be always
respected, should it not be especially respected when in one
individual there are thousands of individuals whom they pretend
to condemn and dishonor?
How was I led to sign a protest?
I had just corrected a lesson in morals, the work of a student. I
had said to these young people what all of you I am sure would
wish me to say to them: that the human person is sacred; that
justice is inviolable: that it cannot be sacrificed to passion or to
interest, with whatever name they may be decorated. I had told
them that justice is not a servant whom we ring for when we need
its service; that it is the grand image which should hover over all
conflicts of passions and interests, because it alone can be the
peacemaker. I returned to my study. A student brought me a
petition. I signed it. Our teaching would have no authority, if we
were not ready to confirm it by our acts. I have no authority to
speak in the name of the university. The painful conflict of duties
that has disturbed so many consciences has divided us, but we
too highly esteem one another, we hold sincere thought in too
great respect, to treat each other as knaves or fools. If you have
found on the lists of those protesting so many names of people
connected with the university, it is not because of any spirit of
revolt. It is because these brave people who, should occasion
arise, would hasten to defend the integrity of the national territory
consider it their professional duty to maintain another integrity no
less precious,—the integrity of the national conscience. But,
since the name of the university has been uttered, let us have an
understanding. We respect and we love the army. In that we are
unanimous. We consider ourselves as workers in the same work,
servants of the same cause, soldiers in the same fight. The army
of France, the army of mutilated France, is force in the service of
right. Never have we separated the cause of right from the cause
of the army. Please God that we may soon find ourselves
reconciled in the superior thought of the country, and that at last
we may be spared the continuance of the painful spectacle of so
many French hands withdrawing from one another, when all
ought to join in a common and fraternal action. As for M. Zola’s
good faith, the very experiences that he is undergoing are
sufficient to attest it. He has acted in accordance with his
temperament, after the fashion of a man who, shut up in a room
where the air is becoming stifling, rushes to the window, and, at
the risk of covering himself with blood, breaks the glass to let in a
little air and light.
Gabriel Séailles.
The witness-stand was then taken by M. Duclaux, director of the
Pasteur Institute, who testified that he signed the protest because it
seemed to him that it would be a good thing for a group of men to
declare to the public that the Esterhazy trial had not dissipated the
obscurity of the Dreyfus trial. His testimony was followed by that of
M. Anatole France, member of the French Academy, who, after
explaining why he had signed the protest, was asked his opinion of
M. Zola’s good faith.
M. France.—“Having spent some hours with M. Zola last December,
and having been, so to speak, the witness of his thought, I can testify
here to his admirable good faith and his absolute sincerity. But the
sincerity of M. Zola needs no guarantee; so I will simply say that he
is acting, under these circumstances, with courage, according to his
temperament, in behalf of justice and truth, inspired by the most
generous sentiments.”
General Billot, who had been appealed to to authorize the production
of the Uhlan letter, having written to the judge that he would leave
the matter to the decision of the court, the court now rendered a
decree that it should not be produced, since by a previous decree all
matters “relating to the Dreyfus and Esterhazy trials, judged, in
whole or in part, behind closed doors, had been excluded from the
debate.”
This ended the testimony, and, the attorney-general not being ready
to begin his argument, an adjournment was taken until Monday,
February 21.

Thirteenth Day—February 21.

With the opening of the session, Attorney-General Van Cassel began
his summing-up.

Speech of Attorney-General Van Cassel.

“Gentlemen of the jury, a man well known in letters goes in search of

a militant newspaper, comes to an understanding with it, and
publishes an article which shows either irresponsibility or
shamelessness. He declares that a council of war has rendered a
verdict in obedience to orders. ‘Let them prosecute me in the assize
court, if they dare.’ Well, here we are. But where are your proofs,
those precise and irrefutable proofs that the council of war has
rendered a verdict in obedience to orders? During the twelve
sessions which you have just passed through not once has this
question, the only one before us, been posited. But, though you have
attempted no proof, you have shrunk from no violence. How
intolerable the situation in which you have placed the generals whom
you have brought to this bar! The attitude of the insulters has been
on a level with the insults. You have drawn upon yourselves the
eloquent reply of General de Boisdeffre, who said to you: ‘My officers
are brave people. They began by submitting without reply to
sustained attacks. If they have been drawn from their silence, you
have only yourselves to blame,—you and the odious provocations of
which you made them the object.’
“The experts in the Esterhazy case worked separately, and arrived
by different methods at identical conclusions. They had the originals
before them. The experts cited by the defence had examined only
doubtful copies,—doubtful as to their origin, doubtful as to their
authenticity. M. Paul Meyer, director of the Ecole des Chartes, who
advises his pupils to study nothing but originals, should have
followed his own teaching. I say nothing of the international experts
that gravitate around M. Bernard Lazare, undertaker of revision.
They are surrounded by too much money and too much mystery to
warrant me in dwelling on their testimony. I attach the same authority
to the declaration of M. Stock, who has declared here that not one,
but numerous secret documents were communicated to the council
of war. As M. Bernard Lazare’s publisher, he has too plain an interest
in the multiplication of documents.
“Alfred Dreyfus alone was in a position to procure the documents
concerning the national defence which are enumerated in the
bordereau. General de Pellieux and General Gonse are in a position
to know more about that than anybody else. After what they have
told you, it is impossible to doubt. But I shall say no more about the
Dreyfus case. It would be a violation of the authority of the thing
judged.
“Dreyfus belongs to a rich and powerful family, which continues to
keenly feel the deep sorrow of having seen one of its members
convicted of high treason. This campaign has been carefully
prepared. It began in the press before ending in parliamentary
incidents and judicial proceedings.
“Never has the government varied in its declarations. General Billot
has always declared that Dreyfus was legally and justly condemned.
The government did not obstruct the investigation. General de
Pellieux’s examination was an open one, and was conducted freely.
Major Ravary acted with the same independence. The judges who
acquitted Major Esterhazy came to their decision in full liberty of
conscience. In short, the behavior of the government demonstrates
its respect for law and the dignity of justice.
“‘L’Aurore’ accuses it of being influenced by political considerations.
Only this morning that newspaper had the audacity to say that
France is given over to the sabre, that the republic is in danger.
General Billot has already replied to it from the tribune of the
chamber. ‘Who dares,’ he asked, ‘to pretend that there is a single
officer in the ranks of the army who contemplates an attack on the
republic? There has never been found but one, and he was forced to
take refuge in suicide.’ Such is the legal attitude of the government,
which I contrast with your revolutionary method. You have done
nothing here but open an audacious discussion on the thing judged.
But it is not permissible to relapse into judicial anarchy. The legal
method of revision was open to you. Why did you not apply to the
keeper of the seals?
“What do the ‘intellectual revisionists’ know of the trial of 1894, that
they can pretend that it was irregular? Nothing. The public has no
element of proof, so far as the Dreyfus case is concerned. All cases
of spying are decided behind closed doors. Twenty-seven accused
persons have appeared since 1885 before the police courts, charged
with this abominable crime; four before the councils of war; one
before the assize court. In every case closed doors, for reasons of a
superior order, have been declared. One of the accused was
acquitted.
“M. Demange was the first to render homage to the perfect honesty
of the judges of Alfred Dreyfus. The accused appeared, surrounded
by all desirable guarantees. He was protected by his uniform itself.
Before the minister of war will consent to bring one of his officers to
trial for high treason, his guilt must be perfectly clear. So I ask
yourself on what grounds honorable men like M. Scheurer-Kestner
and M. Trarieux can take their stand, to maintain that an irregularity
has been committed. They must have the gift of double sight, which
permits them to look at once into the secret documents belonging to
the minister of war and into those belonging to the Dreyfus family.
“Colonel Picquart obeyed an unfortunate inspiration when he opened
the doors of the war department to his friend Leblois, who had no
business there, and showed him secret documents which he ought
never to have read. In vain does Colonel Picquart try to dispute this
illicit communication. You have heard here the respectful, but firm,
denial of his testimony, given by Adjutant Gribelin, who, General
Gonse tells you, is a model servant. I add that the mysterious
telegrams signed ‘Speranza’ and ‘Blanche,’ addressed to Colonel
Picquart at Tunis, could have come only from his own
acquaintances. The same signature, ‘Speranza,’ appears in letters
sent to him in 1896 and opened at the war department.
“Major Esterhazy has been the object of two judicial examinations.
They have resulted in nothing. If he appeared before the council of
war, it was on the formal order of General Saussier, who, although
Major Esterhazy’s innocence had been recognized, was desirous of
a public trial because of the notoriety that the matter had gained.
Contrary to the usual practice, only a part of the trial took place
behind closed doors. M. Mathieu Dreyfus was invited to produce his
proofs in public. He did not produce a single one. Nor did M.
Scheurer-Kestner, who also testified in public. Under these
circumstances, what could the representative of the government do?
Public prosecutor and accuser are not always synonymous terms.
For my part, I have many times abandoned accusations that were
not established. And do not claim either that the trial was one-sided.
The council of war listened to persevering and convinced accusers,
—Colonel Picquart and M. Leblois. The acquittal was regular,
deliberate, legal, pronounced unanimously by judges belonging to
different branches of the army, designated according to priority of
service, and under no other obligation than that of their honesty and
their conscience.
“As for Major Esterhazy, the letters published, after they were
procured by indirect and censurable methods, and perhaps
tampered with, created a deplorable atmosphere about him. It is not
fitting that I should dwell upon that matter here, after the examination
undergone at this bar by a patient mute, who broke his silence only
to cry his suffering, while they tortured him with questions as if
applying red-hot irons to living flesh. The victim had been judiciously
chosen as a substitute for the condemned man of 1894.
“It is not true, as certain newspapers have declared, that after the
acquittal Major Esterhazy was the object of a manifestation on the
part of the members of the council of war. This is proved by the
following letter, which General de Luxer has just addressed to
General Billot.
M. le Ministre:
Several newspapers have said that the members of the council of
war, after the session, surrounded Major Esterhazy, shook hands
with him, and congratulated him. I have the honor to report to you
that no such manifestation occurred. According to the provisions
of the law, the verdict was rendered in the absence of the
accused, and was read to him afterward by the clerk, before the
assembled guard, in the absence of the members of the council.
The judges of the council of war have all told me that they did not
see Major Esterhazy afterward, either in the court-room, or out of
it, or in the street. Be good enough to accept, etc.
General de Luxer.
“You remember, gentlemen of the jury, that an attempt was made to
show that Major Esterhazy secured a false entry upon his record of
service, and that General Guerrier was called by the defence to
testify on this point. Now this is what happened: In 1881 Captain
Esterhazy accomplished a brilliant feat, in consequence of which he
was proposed as an officer of the legion of honor. His act was
brought to the knowledge of the regiment by the following order: ‘The
camp having been attacked by the Arabs, Captain Esterhazy, while
other officers were attacking them on the flanks, attacked them in
front, leading his men with a dash and a courage beyond all praise.’
Now, according to certain regulations of 1889 and 1895, this matter
should be set forth in the order of the day of the regiment, and not in
the order of the day of the army.
“Is not the misinterpretation of so simple a matter identical with
calumny?
“As for Colonel Picquart, who endeavored to maintain here that the
documents seized after the condemnation of Dreyfus are forgeries,
he has been contradicted by his inferiors and by his equals, and you
have heard in what terms his superior, General de Pellieux,
expressed himself regarding him. And finally he contradicted himself.
The scene was so saddening that I have not the courage to dwell
upon it.
“Gentlemen of the jury, the judges of the council of war are invested
with a double character. They are at once magistrates and jurors. It
seems to me that I see them, hesitating first, then stiffening their will
in face of the duty to be done, far from all influence, solely concerned
with the rendering of an honest and loyal verdict. You have the same
honorable mission, gentlemen of the jury. You are to do the same
justice. The prime minister has declared from the tribune of the
chamber his high confidence in the twelve free citizens to whom the
government has entrusted the defence of justice and of the honor of
the army. The revolutionary manifestation of M. Emile Zola has met
its counter-shock in the street. Persons and property are no longer
respected. Violence breeds violence. But what cares ‘L’Aurore,’
which has its sensational trial? What difference does that make to M.
Emile Zola? He has lifted himself to the rôle of a great man, which he
easily assumes. He has realized his dream. He has brought to this
court-room cabinet ministers, foreign diplomats, generals. He would
have summoned all Europe. It was the necessary stage-setting for
the novel that he announces. ‘L’Aurore’ tells us that he has entered
into glory in his lifetime. His ‘Letter to France’ is literature; it savors of
the Academy. His ‘Letter to Youth’ has enjoyed a success only in
Berlin, and here is a translation sent to me from Germany. For the
sake of his personal vanity he has imposed upon you these twelve
sessions that have made the heart of the country bleed. And beyond
the frontier what lamentable echoes! They have not hesitated to
attack the staff, to compromise the national defence. They have
overwhelmed with outrages the obedient and silent army, in which
every Frenchman sees the image of his country. They have put upon
it the outrageous insult of casting suspicion on its commanders, who
are endeavoring, respectful of the laws, to make it worthy of its task
on the day when it shall be necessary to lead it against the enemy.
No more violent insult could be offered. No more anti-patriotic
campaign could be conceived. You have listened here to M. Jaurès.
For my part, I value talent only in the ratio of the good that it does,
not in the ratio of the ruins that it accumulates. No, it is not true that a
council of war has rendered a verdict in obedience to orders. It is not
true that seven officers have been found to obey any other than the
order of their free and honest conscience. You will condemn those
who have outraged them, gentlemen of the jury. France awaits your
verdict with confidence.”

Speech of M. Emile Zola.

At the conclusion of the attorney-general’s address, M. Zola read the

following declaration to the jury:
“In the chamber, at its session of January 22, M. Méline, president of
the cabinet, declared, amid the frantic applause of his obliging
majority, that he had confidence in the twelve citizens to whose
hands he entrusted the defence of the army. It was of you,
gentlemen, that he spoke. And, just as General Billot dictated his
decree to the council of war which was charged with the acquittal of
Major Esterhazy, uttering from the tribune for the instruction of his
subordinates the military countersign of unquestionable respect for
the thing judged, so M. Méline has endeavored to give you an order
to sentence me in the name of respect for the army, which he
accuses me of having outraged. I denounce to the conscience of
honest people this pressure of public power on the justice of the
country. These are abominable political practices, dishonoring to a
free nation.
“We shall see, gentlemen, if you will obey. But it is not true that I am
here before you by the will of M. Méline. He yielded to the necessity
of prosecuting me only in great agitation, in terror of the new step
that truth in its march might take. That is known to everybody. If I am
before you, it is by my own will. I alone have decided that the
obscure, the monstrous matter should be brought before your
jurisdiction, and I alone, in the full exercise of my will, have chosen
you, the highest and most direct emanation of French justice, that
France at last may know all, and decide. My act had no other object,
and my person is nothing; I have sacrificed it, satisfied simply to
have placed in your hands, not only the honor of the army, but the
endangered honor of the entire nation.
“You will pardon me, then, if your consciences have not been
thoroughly enlightened. It is not my fault. It seems that I was
dreaming in expecting to bring you all the proofs,—in considering
you alone worthy, alone competent. They began by taking from you
with the left hand what they seemed to give you with the right. They
made a pretence of accepting your jurisdiction, but, though they
trusted you to avenge the members of one council of war, certain
other officers remained unassailable, superior even to your justice.
Understand it who can. It is absurdity in hypocrisy, and furnishes
striking proof that they feared your good sense, and did not dare to
run the risk of allowing us to say everything, and of allowing you to
judge everything. They pretend that they desired to limit the scandal.
And what do you think of this scandal, of my act, which consisted in
laying the case before you, in desiring that the people, incarnate in
you, should pass judgment upon it? They pretend, further, that they
could not accept a disguised revision, thus confessing that they have
only one fear at bottom,—that of your sovereign control. The law has
in you its total representation, and it is this chosen law of the people
that I have longed for, that I profoundly respect, as a good citizen,
and not the equivocal procedure by which they have hoped to baffle
you.
“Thus am I excused, gentlemen, for having turned you aside from
your occupations without succeeding in flooding you with the total
light of which I dreamed. Light, complete light, that has been my
sole, my passionate desire. And this trial has just proved it to you; we
have had to struggle step by step against a desire for darkness
extraordinary in its obstinacy. For each shred of truth torn from the
unwilling a fight has been necessary; they have disputed about
everything, they have refused us everything, they have terrorized our
witnesses in the hope of preventing us from proving our case. And it
is for you alone that we have fought; that this proof might be
submitted to you in its entirety, so that you could pass judgment
without remorse and in your conscience. Therefore I am certain that
you will take our efforts into consideration, and that, moreover,
enough of light has been shed. You have heard the witnesses, you
are going to hear my counsel, who will tell you the true story, the
story that maddens everybody and that everybody knows. So I am at
ease; the truth is now with you; it will do its work.
“M. Méline thought, then, to dictate your verdict in entrusting to you
the honor of the army, and it is in the name of this honor of the army
that I myself appeal to your justice. I deny M. Méline’s statement in
the most formal manner; I have never insulted the army. On the
contrary, I have expressed my tenderness, my respect, for the nation
in arms, for our dear soldiers of France who would rise at the first
threat, in defence of the French soil. And it is equally false that I
have attacked the commanders, the generals who would lead them
to victory. If certain individuals in the war offices have compromised
the army by their conduct, is it an insult to the entire army to say so?
Is it not, rather, the work of a good citizen to free the army from all
compromise, to sound the alarm, in order that the misdeeds which
have forced us to this fight may not be repeated and lead us to new
defeats. However, I do not defend myself. I leave to history the
judgment of my act, which was a necessary act. But I declare that
they dishonor the army when they allow the gendarmes to embrace
Major Esterhazy after the abominable letters that he has written. I
declare that this valiant army is insulted daily by the bandits who,
pretending to defend it, sully it with their base complicity, dragging in
the mud everything good and great that France still has. I declare it
is they who dishonor this great national army, when they mingle the
cry of ‘Long live the Army!’ with the cry of ‘Death to the Jews!’ And
they have cried ‘Long live Esterhazy!’ Great God! The people of St.
Louis, of Bayard, of Condé, and of Hoche, the people that have won
a hundred giant victories, the people of the great wars of the republic
and the empire, the people whose strength, grace, and generosity
have dazzled the universe, crying ‘Long live Esterhazy!’ It is a shame
that only our effort in behalf of truth and justice can wipe out.
“You know the legend that has been created. Dreyfus was
condemned justly and legally by seven infallible officers, whom it is
impossible even to suspect of error without insulting the entire army.
In an avenging torture he is expiating his abominable misdeed. And,
as he is a Jew, a Jewish syndicate has been created, an
international syndicate of people without a country, with hundreds of
millions at their disposal for the purpose of saving the traitor at the
cost of the most shameless manœuvres. Then this syndicate began
to heap up crimes, buying consciences, throwing France into a
murderous tumult, determined to sell her to the enemy, to set Europe
on fire with a general war, rather than abandon this frightful design. It
is very simple, even puerile and imbecile, as you see. But it is upon
this poisoned bread that an unclean press has been feeding our
people for months, and we should not be astonished at the spectacle
of a disastrous crisis, for, when stupidity and lies are sown at such a
rate, a crop of madness is sure to be harvested.
“Certainly, gentlemen, I do not offer you the insult of believing that
you have been caught by this nursery tale. I know you. I know who
you are. You are the heart and reason of Paris, of my great Paris,
where I was born, which I love with an infinite tenderness, which I
have been studying and singing for forty years. And I know too now
what is going on in your brains, for, before sitting here as an
accused, I sat in the seats which you occupy. You represent average
opinion; you aim to be wisdom and justice en masse. Presently I
shall be with you in thought in your deliberations in the jury-room,
and I am convinced that you will endeavor to guard your interests as
citizens, which naturally are, according to you, the interests of the
whole nation. You may be mistaken, but your purpose will be to
insure your own welfare and the welfare of all.
“I see you at your homes, at night, under the lamp; I hear you talking
with your friends; I accompany you to your shops and stores. You
are all workers, some merchants, others manufacturers, and a few
professional men. And you are filled with a perfectly legitimate
anxiety concerning the deplorable state into which business has
fallen. Everywhere the existing crisis threatens to become a disaster,
receipts are falling off, transactions are becoming more and more
difficult. So that the thought that you have brought here, the thought
that I read on your faces, is that there has been enough of this, and
that it must come to an end. You do not say, as many do: ‘What
difference does it make to us whether an innocent man is on Devil’s
Island? Is the interest of an individual sufficient to warrant the
agitation of a great country?’ But you do say, nevertheless, that the
agitation which we are carrying on, in our hunger for truth and
justice, is paid for too dearly by all the evil that they accuse us of
doing. And, if you convict me, gentlemen, the sole foundation of your
verdict will be the desire to quiet your families, the need of a
resumption of business, the belief that, in striking me, you will put an
end to a campaign of vindication that is harmful to the interests of
France.
“Well, gentlemen, you would be utterly mistaken. Do me the honor to
believe that I am not defending here my liberty. In striking me, you
will only add to my stature. Whoever suffers for truth and justice
becomes august and sacred. Look at me, gentlemen. Have I the
appearance of one who has sold himself? Do I look like a liar and a
traitor? Why, then, should I act as I do? I have behind me neither
political ambition or sectarian passions. I am a free writer, who has
given his life to toil, who tomorrow will again take his place in the
ranks, and will resume his interrupted task. And how stupid are they
who call me an Italian! I who was born of a French mother, brought
up by Beauce grandparents, peasants in that robust region; I who
lost my father at the age of seven, and never went to Italy until I was
fifty-four, and then only to get material for a book. Which does not
prevent me from being very proud that my father was of Venice, that
resplendent city whose ancient glory sings in all memories. And,
even if I were not French, would not the forty volumes in the French
language which I have scattered by millions throughout the entire
world suffice to make me a Frenchman, useful to the glory of
France?
“So I do not defend myself. But what an error would be yours, if you
were convinced that, in striking me, you would re-establish order in
our unhappy country. Do you not understand that that of which the
nation is dying is the darkness in which they are bent upon leaving
her, the equivocations in which she is agonizing? The mistakes of
our governors are piled up on mistakes; one lie necessitates another,
so that the mass becomes frightful. A judicial error has been
committed, and then to hide it it has been necessary to commit each
day a new attack on good sense and equity. The conviction of an
innocent man has involved the acquittal of a guilty man; and now
today you are asked to convict me in my turn, because I have cried
out in my anguish at the sight of the progress of the country in this
frightful path. Convict me, then. It will be one error more added to the
others, an error the burden of which you will bear in history. And my
conviction, instead of bringing about the peace that you desire, and
that we all desire, will only sow the seed of a new crop of passion
and disorder. The measure is full, I tell you; do not make it overflow.
“Why do you not exactly estimate the terrible crisis through which the
country is passing? They say that we are the authors of the scandal,
that it is the lovers of truth and justice who are leading the nation
astray and urging it to riot. Really, this is mockery. To speak only of
General Billot, was he not warned eighteen months ago? Did not
Colonel Picquart insist that he should take in hand the matter of
revision, if he did not wish the storm to burst and overturn
everything? Did not M. Scheurer-Kestner, with tears in his eyes, beg
him to think of France, and save her such a catastrophe? No, no! our
desire has been to facilitate everything, to allay everything, and, if
the country is now in trouble, the responsibility lies with power,
which, to cover the guilty, and in the furtherance of political interests,
has denied everything, hoping to be strong enough to prevent the
light from being shed. It has manœuvred in the shadow in behalf of
darkness, and it alone is responsible for the present distraction of
consciences.
“The Dreyfus case, ah! gentlemen, that has become a very small
matter now. It is lost and far away, in view of the terrifying questions
to which it has given rise. There is no longer any Dreyfus case. The
question now is whether France is still the France of the rights of
man, the France that gave liberty to the world, and that ought to give
it justice. Are we still the most noble, the most fraternal, the most
generous nation? Shall we preserve our reputation in Europe for
equity and humanity? Are not all the victories that we have won
called in question? Open your eyes, and understand that, to be in
such confusion, the French soul must have been stirred to its depths
in face of a terrible danger. A nation cannot be thus upset without
imperiling its moral existence. This is an exceptionally serious hour;
the safety of the nation is at stake.
“And, when you shall have understood that, gentlemen, you will feel
that but one remedy is possible,—to tell the truth, to do justice.
Anything that keeps back the light, anything that adds darkness to
darkness, will only prolong and aggravate the crisis. The rôle of good
citizens, of those who feel it to be imperatively necessary to put an
end to this matter, is to demand broad daylight. There are already
many of them who think so. The men of literature, philosophy, and
science are rising on every hand, in the name of intelligence and
reason. And I do not speak of the foreigner, of the shudder that has
run through all Europe. Yet the foreigner is not necessarily the
enemy. Let us not speak of the nations that may be our adversaries
tomorrow. But great Russia, our ally; little and generous Holland; all
the sympathetic nations of the north; those countries of the French
language, Switzerland and Belgium,—why are their hearts so heavy,
so overflowing with fraternal suffering? Do you dream, then, of an
isolated France? Do you prefer, when you pass the frontier, not to
meet the approving smile upon your legendary fame for equity and
humanity?
“Alas! gentlemen, like so many others, you perhaps expect the
thunderbolt, the descent from heaven of the proof of the innocence
of Dreyfus. Truth does not generally come in that way. It requires
research and intelligence. We know very well where the truth is,
where it could be found. But we dream of that only in the secrecy of
our souls, and we feel patriotic anguish lest we expose ourselves to
the danger of having this proof some day flung in our face after
having involved the honor of the army in a lie. I wish also to declare
squarely that, though, in the official notice of our list of witnesses, we
included certain ambassadors, we had formally decided in advance
not to summon them. Our audacity has provoked smiles. But I do not
think that there was any smiling in our foreign office, for there they
must have understood. We simply intended to say to those who
know the whole truth that we also know it. This truth is bandied about
at the embassies; tomorrow it will be known to all, and, if it is now
impossible for us to seek it where it is protected by formalities that
cannot be overstepped, the government which is not ignorant, the
government which is convinced, as we are, of the innocence of
Dreyfus, will be able, when it likes, and without risk, to find witnesses
who will make everything clear.
“Dreyfus is innocent; I swear it. I stake my life upon it; I stake my
honor upon it. At this solemn hour, before this tribunal that
represents human justice, before you, gentlemen of the jury, who are
the emanation of the nation, before all France, before the entire
world, I swear that Dreyfus is innocent. And by my forty years of toil,
and by the authority that this labor has given me, I swear that
Dreyfus is innocent. Let it all fall to the ground, let my works perish, if
Dreyfus is not innocent. He is innocent.
“Everything seems to be against me,—the two chambers, the civil
power, the military power, the journals of large circulation, the public
opinion that they have poisoned. And with me there is but an idea,
an ideal of truth and justice. And I am perfectly at ease; I shall
triumph.
“I did not wish my country to remain in falsehood and injustice. Here
I may be condemned; but some day France will thank me for having
helped to save her honor.”