Captive in Plain Sight

Saptesprezece || Lavender

"Can I help you?"

Alec was at her bedroom door. He hadn't been inside her room in ages, and his intrusion startled her.

Couldn't be a positive sign.

Tacitly, he walked past her.

She got off the bed, her senses heightened, and nervously followed him to her closet room. As soon as he hovered near the Lou Vuitton, even before he picked it up, she knew. Her stomach dropped.

She thought she'd been careful--but clearly not enough.

Mila couldn't watch the scene any longer. The room felt light, and she needed to sit down.

As she sat on her bed, the only option was to wait for his wrath.

He didn't yell or curse. Of course not, it wasn't his style. Wasn't 'proper.' But neither was hitting a woman, and he'd already done that.

His movements were smooth, elegant, even. Alec was one of those people who became more stoic with anger. There was something quite a bit more terrifying about it.

"I've always enjoyed roses." he said, calmly. Lightly touching one of the lavender flowers.

He plucked one from the bouquet and inhaled its scent. Staring at it for a moment before deliberately pressing his finger into the thorn.

His eyes danced when a droplet of blood appeared on his fingertip.

"Do you know the meaning behind lavender roses?" he asked.

She shook her head.

Best to keep quiet. There was nothing she could do to fix it now.

"It stands for love-at-first sight, and enchantment. My feelings for you when we met."

As if in slow motion, she watched him knock the vase off the table. It shattered instantly, and water and flowers disbursed all over the floor.

He grabbed her arm, whipping her up from the bed.

Why was she always so shocked by his strength?

Probably because she wasn't accustomed to a man using its full capability on her. No woman should be.

She was unable to move.

His other hand held her chin, as if he were going in for a tender kiss.

"You're hurting me." she said.

"I know," he replied, strengthening his grip with so much force, she thought he might break her arm. "Violence isn't my first choice, but I don't mind using it to make a point."

Something she knew too well.

"This is strike one," he said. "It's unfortunate you've brought someone else into this."

"I didn't mean it." she said, thinking of Cordelia, her only ally.

Then, the thought of going back in the box crossed her mind.

Before she could sink deeper into that thought, Olga appeared, as if she were the angel Gabriel.

"Master Laurant, you have a visitor."

Alec released her, letting her fall to the bed. Olga didn't seem surprised by what she was seeing, nor like she cared all that much.

They looked at each other, alarmed.

"Someone in the house?" he asked.

"Don't worry." she said. "He can't hear anything. I left him in the solarium."

With no emotion, he looked at her lying on the bed.

"We'll continue later. Don't do anything stupid."

The two moved quickly, locking the door behind them.

Mila rolled on her side and slowly sat up. Eternally grateful he was gone for now.

But something else was happening. It felt like air wasn't fully reaching her lungs when she tried to catch her breath.

Tears slowly dripped down her cheeks onto the cold marble floor. It was annoying because it wouldn't stop, and she didn't consider herself a 'crier.' She was tough.

She went into the bathroom to run water over her face, hoping it would help. Luckily, it did a bit.

Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Throwing the towel at her reflection before turning away.

All she could see was a frightened, small, fragile girl. Stupid girl with her stupid antics that were no match for him. The only dignity she had left was that she hadn't given him her body, but what good was it if he had her mind?

Olga was back, looking unhappy as ever. Mila hadn't even heard her come in. Olga grabbed the towel and began aggressively wiping her face.

"Pull yourself together." she said. "He wants to see you."

"Alec?" she asked fearfully. The old woman began shuffling around in the sink drawers until she found her powder compact.

"No. Mr. Clement."

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