Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(17)

“You should. Domestic chores suit you.”

“That’s such a sexist thing to say.”

“No, sexist would be that house chores suit all women.” He smirked. “I just said you.”

I rolled my eyes and returned the now drained pasta to the pot where I added sautéed mushrooms, parmesan, and pesto to stir through and warm.

I found comfort in cooking. The method hadn’t changed even if my circumstances had. The recipe still worked even if I was chained in a nightgown waiting to be raped and my business stolen.

“Fuck, watching you cook for me makes me hard.” Greg grabbed his erection. “See what you do to me?”

I had no desire to look. “It makes me sick.”

“That’s because you’re still brain-washed by that bastard, Everett.”

Goosebumps erupted on my skin.

I didn’t know if it was Penn’s domination over my body and the lust I still felt (no matter I wanted to murder him) or the belief that, in some strange way, he would save me even if he was a criminal.

Don’t be so ridiculous.

I didn’t reply, focusing intently on folding in the pesto sauce.

Greg huffed, pushing off from the counter to grab the chain around my wrists and pull me forward. “Come with me.”

“What? But I’m not finished.”

“Doesn’t matter. Two minutes won’t hurt it.”

I had no choice as he pulled me from the kitchen and down the small hallway to the bedroom we’d shared. The bed clothes were tangled; my underwear still on the floor from where he’d kicked them from the bathroom.

He let me go, stepping over the chain wrapped around my ankle (that now snaked down the hallway back the way we’d traveled) to open the wardrobe door. Hanging inside were an array of lingerie and negligées—all completely impractical for making an escape. No shoes, only stockings. No jackets, only bras.

I sighed heavily, fighting depression and tiredness.

This strange role-play helped delete some of the immediate worry I had about my situation. Cooking in chains? It was odd, but at least I wasn’t being hurt. Being washed and cuddled in bed? Awful on many levels but still not pushing the boundaries into horror.

What is he doing?

Why is he dragging this out?

Not knowing was the worst part. I didn’t know when he’d pounce; when he’d demand me to open my legs and let him have me. I didn’t know how much longer I could stay alert and constantly ready to fight.

Eventually, I would tire. I would sleep. And then I’d be at his mercy.

Greg pulled out a small turquoise bag with Tiffany’s logo.

Oh, no.

My heart scrambled into my throat as he placed the bag into my hands. “Open it.”

I backed away, tossing the offending gift onto the bed. I didn’t need to open it to know what was in there. “I don’t want it.”

His jaw clenched as he scooped up the bag, tossed the ring box into his palm, and cracked it open. “Yes, you fucking do, Elle.” Plucking the one carat diamond from the plush box, he grabbed my left hand and jammed the ring onto my engagement finger.

It fit perfectly.

Of course.

Instantly, I wanted to get it off. I’d cut off my own finger to be free of it.

“You’re going to marry me, Elle. You’re going to change your last name to Hobson. Belle Elle will be mine.”

He slithered his arms around my waist, tucking me tight against him. “You’re going to give me a daughter or son, so our families will forever be joined, and Belle Elle will always be mine by right, and then, once you’ve given me everything I want, I’ll let you divorce me.”

His teeth flashed as he chuckled. “But only with a hefty settlement for being the best husband ever. We’ll spread a rumor that you cheated and the sympathy vote will ensure everyone will be on my side while you fade into obscurity.”

He captured my chin, kissing me quick. “Or you could stay married and be my dutiful wife and share in everything I give you.”

I wanted to disinfect my mouth, tear out my tongue, and zip up my lips so he could never kiss me again. But then I wouldn’t be able to tell him what I thought about his ludicrous, monstrous plan.

I laughed in his face, shaking with rage. “Do you believe in fairies, Greg? Because you have to if you think that will ever come true.” I shoved him away, swelling with pride as he stumbled. “Ten million is all you’ll get out of me, and that offer is only valid for the next five minutes. I don’t even know why I’m offering that.” I shrugged, waving the damn chain between my arms. “Who knows? Perhaps, I still see the Greg who helped me pick the right bike when I was eight, or the Greg who helped me move into my apartment.”

Stomping toward him, I stabbed my finger into his chest. “Ten million for the past we share and not a penny more. I’m not marrying you. I’m definitely not bearing your children. And no way in hell are you getting Belle Elle—”

I went to tear the ring off but he clamped his hand over mine. “You remove that diamond and I hurt you.” His threat wasn’t idle. It reeked with cold-hearted promise.

I gulped, letting him pull my fingers away, leaving the ring ensnaring me.

Then, as if he hadn’t just petrified me, he cupped between my legs, his fingers bruising me. “Are you sure I won’t get Belle Elle? Are you sure I won’t get exactly what I want? That I won’t get to fuck you, keep you, steal everything from you? Because it feels like I’m winning.”