The Alpha's Second Chance

Chapter 10- Gathering My Thoughts

Lyra POV

The doctor has done a wonderful job; I hardly feel the pain anymore, and the dressing that he put on me isn't bulky or uncomfortable, but I still cannot get it wet, so a shower or bath when I get home is currently out of the question. I let out a sigh.

I take a good look around the room, the furnishings are expensive and the colour scheme of light blue and white works really well together in this room. I find myself relaxing and feeling at ease, which I hate, as I should not be feeling this at all.

Silas left the room a few minutes ago, and I think I heard the lock on the door turning, but then again, I may have been imagining things. Thinking back on it, I cannot believe that I got into the car with Silas so easily, but then again, it is not like I could do anything to stop him.

He owns the freaking village, so out of the two of us, anyone would choose to side with him and make me disappear. I might be stupid, but I want to live and will do anything to make that possible. After spending two years of being on my own, I have learned just how precious life is and how to cherish the small moments.

I look around the room again, but deeper this time, to see if I might be able to pull off a grand escape, but no matter how hard I look, I find absolutely nothing that could be of help.

The room is too high up to climb through the window, and the door is truly locked. There is not even a secret passage or anything! Damn those fantasy novels I read! If something like this happened in there, then the protagonist would have some really smart and out-of-the-ordinary idea, like scaling the walls or some hidden place she could hide and escape. But in reality, this does not exist, and my phobia of heights shuts down the whole scaling-the-window idea.

I turn towards the wardrobe Silas had mentioned. It is a massive piece of dark, carved mahogany that looks like it belongs in a cathedral. It is the only piece of furniture within the room that is not modern, yet it oddly fits into the aesthetics of the room.

When I pull the heavy doors open, I don't find the empty shelves I expected. Instead, rows of silk, cashmere, and fine wool greet me. There are dresses in deep jewel tones, soft sweaters in creams and greys, and even shoes—all in my exact size.

A fresh wave of nausea rolls over me. He hasn't just guessed my size; he knows it. Just how much information has he dug up on me? Or has he been stalking me these last two weeks, and that's why he only took me now? What is he planning to do to me?

I pull out a soft cream coloured sweater and a pair of leggings and clutch them to my chest. I need to change my clothes and also wash off the scent of coffee and the car ride.

I walk into the bathroom and stop, the breath leaving my lungs. The bathroom is like something out of a catalogue! It is spacious, bright, and everything looks so high-tech that I am almost too afraid of using the place in case I damage anything. If I do damage anything, there is no way that I would ever be able to afford to repair or replace it.

I look around and head over to the sink. While I may not be able to have a shower or bath, I can at least have a strip wash so that I can feel a bit cleaner.

I look into the mirror, and the reflection that stares back feels odd. While it is my face, it also feels very off somehow, but I cannot put my finger on why.

Before I think too much about it, I fill up the sink as my mind wanders.

I prefer to oversee my investments personally.

The words loop in my mind. To him, I am not a person, but then what am I? Property? Prisoner? Something else?

"Surely this cannot just be about me sneaking in here last time? If so, then they would have acted sooner. No." I say aloud to myself. "And what was with his eyes? In my novels, that only happens when the person is a ...." I stop, take a deep breath and re-focus.

"Nah, they don't exist. Maybe my mind is playing tricks? After all, nothing that has happened since I spilt that coffee makes sense. My body reacts to Silas before my mind does.s, I got into the car... WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS I THINKING?!" I shout to myself. I was not thinking, that is the problem.

I spend the rest of the strip washing, just replaying the events of the evening over and over in my mind.

When I finally step out of the bathroom dressed, the clothes fit me with a terrifying precision. The sweater is so soft that it feels as if I am wrapped in warm, fluffy clouds. While I am scared out of my mind, I do take a small moment to enjoy this sensation of warmth and comfort. Something that I have been longing for for many years.

I walk back into the bedroom and notice a small, leather-bound notebook sitting on the nightstand beside the medical cream the doctor had left. I picked it up, my heart skipping a beat. It was my journal—the one I’d kept hidden under my mattress at home.

I flip it open, my breath hitching. On the first page, in a sharp, elegant script that definitely isn't mine, a note has been written:

Your entries are worrying. I think we need to have a chat, and soon. —S.V.

I slam the book shut and throw it against the wall in a fit of rage, but I quickly take a deep breath, calm down and retrieve the book, placing it on the bedside cabinet next to the medication. No point hiding the book now, he has already read it. That thought makes me angry.

How dare he have read my deep thoughts and feelings? I write them into a journal so that no one else knows, and yet here is this man that I have only just met reading my private things and then wanting to talk about it over breakfast. What does he think my thoughts and feelings are? A joke?

I pace the room, the thick carpet muffling my footsteps. I head to the window and press my forehead against the glass. It is cold, and as Silas had warned before he left, it doesn't budge. Outside, the estate is bathed in the silver glow of a high moon. I can see the black sedan still parked at the front of the house, and further out, the silhouettes of men patrolling the perimeter with dogs.

The Vanes don't just have security; they have a small army. Just what have I gotten myself involved in?

All of a sudden, a wave of extreme exhaustion hits me,e and before I know it, I find myself climbing into the massive bed, feeling like a child lost in a sea of soft cotton. I do not turn off the lights; being in an unknown place unsettles me, and I always leave the lights on for the first few nights. It is something that has stayed with me ever since I lost my family at age seven and a habit that I have not yet broken.

The warmth from the bed quickly fills my body, making me sleepy and already on the verge of sleep. The exhaustion is finally catching up.

Just as I am drifting off, I hear a faint sound from the hallway—the heavy, rhythmic tread of someone walking slowly past my door. The footsteps stop. There was a long silence, a presence felt even through the thick wood. I hold my breath, my eyes fixed on the handle.

After a minute, the footsteps start again, receding into the distance this time.

I pull the duvet up to my chin, the warmth of the bed mocking the ice in my veins, and wait for the morning I dread to arrive.