Dangerously Mine

Chapter 16

A sharp, digital chime woke me.

My eyes flew open, and for a terrifying second, I thought I was back in the Santos attic. But the ceiling was a smooth, dark grey, and the mattress beneath me was far too soft. The morning sun was pouring through the massive windows, cutting through the sheer curtains in bright, blinding squares.

I sat up, the heavy duvet sliding down my chest. My body ached from the running, the sliding, and the sheer terror of the night before. I looked down at my oversized nightshirt. It was wrinkled, and the collar smelled faintly of the greasy McDonald’s paper bags and the cold sweat of my nightmares.

Then, my eyes drifted to the closet door.

Hanging from the sleek black handle was a garment bag, unzipped just enough to reveal a sliver of fabric. Pinched into the hanger was a small, heavy piece of white cardstock.

I slid out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. My heart did a familiar little flutter against my ribs—that small, anxious jump I always got when something unexpected appeared. I approached the dress slowly, as if it might bite, and reached out to pull the note from the clip.

The handwriting was precise, sharp, and slanted. There was no greeting. No good morning.

A car will be waiting at the front entrance in exactly one hour to take you to a meeting. Dress accordingly. - J.M.

I blinked at the paper, my mind instantly scrambling. A meeting? What kind of meeting? Jacob didn't mention anything about a meeting last night while he was bleeding out over a burger. And who was I supposed to meet? I didn't know anyone in Las Vegas. I didn't know anyone in the outside world at all.

"An hour," I whispered to the empty room, panic fluttering in my throat. "An hour is so fast. What if I'm late? What happens if the driver leaves?"

I set the note on the dresser, my fingers trembling a little. I hurried out of the room and down the long, silent hallway toward the kitchen. The mansion was still completely spotless, the polished floors reflecting the morning light like glass. On the massive marble island, a covered silver platter sat next to a glass of fresh orange juice. I lifted the lid to find perfectly scrambled eggs, pale toast, and sliced fruit.

I ate standing up, stuffing the food into my mouth without really tasting it. My throat was dry, and I swallowed the juice in loud, frantic gulps, my eyes constantly darting to the digital clock on the oven. Forty-five minutes left.

I practically sprinted back to the guest room and rushed straight into the bathroom. I needed to wash the night off me. I stripped off the dirty nightshirt, letting it drop to the tile, and stepped into the glass shower stall.

When I turned the handle, the water blasted out instantly hot. I stood under the heavy spray, closing my eyes as the steam filled the room, smelling like expensive eucalyptus soap. I scrubbed my skin hard, trying to wash away the phantom feeling of the gloved hands dragging me out of the closet, trying to rinse the scent of blood out of my hair. The warmth relaxed my tight, aching muscles, but it couldn't stop the racing of my thoughts. I stayed under until my skin turned pink, only stepping out when I glanced through the glass and saw the clock ticking down.

I dried off quickly, my breath coming in short hitches as I hurried back into the bedroom. I grabbed the zipper of the garment bag and pulled it down with a sharp clack.

The fabric inside was ivory. It was a heavy, expensive silk creped into a tailored dress that hit just below the knee, with long sleeves and a high, modest neckline. It looked like something a woman in a business magazine would wear—someone who held power, someone who didn't let people lock her in rooms. Beside the bag, on the floor, was a pair of matching low-heeled pumps and a small leather clutch.

I began to put the dress on. The silk was cool against my freshly washed skin, sliding over my arms like water. I struggled with the zipper at the back, my fingers clumsy and sweaty from the rush, until it finally clicked into place at the nape of my neck.

I stepped into the heels, my posture automatically adjusting to the height, and then I finally turned around to look at the full-length mirror on the wall.

The breath completely left my body.

I stayed frozen, my hands hanging awkwardly at my sides. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even blink.

The girl in the glass wasn't Jhannara. She couldn't be. The Jhannara I knew had messy, tangled hair, wore faded, oversized t-shirts that smelled like dust, and walked with her shoulders curved inward to make herself look smaller. The girl in the mirror stood tall. The ivory fabric molded perfectly to my frame, making me look older, sharper, and incredibly expensive. The high collar made my neck look long, and the clean lines of the dress hid every single trace of the scared, trembling girl underneath.

It was a complete transformation. It was a mask.

I reached up, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric at my collarbone. I looked like a Mikaelson. I looked like the kind of person who belonged in this silent, terrifying house. For eight years, I had dreamed of changing my life, but looking at this new version of myself, a sudden wave of sadness hit me. I looked important, but I felt emptier than ever. I was just a doll being dressed up for a game I didn't know how to play.

Ring.

The sharp buzz of an intercom on the wall shattered the quiet, making me jump.

I grabbed the leather clutch from the bed, my heels clicking loudly against the hardwood edge of the floor as I hurried toward the door. I pressed the small black button on the wall panel.

"H-hello?" I babbled, my voice shaking. "I'm ready. I'm coming down right now. I just finished dressing and—"

"Miss Jhannara," a deep, polite voice interrupted through the speaker. It wasn't Jacob. "The vehicle is idling at the front entrance. We are on a strict schedule. Whenever you are ready."

"Yes, right away," I said, letting go of the button.

I took one deep breath, looking back at the mirror one last time. The ivory dress didn't move. It remained perfect. I turned, opened the heavy door, and stepped out into the hallway, the loud, rhythmic click-clack of my shoes filling the silence of the house.