Under His watchful Eyes

Chapter Two

We’re in an elevator leading to Julian’s place. I stood in the corner, clutching my bag against my chest . Next to me was Jullian.

"Julian," I whispered, the silence of the lift beginning to grate on my nerves.

"My car is still in the employee lot. My laptop, my"

"Everything you own is being moved as we speak, Elena," he said, not looking at me. He was checking his watch.

"You won't be needing that apartment anymore. It’s compromised."

"But I haven't even called my landlord. I'll lose my deposit."

Julian finally turned to me. He stepped closer, crowding me into the mirrored corner of the lift.

He placed a hand on either side of my head, his tall frame blotting out the light. "I bought the building an hour ago, Elena. Your deposit is the least of your concerns."

The doors hissed open before I could process the sheer, casual power of that statement.

"Wait here," Julian commanded, heading toward his study.

I stood in the center of the vast living room, feeling like a speck of dust . My phone buzzed.

Another unknown number. My heart leaped into my throat.

[Unknown]: He’s lying, El. Check the top drawer of his desk. Room 402. Ask him about the red ribbon.

I stared at the screen. Mark? It had to be. But Mark was supposed to be in the hands of security. How was he still texting me?

I looked toward the study. The door was ajar.

Julian’s voice drifted out, low and sharp. He was on the phone.

"I don't care what he saw. If the reporter wants to keep his hands, he’ll kill the story. And tell Mark the next payment is contingent on him staying visible but out of reach. She needs to feel the breath on her neck, or she won't stay with me."

The floor felt like it had turned to liquid. The next payment?

I moved before I could talk myself out of it. My pulse was a deafening roar in my ears.

I slipped into the study while Julian’s back was turned.

He was standing by the window, his silhouette dark against the city lights.

I lunged for the desk. My fingers fumbled with the top drawer. Locked.

Check the top drawer.

I grabbed a silver letter opener from the desk and jammed it into the lock, my "cold and professional" mask completely shattered. With a sickening crack, the wood splintered. I pulled the drawer open.

It wasn't files. It wasn't money.

It was a collection.

A red ribbon from my third-grade hair tie. A tooth I’d lost when I was seven, encased in a small glass vial. A pair of my lace underwear from high school. And a stack of polaroids, hundreds of them. Me sleeping. Me crying at my mother’s funeral. Me laughing with a boy in the St. Jude’s library.

And at the very top, a map of my current apartment. Every window was circled in red. Every exit was marked.

The "stalker" hadn't been Mark. Mark was just the actor.

"Looking for something, Elena?"

I whirled around, the letter opener still in my hand.

Julian was standing in the doorway. He wasn't angry.

He looked amused. Like a scientist watching a mouse finally find the trap.

"You paid him," I breathed, my voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. "You paid Mark to haunt me for ten years. You made me lose my scholarship. You made me homeless."

Julian walked toward me, each step slow and deliberate.

I backed away until I hit the glass wall.

"I didn't make you homeless, Elena," he said, reaching out to take the letter opener from my limp fingers.

He tossed it onto the desk like it was a toy. "I made you available. You were wasting your life in that gutter. I simply cleared the weeds so the flower could grow."

He grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the cold metal of his belt buckle and the heat of his skin through his shirt.

"You're a monster," I hissed, though a terrifying part of me was still reeling from the fact that he had watched me for so long.

"I'm the only thing that's real in your life," he whispered, his lips grazing my ear. "Everything else, your friends, your jobs, even your fear. I bought it all. You belong to me, Elena. Down to the very air in your lungs."

Suddenly, the front door of the penthouse swung open. A woman’s voice, sharp and elegant, echoed through the hall.

"Julian? Darling, why is the security detail doubled tonight? And who is this creature?"

Julian didn't let go of me. He turned us both to face the door.

Standing there was a woman dripping in diamonds, her eyes narrowed in a look of lethal insecurity.

Vivienne Montgomery.

The fiancée.

"Elena, meet Vivienne," Julian said, his voice dripping with casual cruelty.

"Vivienne, this is my new analyst. She’ll be staying with us indefinitely. She has a bit of a stalking problem."

Vivienne’s gaze raked over my tear-stained face and my disheveled clothes.

She looked at Julian, then back at me, a slow, hateful smile spreading across her face.

"A stalking problem? How appalling," Vivienne purred. She walked closer, her perfume cloying and sweet. "Just make sure she knows her place, Julian. I’d hate to have to break your new toy before the wedding."

Julian’s grip on my waist tightened to the point of pain. He looked at me, his ocean-blue eyes reflecting the terrifying truth of my situation.

"She knows her place, Vivienne," Julian whispered. "Don't you, Elena?"

He leaned in, his voice a ghost against my skin.

"Now, do you want to run back out into the alley where Mark is waiting with the knife I gave him? Or do you want to go to your room and wait for me to decide your next move?"

I looked at the door. I looked at the dark room behind the bookshelf. I looked at the monster holding me.

I realized I wasn't just in his home. I was his captive.

And then, from the hallway, a third voice spoke. The booming voice filled with a cold authority that made even Julian stiffen.

"Julian. We need to discuss the girl. Now."

Arthur Vane.

The father.

The man who had trained the monster.

Julian’s eyes darkened. He looked at me, then at his father, then back to me.

"Go to your room, Elena," Julian commanded, his voice trembling with a sudden, raw edge.

"And lock the door. If my father gets to you before I do, the stalking will be the least of your problems."

I ran.

I didn't stop until I reached the guest wing.

I slammed the door and turned the lock, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps.

I slumped against the wood, my head spinning.

Then, I looked at the bed.

On the pillow was a single, fresh lemon drop.

And a note in Julian’s elegant, terrifying handwriting.

[I hope you like the decor. I’ve been building it

for ten years.]

I turned around to look at the room for the first time.

My heart stopped.

It wasn't a guest room.

It was a perfect, identical replica of my childhood bedroom from ten years ago. Every scratch on the baseboard. Every book on the shelf. Even the smell of my mother’s lavender detergent.

And on the desk sat a laptop. It was open.

A live video feed was playing. It was a camera inside the prison cell where my father was supposed to be serving time.

But the cell was empty.