Chapter 10
Lirael
The yacht's engines hummed steadily through the darkness, a mechanical thrum that vibrated through the polished teak floors and up into my bones. I lay curled on the plush cushion in my cage outside Sebastian's quarters, staring at the brass fixtures gleaming in the low light, my mind refusing to surrender to sleep despite my body's bone-deep exhaustion.
It was 11:45 PM according to the digital clock visible through the half-open door to the office area, where Sebastian sat dealing with some urgent Onyx Guard matter, his silhouette sharp against the glow of multiple screens. I could hear the low murmur of his voice as he spoke with someone—Marcus, probably—and the occasional tap of keys as he processed whatever crisis demanded his attention at this ungodly hour.
"Come here."
Sebastian's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, sharp and commanding. I tensed, every muscle in my body going rigid with apprehension. For a moment I considered pretending to be asleep, but I knew it was pointless. He could probably hear my elevated heart rate from across the cabin, could scent the anxiety rolling off me in waves.
Obey, I told myself coldly. You're a pet. Pets obey.
I uncurled slowly from the cushion and moved to the cage door, which Marcus had left unlocked per Sebastian's earlier instructions. The golden chain attached to my collar clinked softly as I emerged, and I had to suppress a shudder of revulsion at the sound. Three years in the Foundation and I'd never worn a leash. Three years of being called "Specimen 237" and subjected to their clinical cruelty, but at least they'd never paraded me around like a dog.
This is worse, I thought as I padded barefoot toward the office area, the plush carpet soft under my feet. Being someone's personal property is so much worse than being a research subject.
Sebastian was still seated at his desk when I entered, but he'd pushed his chair back slightly and was gesturing to a black velvet cushion positioned beside his feet. The message was unmistakable: sit. Stay. Be a good little pet.
I'm going to kill you, I promised silently as I sank down onto the cushion, arranging myself in a kneeling position with my hands folded in my lap. I'm going to find a way to kill you and I'm going to enjoy every second of it.
"Good girl," Sebastian murmured absently, his attention still on the tablet in his hand. His free hand reached down to stroke my hair, fingers threading through the strands with casual possessiveness that made my skin crawl. I kept my face blank, my eyes downcast, the picture of docile submission.
Marcus appeared from somewhere deeper in the yacht's interior, his expression professionally neutral though I caught a flicker of discomfort in his eyes when he saw me kneeling at Sebastian's feet. Good. At least someone in this nightmare had a shred of conscience left.
"The West Coast security situation?" Sebastian asked without looking up from his tablet.
"Under control, sir. The breach at the Portland facility has been contained, and the team responsible has been... dealt with." Marcus's voice was carefully neutral on those last two words, and I didn't want to know what "dealt with" meant in the Blackwood family's vocabulary. "However, there's been increased chatter among the other families. They're curious about your recent acquisition."
Me, I realized with a cold jolt. They're talking about me.
"Let them be curious," Sebastian said dismissively. "What else?"
Marcus hesitated, then continued, "Tomorrow is Ethan Kane's birthday celebration. At Obsidian Tower. The invitation list includes most of Ark City's high society—all the usual players." He paused. "The Blackwood family received a formal invitation, of course. Will you be attending?"
My heart stuttered in my chest. Ethan's birthday party. At Obsidian Tower. All of Ark City's high society.
Which meant Victoria would be there. Victoria, who'd spent the past three years transforming herself into a "socialite" on the blood money she'd gotten from selling me. Victoria, who wouldn't miss an opportunity to network with the city's elite, to parade herself in designer clothes bought with my suffering, to play the role of refined heiress while I'd been locked in the Foundation's sterile halls.
She'll be there, I thought, my mind suddenly razor-sharp despite my exhaustion. That vain, social-climbing bitch will absolutely be there. She wouldn't miss a party at Obsidian Tower for anything.
"Those events are tedious beyond measure," Sebastian said, his tone dripping with aristocratic disdain. "A room full of human elites engaging in vapid small talk and transparent social climbing. I have better uses for my time."
No, I thought desperately. No, you have to go. Or I have to find a way to go. This might be my only chance to—
"Understood, sir," Marcus was saying. "I'll send your regrets."
Think, I commanded myself fiercely, even as Sebastian's fingers continued their absent stroking of my hair. Think. If he's not going, how can I get there? He'll probably lock me in some room or leave me in this cage. But I need to be at that party. I need to see Victoria. I need to start this.
Three years of promising myself that when I got out, when I finally escaped, I would make them all pay.
The Hartfields. Victoria. Her parents who'd tortured me for moon dew. Every single person who'd profited from my suffering.
Some debts are paid in blood, I thought coldly. And Victoria's debt is long overdue.
But I had to be smart about this. Had to think several moves ahead. If Sebastian wasn't attending the party, I'd need disguise tools—a holo-skin projector to change my appearance. Appropriate clothing to blend in with the elite crowd. Some way to temporarily work around the genetic lock's radius limitation. And I'd need to do all of this while he thought I was safely contained somewhere, oblivious and docile.
Sebastian's hand stilled in my hair, and I felt him shift in his chair. "Actually, Marcus, before you go—bring some food for our guest. She needs to eat."
"Of course, sir. Any preferences?"
"Something simple. Fruit, perhaps. Protein." Sebastian's fingers resumed their stroking, and I had to suppress a shudder. "And water. Make sure she stays hydrated."
I'm not a fucking pet, I screamed internally, even as I kept my face carefully neutral.
Marcus returned a few minutes later with a silver tray bearing cut fruit—apples, strawberries, melon—and a crystal glass of water. He set it on a small side table, then retreated with that same flicker of discomfort in his expression.
Sebastian picked up a slice of apple and held it to my lips. "Open."
I hate you, I thought viciously, even as I obediently parted my lips and allowed him to feed me. The apple was crisp and sweet, probably organic and expensive, and it tasted like ashes in my mouth.
"Good girl," he murmured again, and I wanted to bite his fingers off.
Instead, I chewed slowly and swallowed, keeping my eyes downcast, playing the role of the broken, obedient creature he wanted me to be. His hand returned to my hair, stroking and petting while he continued his conversation with Marcus about security protocols and family business, as if I were nothing more than a particularly interesting piece of furniture.
Remember this, I told myself as he fed me another piece of fruit. Remember every humiliation, every casual cruelty, every moment he treats you like an object instead of a person. Remember it all, and when the time comes, use it as fuel.
The conversation between Sebastian and Marcus continued, touching on various business matters I filed away for later analysis. Then Marcus said something that made my attention sharpen to a razor's edge.
"The Foundation's backers are still making inquiries about you, sir. Discreet ones, but persistent."
"Keep monitoring the situation," Sebastian said. "And increase security around all Blackwood facilities. If someone's bold enough to investigate me, they're bold enough to make a move eventually. I want to be ready."
"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"
"No. Get some rest. We dock at six AM."
Marcus nodded and withdrew, leaving me alone with Sebastian in the quiet office area. The only sounds were the hum of the yacht's engines cutting through water and my own carefully controlled breathing.