I woke up with a pounding head and confusion. For a second I couldn't recognise where I was.
Blinking against the haziness, the room slowly came into focus. My thoughts scattered like shards of glass, and cut deeper into my pounding skull. The scent of oud and sandalwood-though faint, yet unmistakable-had me have a mini heart attack.
Judas.
My pulse quickened and panic threaded through the fog. Heavy curtains were draped over the windows and I realised the room heating system was on.
I tried to sit up, but the dizziness pulled me back, pinning me to the bed. The events leading up to this moment were a blur, fragmented images that refused to piece together. How did I end up here? What happened?
My fingers curled into the soft sheets as I fought to reclaim my scattered thoughts.
And then my eyes widened, heart stuttering as I threw off the thick blanket in a panic. Goodness gracious.
That bastard.
I stared down at myself, horror flooding my veins. He hadn't even bothered to put my jeans back on me. The realization hit like a slap-I was lying completely naked in his bed, save for the thin, full-sleeved undershirt clinging to my skin.
I clenched the blanket, fighting the surge of humiliation that crawled up my throat. Judas had stripped me of my dignity. My mind vied to make rough calculations, trying to piece together how long I had been out. Had the day already set?
Panic bubbled up and almost choked me. How could I face him-or anyone-in this state? I needed to get out.
I swung my legs off the bed, but the moment my feet touched the cold floor, a sharp sting shot through my thighs and-good grief-my arse. I winced, instinctively rubbing the sore spot, hoping to God it wasn't as red as it felt. Of course, it would be just my luck.
That maniac actually spanked me.
I huffed in utter disbelief and irritation bubbled up. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all and I needed to find some clothes. Or at the very least, something to cover my sore, probably red, undoubtedly bruised dignity.
Working in this mansion had its perks, though-like knowing exactly where Judas kept his closet. Without wasting any more time, I made a beeline for it. If he had the audacity to strip me down, I'd have no worries about borrowing his clothes.
Rifling through his neatly arranged wardrobe, I found a pair of his sweatpants. They were ridiculously large, but they'd have to do. I folded the waistband and tightened the drawstrings, but even then, they still hung low on my hips, almost slipping. Not wanting to trip over myself, I folded the hems of the ankles and did my best to make them look halfway decent.
Satisfied enough, I stumbled toward the door, my makeshift outfit still too big but manageable. I reached for the doorknob, I paused, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I had no idea what-or who-was waiting for me on the other side, but one thing was certain: I wasn't leaving this place without a fight, oversized sweatpants and all.
I pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor, the cool air hit my face as I forced myself to move forward. The soreness in my legs was not helping, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. The sooner I got out of here, the better.
My heart pounded louder than my footsteps as I made my way to the staircase. And my mouth twisted in bitterness.
There it was-Judas's large portrait on the stair wall. His cold, piercing eyes seemed to follow me, a permanent sneer etched into his painted face. The damn thing had always unsettled me, but now it felt like he was just waiting for me to trip on the stairs,
"Demon," I muttered under my breath, narrowing my eyes at the portrait. It wasn't just his face on that canvas-it was his arrogance, his power, his twisted sense of control. And here I was, wrapped in his clothes, trying to sneak out of his house like a thief.
But I wasn't a thief.
I tip-toed down the stairs. The house was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt like a trap. As I reached the bottom, I looked around, taking in the layout. The wall separating the lounge area from the entryway was my only shield. If I could just make a run for it, maybe-just maybe-I could slip out unnoticed.
Run? Barefoot? My subconscious mocked, and I bit back a groan. Of course, he'd taken my shoes too. And where was my bag, anyway? I tried to recall, but the hazy memories from earlier weren't cooperating. Then it hit me-my bag was in the lounge area.
Of course, it was. Damn it.
I took a deep breath, the ache in my legs and the throb in my head reminding me how wrong this could go. Slowly, carefully, I treaded toward the lounge, every nerve in my body on high alert. The thought of Judas sitting there, waiting for me with that infuriating smirk, sent a shiver down my spine.
But it couldn't get any worse now, could it?
I peeked around the corner and dread pooled in my stomach. My luck had already run out today; if he was in there, I was done for. Steeling myself, I took another cautious step, praying I wouldn't find him lounging in one of those oversized chairs, watching me with those cold, cruel eyes.
But then again, with my luck, he might just be sitting there, waiting for me to make a fool of myself once more.
I was careful-so careful-but clearly not enough. The next moment, my elbow grazed the edge of a vase perched precariously on one of the corners. Time seemed to slow as it wobbled, teetering on the brink of disaster. Instinct kicked in, and I lunged forward, catching it just before it could shatter against the floor. Relief flooded through me, a small victory in this twisted game.
But my happiness was short-lived.
I felt it-the chill that seeped into the air, wrapping around me like a cold, clammy hand. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my breath caught in my throat. It took everything in me not to turn around, not to confirm the presence I knew was there.
He was watching me.