Page 63 of Vows of Silence

And maybe it was finally time I started paying attention properly.

Chapter 22

The Mask

My little bird was finally learning how to look properly.

I watched her through the monitors as she crouched in front of the bookshelf downstairs, her fingers slowly tracing across the spines whilst her mind worked behind those beautiful eyes. She was no longer simply reading the books I brought her. She was studying them. Studying me.

Studying the secluded world I had built for her in that room, and dismantling it brick by brick.

And fuck, there was something deeply satisfying about watching her finally begin to understand the game.

Most people never looked beneath the surface of anything. They accepted the version of reality handed to them because it was easier than thinking for themselves.

Isabelle had never been that way. Not to me. I saw her deeper than most people. I knew the way her mind worked, if only she was given the chance. And so I had given her all the clues—not just in the basement. I had been planting the seeds for months.In far more ways than she realised. But she would soon enough. She just needed time to work through it. To give that brilliant mind of hers a chance.

I had all the time in the world.

Her mother didn’t understand. Sophie Carbone couldn’t see past anything other than her next party. Her father only wanted Isabelle when she was obedient and not paying attention.

And Adrien? That cunt only wanted her for what she represented. She was his mask to the world. His alibi. He wanted the beautiful wife, the well-behaved, well-mannered children they would have, the lovely home they would build and share with the world. Surface bullshit to hide his greed and true nature.

He would tighten the leash around her throat little by little, day by day, until she forgot to think for herself. Or she was too scared to think for herself.

None of them realised what sat beneath her beauty.

She was intelligent. Curious. She trusted her instincts and approached life methodically.

She may have been blind to a lot of what happened in her house, but show her the signs, give her the hints, and that phenomenal mind worked it out eventually.

And it was a thing of beauty to watch firsthand.

I had seen it from the very first time I’d laid eyes on her dancing at her party.

I had been instructed to kill her uncle. To sneak in and out, without ever being seen, killing a rival and reminding the world what happened when you were indebted to the Falcones.

For one stolen moment, our eyes had locked. And though I’d seen the terror in them, I’d also seen the glittering curiosity. After I shot her uncle, she had been the only one to scan the crowd. The only one to think that the danger could still be present. And when she had, her eyes had found me again.Though I knew I should have left, though I knew I should have returned home and reported the job as complete, I’d been mesmerised by her. I’d been too blinded by how stunning she looked covered in blood.

I’d been plagued by that image ever since.

I’d never once thought of harming a woman who didn’t deserve it—and trust me when I say there are some evil women in this world.

But for some reason, I wanted to see Isabelle bleed. I wanted her blood painting her skin. I wantedmyblood on her skin. I wanted her body stained red with our life essence. I would happily die out, just to see her bathed in the thing that gave me life.

Since then, I’d grown more than a little obsessed over it. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d got myself off thinking of her crying for me, bleeding for me, writhing beneath me in both pleasure and pain.

It was a hard thought to resist.

But I’d known even then that she was a distraction. So I’d kept my distance, letting her enjoy her ridiculous romance with Luca.

With Luca, boundaries had been established. Everything was behind a screen. And though Isabelle had grown more attached than I’d originally intended, it also wasn’t a major hindrance to my plans. I’d been content to simply observe and guide when the opportunity presented itself. Even if she hadn’t realised it was me giving her the clues.

It was only when her father promised her to Adrian that I’d realised… obsessed or not, dangerous or not, I had to take her. I had to prove to her that she was mine.

My gaze drifted across the pages scattered over my desk. They were now filled with Isabelle’s handwriting—timelines, names, book titles. Patterns she had started connecting together.I had copies of every page she wrote on, every observation she made, every theory she scribbled down.

The sight of it stirred something dark and possessive inside my chest.