Page 76 of Chained

A laugh rattles through her throat, her teeth grazing her bottom lip. "Well, let's go," she says impatiently. "Vincent hates tardiness almost as much as he hates defiance."

We move toward the door, Melina's heels clicking ahead of me, her words still settling into my chest. Heavier the longer I sit with them.

Where you give the very best parts of yourself away just to make sure they survive.

I don't know how much I have left to give, but I do know whatever I do have, he can take if it means finding my sister and getting the hell out of this manor, away from these people. I didn't really realise it before when she was talking, my head too wrapped up in the way her presence makes my skin crawl and unsettles my chest, sending it into a frenzy.

I catch my own reflection in the wardrobe mirror as we pass—dressed for him, eyes that aren't fully mine anymore. I snatch my eyes away, not wanting to see how far I'd already fallen.

After a silent walk through the manor with Melina close at my side, she finally leads me back out to the rose gardens I'd visited before. The smell of fresh roses and recently cut lawn fills my nose, settling on my chest, forcing memories of my childhood into my mind. I try to shut them out, to close it down before they take over and force me to feel something when all I need to feel right now is numb. Just enough to make it through breakfast with my captor and his fucked-up family.

We walk through the gardens, every staff member we pass bowing their heads as we pass, their eyes firmly fixed to the ground. I guess after John, they're more cautious about looking at me.

"Ah, my two favourite girls." Vincent's voice booms through the air, causing my body to tense in reaction. The memory of his lips and hands roaming my body has never left. I don't know if they ever will but, in his presence, it feels louder. His panting sings in my ears, and I can't shake it away. The tightness builds in my chest, and I try to breathe through it. You can do this, Amora, you have to.

"Vincent." Melina moves fast, leaning into Vincent's embrace. Her lips find his cheek as they smile at each other, their eyes never leaving the others. It's uncomfortable to watch; he clearly adores her. His touch is gentle, smile sincere. I didn't think he had that in him.

"I'm sorry we're a little late. Amora wanted to look perfect for you, and you know how us girls get once we get chatting." She laughs as she slides into her seat, the maids standing around waiting for orders to be given. Vincent moves to my side, his hands wrapping around my waist and eyes fixed on me. There's something different today, something almost calmer than usual. He doesn't look at me like he's undressing me or possessing me with his eyes. There's something softer, almost loving. I hold back the shudder at the thought as I realise this isn't him parading me in front of his family—this is him introducing me. "You look beautiful, Amora. So worth the wait." His lips find my cheek. A soft, gentle kiss lands on my skin, but all I can think of is the handle he'd pressed against me, the way he'd made my own body betray me. "I hope Melina's incessant talking didn't drive you crazy." He turns with a grin as his sister throws a napkin at him. And for a moment, I forget who I'm with and what this family does.

"No, it was nice to get to know her," I whisper. I feel her eyes on me, watching and waiting to see if I spill all the information she'd told me. Had it been a test? To see if I could be loyal?

"Not too much, I hope." He moves me to my seat and I slip onto the metal, the table set before us with baskets of muffins, croissants, and fruit. The smell of fresh lemonade bubbles in a champagne glass. My heart aches for the girls below, knowing they'll be having the wallpaper paste porridge and orange juice. God, I wish I could see them.

"Let me guess, Jarrod's late as usual." Melina sips on her drink, her nails tapping against the table.

"We can start without him now that everyone I want is here." Vincent sits beside me, placing his hand on my lap. I try not to squirm under his touch. Vincent's thumb traces a slow line against my knee. "How did you sleep, Amora?"

"Fine," I lie, the word coming out smoother than I expect.

"Better than in the cells I imagine, right, Amora?" Melina swirls her drink, eyes glinting over the rim. "You could have been a little more tactful though, Vincent. Mother's room? Really? Tell me, little dove, did her ghost keep you up? I hear she used to walk the halls at night, looking for a way out that never came."

"Melina." Vincent's voice stays even, but there's an edge under it now.

"What? I'm only saying." She shrugs, unbothered, reaching for a croissant. "Although you'll have to let me know if it's an improvement on the last one you kept in there. What was her name—Lola? She didn't last very long, either."

"That's enough." The words come out sharp this time, final, and the temperature at the table drops several degrees in an instant.

Melina's jaw tightens. She sets her glass down without another word, eyes dropping to her lap, sulking like a scolded child rather than the woman whose confidence once filled the room.

The silence stretches long enough that I almost don't notice the footsteps until they're right behind me.

"S-sorry I'm late—" a man's voice cracks through the quiet, breathless, like he ran the whole way. "I couldn't f-find my—I mean, I lost track of—" He stops, swallows, tries again; his eyes darts between the three of us like he's trying to read the temperature of the room before he commits to a sentence. "Sorry."

I notice it's the same guy from the van. The one with kind eyes, but now his voice is different. He has a stutter that wasn't there before. I stay quiet, watching how the family reunion plays out.

"Oh God, now we have to wait ten years for him to spit out a simple hello," Melina jabs at him, rolling her eyes.

"You know I hate when you're late, Jarrod." Vincent scowls at his brother. I tilt my head and study them both. They didn't look alike—Vincent is older; much older. His jawline is chiselled and face attractive, where Jarrod still looked like a boy, his face a little chubby. He looks small for his age, too. I watch as Jarrod's eyes never met his brother's, how they stayed fixed on the ground.

He's scared, too.

"Sit." Vincent instructs him, and Jarrod complies instantly; his hands tucked into his hoodie and eyes never leaving the glass on the table.

There's a silence between us all for a moment, Jarrod finally picking up his fork to eat while Melina studies her nails. Vincent's fingers tap against my knee.

"Tell Amora what you do for the family, Jarrod." Vincent's voice carries false warmth. "Go on, don't be modest."

Jarrod's eyes flick up from his plate. "I—just computers, mostly. Nothing—nothing interesting."