Innocent Daphne Morelli is more exquisite than anything he’s ever seen. He becomes obsessed with her. It doesn’t matter that she’s a living, breathing person with her own hopes and dreams.
She’ll be the perfect addition to his collection.
The scent of her is almost gone. So weak it’s like she wasn’t here at all. They’ve left her lace curtains. Whoever came through here didn’t bother to take the curtains. I find myself at the window without any impression of the steps it takes to get there. Lace crumples in my hands. It’s rougher than it looks. I half-hope to see her on the sidewalk below me, coming home, but what would she come home to? There’s nothing here. I’m the only thing waiting.
Anger scorches the inside of my ribs. It’s all claws and teeth. Out of its cage. A sound— the lace curtains beginning to tear. I let go of them, but what’s the fucking point? She left this place. She left me. To a place I can’t find her.
What was I thinking? Go then, little painter. I told her to go. I should have known better than that. The first rule of acquisition is to keep the object in your sights. She makes me unreasonable. She makes me forget the rules of my life. My anger shouts all this down. It’s like heavy footsteps on another floor of the house. Always threatening, never coming close. Not until they do and by then it’s too late.
What if it’s too late?
What does it matter if she knew those security guards? What if I was wrong, and they weren’t hired by her family at all? People have been known to play fucked-up games for months on end. Years. Long enough to convince an innocent like Daphne Morelli to trust them. Or—another awful possibility. She was safe with them, but isn’t any- more. I’ve read her file. One time. Fifty times. The family has wealth, which means they have enemies. Robert doesn’t know where she is, or else he’s too afraid to talk about it. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what the fuck it means.
I search her apartment again. Every shelf on every cupboard. The cheap plywood shelf in her closet, which I’m almost certain Daphne can’t reach without a stepstool. Beneath the sink in her bathroom. I want an explanation. Where did you go, little painter?
Dark Reign by Amelia Wilde, 2021
Amelia Wilde is a USA TODAY bestselling author of steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.
Amelia is a USA Today best selling author from northern Michigan. Be her friend!
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Sounds really great
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