The Beast

13

HAZEL

The senior woman has a tight grip on my forearm as she leads me away. I can't remember her name. What did Ronan call her? Janice?

I grip my skirt with my free hand, lifting it away from my feet. I'm jogging to keep up with Janice's pace, but I'm so distraught that I keep tripping.

They're the same. The same man. All this time, I felt torn between the two. Struggled to distribute my loyalty. I felt like an unfaithful, sinful woman as I developed feelings for them.

All this time, I had been splitting my mind and heart in two for the same man. But there was no need to. I kissed them both. I sewed for both. I flushed from head to toe after hearing their fiery, suggestive words.

I dig my heels into the polished floor when Janice turns a corner and leads me toward the giant wooden French doors. This is a wing of the estate that's forbidden. A dead end. Low-ranking servants can't cross over.

Janice is much higher ranking than me. That's why her dress is a dark burgundy color and not black or navy blue. That's why she says, "come, girl. Follow me." She knows the world past the brown doors. I don't, and I have no interest in finding out.

"Please let me go, Ms. Janice," I whisper, wiping my eyes when they blur with tears. "Let me talk to my mother one final time, and then I'll accept my banishment. I'll leave."

She keeps her head low, unable to look me in the eye. Her hair is mostly white. She's older and wise, but that's not enough to save me from our enigma of a master.

"I'm sorry," she says. "Your fate is in his hands. He's the most powerful man on this side of the country."

I skipped the wall in search of danger and thrill. Little did I know that the danger was hidden in this estate. Lurking in the shadows. Ready to pounce and kiss me. To whisper words in my ear that make me ache with curiosity.

Janice pulls me forward, sliding a key into the wooden door. We cross into the forbidden wing together. I instantly notice how much darker the halls are. No windows. Only dim chandeliers, large portraits on the wall of painted figures that seem to stare as we walk past.

Janice leads me into the first room we cross.

"Stay here for a few minutes. I must secure the master's bedroom. Remove important documents and..." she trails off and gestures into the bedroom. It's small. The furniture suggests that it's likely a servant's room, but there are no personal belongings here.

I enter the room. The curtains are parted, revealing a window. Janice moves to close the door, her key clutched in her hand to lock the door.

"How long have you worked closely with him?" I ask before she shuts it.

The door stops, and she inhales deeply. "Since he inherited the estate."

For years, then. She has been by his side since the beginning.

"And have you ever seen his face?"

It's an important question. The only bit of hope I have left.

"No," she whispers. As if disappointed. Or maybe she's sad for me.

The door closes, and I keep staring at it. Anxiety crawls all over me. Because I've never had such little control of my life. I used to follow a schedule: clean this, clean that, eat, and retire to your bedroom. I didn't realize how much more freedom I had. Not until I became a prisoner. Not until I developed feelings for a man that's unreachable. The truth is that if he can't show his face to a trusted servant that has been with him for years, he will never trust me, either.

The feelings I have for him must be unmatched. I'm his captive for causing him trouble. He will keep me here until he decides what to do with me. I doubt nothing will grow between us.

"Fuck," I groan, leaning against the nearest wall and covering my face with my hands. I'm so embarrassed. So resentful that was vulnerable with him. What must he think of me? I can't tell what his motive is.

I pace the room, trying to piece together what's happening. His revelation should have cleared the fog since I was struggling between the two men, but it only worsened my confusion.

I struggle with my thoughts for an hour, slowly spiraling toward madness. I need my mom. I need her embrace. Her gentle voice. I need to sit beside her and sew as I listen to her advice.

I approach the single window in this room and test the lock. It's open. We're only on the second story. I can make it. A fall wouldn't kill me. Perhaps only break a few bones.

It's a risk I can take. My mother should be in her bedroom right now. She's smart. She's waiting for me.

I search for a tool to cut my long skirt to climb out of the window faster. As I yank out a drawer, the wind blows into the room. I find a pair of scissors and cut my skirt to my thighs, stripping layer after layer until my legs are bare.

I approach the window and peer outside. The grass looks so far away, and the fence looks shorter than ever. I look at the dark woods and for a split second, I consider running away. But I can't do that to my mom. She must be breaking down from the news of my deceit. She deserves an explanation.

Barefoot, I step on the cushioned bench and swing a foot over the window railing.

The grass seems even further. But I just need to secure my footing on the pipeline a few feet below and tip-toe to the nearest window.

"Fuck," I pant, my heart racing. "Fuck."

There's a click sound that comes from behind me. I gasp, turning toward the door, my hair blowing over my face as the door opens.

I'm blind for a second, but I hear a growling sound that I would recognize anywhere. With unnatural speed, Ronan launches himself forward and grabs me around the waist, hauling me backward.

I hit my ankle on the way down, but my fall is cushioned by his broad chest.

I open my eyes and realize the hoodie has shifted. Before I can help it, I gasp at the sight of his scarred skin.

Ronan growls again and hauls me to the bed, yanking his hoodie down as I sit up on the mattress.