Chapter 478
Chapter 478:
Lucian stared at her. For a microsecond, his smile faded. A flicker of paranoia—the constant companion of tyrants—passed behind his eyes.
He stood slowly. He walked around the desk.
“If he is here,” Lucian said softly, stopping inches from her face, “then he will die here p>
He glanced toward the guest wing door, then back at Skye.
“You are too comfortable,” he decided abruptly. “The guest wing has windows. Windows are a liability if Alistair is… watching p>
He grabbed her wrist. His grip was painful.
“Let’s put you somewhere safer p>
He dragged her out of the study. He didn’t take her back to her room. He took her to the elevator at the end of the hall and pressed the button for the sub-basement.
The ride down was silent. The air grew cooler as they descended.
The doors opened.
They weren’t in a dungeon. They were in a wine vault.
Rows upon rows of wooden racks stretched into the darkness, filled with dusty bottles. The air was frigid—kept at a strict fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit for the preservation of the vintage collection. It smelled of old cork, damp earth, and money.
“The Vault,” Lucian announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Underground. Secure. No signals in or out p>
He pulled her toward the center of the room. There was a glass-walled tasting room in the middle—a box within a box.
He shoved her inside.
Skye stumbled, catching herself on a heavy oak tasting table.
Lucian stepped back out and slammed the glass door. A heavy electronic lock engaged with a beep.
Skye ran to the door and banged on the reinforced glass. It was thick, solid as a wall.
“Lucian!” she screamed. Her voice was muffled, barely audible even to herself.
Lucian leaned close to the glass on the other side. He tapped it with his finger.
“Think about your choices, Skye,” he mouthed. “Think about who you belong to p>
He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the dark.
𝘠о𝘶𝘳 𝘯ex𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝖺𝗱 𝗶𝘀 o𝗇 𝘣е𝘭n𝗈𝗏еl𝗌.𝘤𝗈𝘮
He hit a switch on the wall. The main lights in the cellar went out. Only a single, dim bulb remained illuminated inside the glass box.
Skye was left alone in the cold silence. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. The torn silk of her evening gown offered no protection against the chill.
She looked around her glass cage. A table. Four chairs. And a wall of wine bottles inside the enclosure with her—the “private reserve p>
In the corner of the ceiling, a red light blinked.
A surveillance camera.
Lucian was watching.
Two hours passed. The cold was insidious. It didn’t strike all at once; it seeped into her bones slowly. Skye’s fingers were numb. Her lips felt stiff. She paced the small glass room, rubbing her arms, trying to keep her blood flowing.
She knew she couldn’t stay here. Hypothermia would come eventually. Or she would simply go mad from the isolation. She needed to get out. She needed to force a confrontation.
Lucian had put her here to break her spirit. He wanted her to huddle in a corner and beg for mercy.
Skye stopped pacing. She looked at the camera. She straightened her posture.
No.
She would not beg.
She turned to the wine rack inside the glass room. These weren’t just bottles; they were Lucian’s pride. His ego, fermented in glass. She scanned the labels. Her time in high society had taught her the value of the names.