The Prison in The Penthouse

I was standing in the middle of Damon's apartment, with the enormous windows overlooking an unending expanse of city lights. All I could feel was the crushing weight of loneliness, even though the scenery should have been stunning. This was a fortification, not a house.

"You'll get used to it," Damon said, breaking the quiet.

He was resting comfortably against the open-plan kitchen door frame when I turned around, his smart suit fitting in well with the room's slick, contemporary lines. He was as much a part of this apartment as the glass walls and marble floors—untouchable, flawless.

"Will I?" My voice was steady yet scratchy as I asked.

A grin curled his lips, but it stopped short of his eyes. "You may be surprised by yourself."

I looked about, surveying the vast room. Sharp angles, subdued gray and white hues, and pricey artwork that resembled trophies rather than works of art made the penthouse a study in chilly perfection. Yes, it was lovely, but it was dead.

I whispered softly, more to myself than to him, "You don't live here."

Damon's eyebrows went up. "I promise that I will."

I looked into his sharp blue eyes and shook my head. "You are here. There is a distinction.

Something changed in his eyes for a second, but before I could identify it, it was gone. "Emma, this is your home now. Acknowledge and value it.

The weight of the unsaid or otherwise lingered between us.

I forced a kind grin and added, "I'll do my best."

"Well done." Damon stood up straight, his presence dominating even the most basic motions. "Supper is at seven o'clock. Everything you need is in the closet.

I was left alone with the sound of his footsteps as he turned and left.

I walked around the penthouse, feeling more and more empty with every step. An exercise in excess, the master bedroom had a walk-in closet that resembled a shop, silky gray linens, and a bed that appeared to engulf the whole space.

I discovered aisles of high-end gowns, accessories, and shoes when I opened the closet door. It was a queen-—or prisoner-—appropriate attire.

As I ran my fingertips over the delicate silk gown fabric, I mumbled to myself, "Perfect."

I froze when I heard a noise behind me. I turned to see a maid standing at the doorway, her eyes inquisitive but her face indifferent.

"Mrs. Blackwell," she said softly. "I've been asked by Mr. Blackwell to make sure you have everything you need."

The title made me cringe. "I'm grateful. If I need anything, I'll let you know.

After a little pause, she nodded and walked out of the room.

I dropped onto the side of the bed, alone once again, my thoughts racing. This was a new identity, not merely a new existence. Emma Hayes had vanished. I had changed my name to Emma Blackwell, and I had no idea who that was meant to be.

I was brought back to reality by a gentle chime that reverberated throughout the apartment. A little envelope had been pushed under the front door, and I followed the sound to it.

I grabbed it up and opened it with a frown. There was just one sheet of paper with a neatly handwritten address on it. The address, no name, no explanation.

"What the devil?" I muttered.

"Anything intriguing?" I was surprised by Damon's voice.

He was standing a few steps away, his face inscrutable, when I turned around. How could he have moved so quietly?

I hastily tucked the letter behind my back and responded, "Nothing."

Damon's gaze narrowed, and I briefly believed he may bring up the subject. Then he just grinned, however. Already, Mrs. Blackwell, secrets? We have only just started.

"It's nothing," I said again, attempting to seem credible.

His presence was overpowering as he took a step closer. "Be careful, Emma. Lies are not something I like.

My pulse raced at the intensity of his stare, but I was not going to back down. "I don't either."

His grin expanded, but it was devoid of humor. "I think this will be enjoyable."

I was left alone with the enigmatic message when he turned and left before I could reply.

My curiosity and common sense clashed as I gazed at the address. Could it have been a trap? What if I was being tested by Damon?

However, what if it was more? Maybe a way out?

As I contemplated my next course of action, the hours passed slowly. I was still no closer to making a choice by the time dinnertime arrived.

When I walked into the room, Damon was already sitting at the dining table. Every item was well made and presented, making the lunch a feast.

He motioned to the chair opposite from him and said, "Sit."

I felt his gaze on me as I sat down and obeyed.

"Do you have something on your mind?" he said in a tone that was surprisingly informal.

With deliberate neutrality, I answered, "Just trying to adjust."

He studied me, leaning back in his chair. "Emma, you'll discover that I'm a guy of many rules. I am a guy of opportunity, however. If you play your cards correctly, you may benefit from this arrangement.

"What if I don't?" I posed a challenge.

He had a chilly grin. "It will then work for me."

After that, we ate in silence, the tension so great that a knife might pierce it. I was acutely conscious that I was walking a tightrope, and every look and every phrase seemed like a test.

I went back to the bedroom after supper, still troubled by the enigmatic package.

When the clock struck midnight, I finally made up my mind. I slipped the message into my pocket, put on a plain coat, and walked stealthily to the elevator.

As I entered the street, the city was a flurry of lights and noises. With a mixture of excitement and anxiety in my heart, I called a taxi and gave the driver the location.

I was standing in front of an unremarkable building when we got there. There was a sensation of dread in the air, and the windows were black.

With my hand on the door handle, I paused. Despite all of my instincts telling me to go back, I persisted.

The door banged behind me as I entered, and a voice rang out in the shadows.

"I wanted to know when you would arrive."

A stranger ste

pped out of the darkness, and I gasped. Damon wasn't the one.

They knew my name, and it was someone else.