Chapter 3: The Cage
Beatrice POV
The lobby of the Grand Imperial was a mess of gold, shiny marble and quiet judgment. I walked through it like a ghost, my robe tight around me, my hair a mess from the struggle in the car. I felt the staff staring at me.
They pitied me, they were curious.. I kept my head down. I was too tired to care about the scandal of a woman in her nightwear being escorted by three men in suits. The rush that had kept my heart racing for the hour had finally faded, leaving behind a deep tiredness that made every step feel like I was walking through wet sand.
By the time the elevator reached the penthouse floor, my knees were shaking. The doors opened with a musical sound that felt like a joke. Peter led the way in his stride confidently while the two men behind me made sure I couldn't turn back.
"In here " Peter said, pointing to a wooden door at the end of the hall.
The suite was huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed a view of the city but all I saw was how high I was. How trapped I was. I collapsed onto a velvet armchair, the soft fabric feeling like a trap.
"What is happening, Peter?" I asked, my voice barely loud. I looked at him, my eyes burning with tears. "You've had your fun. You've scared me. You've proven you can hurt Caspian. Now tell me what this is really about. Is it money? Do you want a ransom? My family doesn't have what Caspian has."
Peter walked over to a sideboard with crystal bottles. He didn't answer. He took his time pouring water from a glass bottle into a glass. "You're thinking too small, Beatrice. This isn't a kidnapping for a payoff. This is about fixing things."
"I don't understand your riddles " I snapped, though the spark of anger was quickly smothered by another wave of exhaustion. I rubbed my face feeling the grit of dried tears on my cheeks. "I just want to go."
"You are home, " Peter said, turning around. He held the glass of water out to me. ". At least you're in the only home you'll have for a while. You look pale Beatrice. Your hands are shaking. Drink this. You need to hydrate before we can talk. I’m not a monster; I don't want you fainting before we get to the details."
I looked at the water. My throat was dry, feeling like it had been scraped with sandpaper. I hesitated, looking from the glass up to Peter’s face. He looked sincere.. As sincere as a man who just bought his brother’s wife could look.
"Drink " he urged softly. "We have an afternoon ahead of us. We need to go over the non-disclosure agreements and your new living arrangements. You can't do that on an empty stomach and a dry throat."
I took the glass. The cold condensation felt good against my palms. I took a sip, then another, eventually draining half the glass. It tasted clean, perhaps a bit metallic.
"There " Peter said, taking the glass back and setting it on the table. "Now sit back. Relax. The world isn't going to end in five minutes."
I leaned my head against the back of the chair watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight. I wanted to keep questioning him. I wanted to demand to see the papers Caspian signed. I wanted to know why my husband’s brother had been "dead" for twenty years.
Suddenly the room began to tilt. The sharp edges of the furniture softened, blurring into the shadows. A heavy warm sensation started in my toes. Raced up my legs turning my muscles to lead. I tried to lift my hand to my head. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
"Peter?" I whispered. My tongue felt thick like it was too large for my mouth. "What... What did you..."
"Shhh, " Peter said. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. He was standing over me now, his silhouette blocking out the sun. "You’ve had a stressful morning, Beatrice. You need to sleep. Everything is easier when you’re asleep."
I tried to stand to shove him but my body refused to obey. My eyelids were stones dragging shut despite my internal screaming. I felt myself slipping sideways falling into the velvet depths of the chair. The last thing I saw was Peter reaching into his pocket pulling out a small silver case.
Then the darkness claimed me.
I didn't feel the needle at first. I was already drifting in a grey limbo where sounds were muffled and touch was distant.. Then a sharp cold sting pierced the skin of my upper arm. It was a kind of cold. A chemical burn that spread through my veins like ice water.
"That should keep her under for at least six hours " Peter’s voice echoed, sounding clinical and detached.
I felt a hand brush a stray hair away from my forehead. A gesture that should have been tender but felt like a brand. I couldn't even flinch. I was a prisoner in my skin locked behind my eyelids drifting further and further away from the sunlit room.
"Is she out?" a second voice asked. It was one of the bodyguards.
"She’s out, " Peter replied. I heard the snap of the silver case closing. "The sedative in the water started the process. The injection will ensure she doesn't wake up while we’re moving the rest of the equipment in. I want the bedroom prepped. No phones, no internet and bolt the balcony door from the outside."
"What about the husband sir? If he changes his mind?"
Peter let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Caspian? He’s currently liquidating assets to cover the first instalment of what he owes me. He won't be coming for her. He’s too busy saving his life to worry about the one he threw away."
I wanted to cry out. I wanted to scream that he was wrong that Caspian would find me that this was all a mistake.. I was falling into a bottomless well and the light at the top was getting smaller and smaller.
"Watch her " Peter commanded, his footsteps receding toward the door. "Don't leave this room. If she twitches, call me. She’s the expensive thing in this hotel and I want her kept in pristine condition until she understands exactly who she belongs to now."
"Yes, sir."
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the steady rhythmic breathing of the guard standing just a few feet away. I was alone drugged and traded away.
As the chemical sleep finally pulled me under completely my last conscious thought wasn't of Caspian or the betrayal. It was a knock on the door that morning. The quiet sound that had signalled the end of my world.
The "productivity" had begun.
