The sound of Barbara's heels clicking on the hardwood floor faded into silence.
Herminia slid off the desk, her legs giving way. She landed on her knees on the plush rug, gasping for air as if she had been held underwater.
"That was too close," she whispered, her voice trembling. "She almost came in, Hunter. This is insanity."
Hunter looked down at her. He didn't offer a hand. He towered over her, buttoning his shirt completely, hiding the mark she had left. "Get up."
"I'm moving out," Herminia said, scrambling to her feet. "I'll go back to the boarding school. Or a dorm. I can't stay here."
Hunter laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. He crouched down so they were eye level. "You aren't going anywhere."
"You can't keep me here."
"I control your trust fund, Herminia. I control your tuition. I control the roof over your head." His voice was soft, reasonable, which made the threat worse. "You leave when I say you leave. And right now, you stay exactly where I can see you."
Herminia felt the walls of the study closing in. It wasn't just a house; it was a cage.
"Why?" she asked, tears finally spilling over. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're my responsibility," he said. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jaw. "Use the servant's passage. Go to your room. Fix your hair."
Herminia flinched away from his touch. She grabbed her shoes from the floor, clutching them in one hand. She couldn't put them on; the heels would clack on the floor and alert Barbara.
"Cover your neck," Hunter called out as she reached for the hidden panel in the bookshelf that led to the service corridors.
Herminia slipped into the narrow, dimly lit hallway. The air here was stale, smelling of lemon polish and old dust. It was a stark contrast to the lavender-scented air of the main house. She ran, her bare feet slapping against the cold linoleum.
She felt like a rat in the walls.
She emerged on the second floor, near the linen closet. She paused, pressing her back against the wall, trying to slow her breathing. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt her ribs.
She smoothed her skirt and stepped out into the main hallway.
Lana, her personal maid, was coming out of Herminia's bedroom with a basket of laundry. She stopped, her eyes widening.
"Miss Herminia?" Lana looked at Herminia's bare feet, then at the shoes in her hand. "I thought you were in bed. Why are you... did you come from the service stairs?"
Herminia froze. Her mind raced. "I... I went for a walk. In the garden."
Lana looked toward the window at the end of the hall. Rain slashed against the glass. The sky was black and bruised. "It's pouring rain, Miss."
Herminia looked down at her dry clothes. The lie was pathetic. "I stayed on the terrace. I just... I needed air. My shoes were hurting me."
Lana's gaze dropped to Herminia's neck. Herminia's hand flew up to cover the bruise, but she knew she was too late. Lana had seen something.
"Shall I run you a bath, Miss?" Lana asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"Yes," Herminia breathed, pushing past her into the bedroom. "Yes, please."
She closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down until she hit the floor. She buried her face in her knees. The house was full of eyes, and she had just given them something to see.
