Cinnamon woke up screaming.
The dream was a blur of falling bodies and Arturo's mouth-bloody and consuming. She sat up, gasping for air, her sheets tangled around her legs.
She was in her room at the Manor. The morning sun was streaming in, cheerful and mocking.
She threw off the covers and went to the window to open it for some fresh air. It opened two inches and stopped.
She pushed harder. It didn't budge.
She looked closely. A new, heavy-duty limiter lock had been installed on the frame.
"Mr. Watts had them installed while you slept," a voice said from the door.
Mrs. Higgins walked in with a tray of breakfast. She wouldn't meet Cinnamon's eyes. "He said it's for your safety. With the... press and all."
"Am I a prisoner?" Cinnamon asked, her voice raspy.
"You're recovering, dear. He said you're to stay inside for a few days. The reporters are camped at the gates."
Cinnamon grabbed the remote and turned on the TV mounted on the wall.
Every channel.
CNN: The Billionaire and the Beauty: A Modern Fairytale?
Fox: Watts Capital Stock Soars After Heroic Rescue.
TMZ: WattsKiss Breakdown: True Love or Trauma Bond?
The footage of the kiss played on a loop. Cinnamon watched herself being devoured by him. She felt sick. Her terror was boosting his portfolio.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand. It wasn't there.
In its place was a sleek, black burner phone. She picked it up. There was only one number saved in the contacts: A.
"Where is my phone?" she demanded.
"Mr. Watts has it," Mrs. Higgins said, backing out of the room. "He said you need a digital detox."
Cinnamon threw a pillow at the closing door.
She spent the morning pacing. By noon, she was climbing the walls. She needed answers. She needed to confront him.
She went downstairs. The house was quiet. She checked the study. Empty. She checked the kitchen. Empty.
She walked past the small office used by Carter and the assistants. The door was open. The shredder was whirring.
Carter was feeding documents into the machine. He looked up, saw her, and jumped, trying to cover the stack of papers with his body.
"Ms. Taylor! You should be resting."
"Where is he?"
"He's... out. Handling the fallout."
Cinnamon's eyes drifted to the shredder bin. It was full, but a few strips of paper were stuck in the teeth.
One strip had a grainy, black and white photograph on it. It showed a man who looked like a younger version of her father, shaking hands with another man in front of a small, private jet. The tail number of the jet was partially visible.
Cinnamon felt a jolt of recognition. The other man was a known rival of the Watts family, a man who had mysteriously disappeared in the late 90s.
Why was Carter shredding photos of her father with Arturo's enemies?
"Who is that with my father?" she asked, stepping forward.
Carter quickly reversed the machine, sucking the strip back in and destroying it completely. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just old files. Please, Ms. Taylor, go back to your room."
"Tell me where Arturo is."
Carter sighed. "He's meeting someone. To... manage the narrative."
"Who?"
"Sasha Vane."
Cinnamon froze. She knew that name. Everyone knew that name. Sasha Vane was a supermodel, but in the inner circles, she was known as "The Cleaner." Whenever a high-profile man had a scandal, Sasha Vane would suddenly be seen on his arm, distracting the press with her legs and her smile.
"Why is he meeting her?"
"Tiffany has been talking to the press," Carter admitted, looking miserable. "About... how unstable you are. About your father. Arturo needs a distraction. A new headline to bury the 'Suicide Bride' angle."
Cinnamon walked out of the room. Her head was spinning.
He was going to fake a romance with a supermodel to distract from the kiss? To make yesterday look like a mistake? A moment of madness?
She felt a stinging humiliation. That kiss... she had felt it in her soul. And to him, it was just a PR mess to be cleaned up.
She went back to her room. She waited until nightfall.
She found her old iPad under the bed-Mrs. Higgins had missed it. She connected to the neighbor's weak Wi-Fi.
Gawker: Arturo Watts spotted entering 'The Vault' tonight. Sasha Vane arrived ten minutes later.
Cinnamon stared at the screen.
She wasn't going to sit here and be the locked-up princess while he played games.
She went to her closet and pulled out a black hoodie and leggings. She went to the window. The limiter lock was strong, but the screws were exposed.
She used a nail file from the bathroom. It took twenty minutes, but she got the screws out.
She slid the window open. The trellis was right there.
She was going to that club.
