Chapter 3Tethered to His Heartbeat

The basement storage room was deep underground, damp, dark, and smelling of rust and mildew.

The guards threw me onto the cold concrete floor and slammed the heavy iron door shut, bolting it from the outside.

Instantly, we were plunged into pitch-black darkness.

I had been terrified of confined spaces since I was a little girl. My heart began to hammer against my ribs; my breathing grew shallow and rapid, and my hands turned ice-cold.

My panic and despair were radiating straight across the globe to Wyatt.

Right now, he must be standing somewhere high, the wind whipping around him, looking down at the pavement.

No.

I shoved my hand into my mouth, biting down on my own skin to stifle the tears. You can't be afraid. You can't cry. If you cry, he dies.

CLANG.

The iron door was kicked open a crack, letting in a sliver of blinding light.

It was Dr. Evans, Wyatt’s private psychiatrist, clutching a medical kit.

"Nora's emotional telemetry has bottomed out!" he yelled, trying to push his way in. "If we don't intervene now, Mr. Landry's heart will stop!"

But before he could take another step, the head housekeeper, who had been bribed by Isabel, blocked his path.

"Who let you down here? Miss Caldwell gave strict orders. No one gets near them."

"She's going to die! Mr. Landry is going to die!" Dr. Evans was shaking with rage and fear.

The housekeeper pushed him back with cold indifference. "I don't dare disobey Miss Caldwell. Your threats don't work on me."

The door slammed shut again. The chains rattled into place.

Darkness once more.

I don't know how much time passed before the door opened for the third time.

Isabel walked down the stairs, her heels clicking softly. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Well, this filthy hole certainly suits someone of your background."

Behind her, the housekeeper held a stainless-steel dog bowl.

Inside was sour, leftover food, gray gravy skin forming on top, with flies beginning to circle.

"I heard you lose your mind if you miss a meal?" Isabel knelt, catching my chin in her tight grip. "Eat up. Consider it a gift."

She shoved the bowl toward my face.

The rancid smell hit my nose, and I gagged, tears spilling over.

"Crying again?" Isabel scoffed.

She stood up and dusted off her hands. "If you think I'm treating you poorly, let me add a little garnish."

The housekeeper grabbed the back of my head and slammed my face down into the bowl.

The sour, rotting liquid rushed up my nose and into my mouth. The taste of decay filled my throat. I thrashed, choking and gasping for air, as my vision began to vignette.

Just then, a loud crash of breaking glass echoed from upstairs.

It was Dr. Evans’ voice, shrill and completely hysterical:

"The team overseas just called! Mr. Landry is on the roof!"

"They said he’s already slapped himself seventeen times! His face is unrecognizable!"

"If we don't stop this, he’s going to jump!"

A cold dread washed over me. Seventeen times.

I lifted my head, staring at Isabel through the grime.

"You think you’re torturing me," I whispered.

"But you’re killing Wyatt."

"If he dies, you have nothing."

Isabel tilted her head, cupping her ear. "What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you."

"I said—"

A heavy, stinging slap cut me off.

"Don't you dare speak his name, you filthy bitch!" Isabel's eyes were bloodshot, filled with a wild, manic rage. "He was perfectly fine before he met you! If anyone should die, it’s you!"

She stood up, her stiletto heel coming down hard on my fingers, grinding them into the concrete.

"Tomorrow, I'm bringing people over to see what kind of creature Wyatt has been keeping."

"I want everyone to see what you really are."

She patted her hair into place.

"Wash her up. Put her in something presentable."

"I want my friends to see exactly how cheap Wyatt’s little pet really is."