I went over to the bed and looked at the dress. I was so focused on my phone that I didn't think about why the maid asked me to get ready for dinner. Do I even need to change? It's just dinner. My gut feeling tells me it's like one of those movie scenes where you go down the stairs, see the male lead all dressed up and looking at you with a small smile on his lips. But the plot twist for me is that Dylan isn't that type, and besides, we aren't even linked like that. I'm a hostage and an agent for him.
Even if this was one of those movies, which it never will be, my sentiments for Dylan are fixed: I despise him. The only reason I fear him is because he is extremely powerful and can damage me like he did when I was just 17.
So much for a good guy.
I looked at the dress on the bed. It was a sundress, its vibrant yellow hue brightening the entire space. The dress was off-shoulder, with the neckline curving gracefully, ready to reveal a hint of collarbone. The lightweight fabric was spread out, showing how it would gently hug the waist before flowing into a playful, knee-length skirt.
Right beside the dress, there was a note that read, "Hope you like the dress, Dana." Unknowingly, my lips curved into a slight smile because I did like the dress. It was gorgeous. Now I felt that if I went down, I would see him, because who leaves a note like this and then does not show up, right?
But it's not like a date; it's more like a small kidnapping. Now I had no option but to find out what was going on, so I decided to get changed into the dress. I picked it up and went to the bathroom to change and wash my face. When I entered the bathroom, it was more massive than I imagined. It looked very expensive. The vanity looked really neat, and the marble floor was exquisite.
I saw a hair straightener, curler, and some makeup products placed on the vanity. Well, doesn't this already confirm that something is going on?
I know he is downstairs, and if he wants to see the real me, sure. I'll show him what I look like now. Nothing to get attached to, though; just a pleasant view to gaze upon.
I started undressing and then slipped into the sundress. Just as I expected, it fit perfectly. The fabric hugged my waist beautifully, accentuating my figure, and then flowed gracefully into a soft, puffy skirt that ended at my knees. The skirt swayed gently with each movement, adding a touch of whimsical elegance to the overall look.
I then started to remove my wig and looked at my real hair, which was tied up in a bun. I untied it and let my soft, wavy hair fall. I brushed it slowly and then took a second to look at myself, my real self.
I finished getting ready, applying a soft layer of blush to my cheeks before changing into my outfit. Checking the door once more, I was surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping outside the room, I made my way down the staircase. As I descended, our eyes met. His intense gaze locked onto mine as he walked inside, coming to a stop and continuing to look at me. I froze, my hand gripping the railing tightly, feeling a slight dryness in my throat.
Dylan was adorned in an all-black suit. Every inch of the fabric was stitched to the exact millimeter of his body. It fit him impeccably, molding to his muscular arms, trimmed waist, and thick thighs.
Dylan's presence, cloaked in the black suit, seemed to intensify rather than diminish the aura of darkness surrounding him. He exuded a powerful, almost otherworldly energy, akin to Hades emerging from the underworld itself. His gaze, one eye nearly white and marked by a wicked scar, the other deep and almost black, held a mesmerizing and unsettling contrast. It was a combination that felt forged in the depths of Hell, hinting at a depth of experience and perhaps a turbulent past that echoed through his demeanor.
I walked down slowly, tearing my gaze apart from his. He walked closer to me and offered me his hand to hold as I took the last few steps down.
I refused it and walked down on my own. He put his hand in his pocket and instantly walked up to me and said, "You look beautiful," he whispered, looking at me intensely. Then he tore his eyes away from me and walked further inside the hallway. His guards stopped behind him.
I followed him, unsure what else to do, as he led me into a large dining hall. The walls were covered in black with complex golden designs on each one, each design unique from the next. It provided a startling contrast, with the blackness of the walls highlighted by the shimmering gold, creating an atmosphere of wealth and mystery throughout the space.
I sat down at the far end of the table, and Dylan took his seat at the head. The maids started serving dinner, and I kept my gaze slightly lowered. When I looked at him, I found that he was already looking at me.
His gaze grew darker, and his lips curved into a sly smile. He gestured for the maids to start serving dinner, which they did eagerly. My eyes darted between him and the maids, unsure of what to make of his sudden change in demeanor.
As they began serving the food, the silence between Dylan and me was finally broken by his voice. "Enjoy," he said, his cold expression softening just a fraction.
I nodded silently, trying to gauge his intentions from his subtle gestures and the way he watched me as I began to eat. The tension in the room was palpable, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his invitation than just dinner. Dylan's unpredictability made me uneasy, yet I couldn't deny the curiosity building within me.
"What do you think of the place? Are you comfortable staying for a few days?" he asked, slicing his steak and taking a bite.
"I don't like the idea of my room being locked from the outside," I replied sharply.
"Well, I figured you might enjoy a little cat-and-mouse game, but I wasn't in the mood. If you agree to stay, you're free to roam the house and grounds as you please," he said, his eyes never leaving me.
I took a bite of salad, nodding slightly. "I have no intention of you chasing me around. I'll stay put; I don't want to cause more trouble right now," I said, feeling my eyes grow heavy.
"That's a wise decision. The more you cooperate, the better it will be for you, Ruth," he said.
"What will happen to me when all of this is over? When you get what you want—the information, the revenge against Orgetsev?" I asked, my voice trembling with the weight of my thoughts.
"You can run free. I'll make sure Marcs or anyone like him won't ever get to you again," he said, his eyes now burning with intensity.
"Yeah, because I can totally trust you, right?" I let out my frustration.
"If you didn't, you wouldn't have joined me for dinner. Deep down, beneath all the hate, you know you can trust me—not as a friend, but as an ally," he replied calmly.
I stayed silent for the rest of dinner. I had already spoken to him more than I had planned. Because, deep down, he was right. Somewhere in the haze, the little girl inside me felt safe around Dylan. When the storm calmed, I felt a slight attraction to him. There was something about the way he looked at me as I walked down the staircase, the way our eyes locked—it was definitely more than just a movie scene.
I guess I felt safe around Dylan because I knew he was really powerful, and I could stay safe for a while before stepping out into the wild again. It's been a long time since I've felt this way, but it's still very confusing.
I'm scared of him.
He is a devil.
He tried hurting me.
He took advantage of me.
He bullied me.
But even after knowing what I did, he didn't kill me. He could have, but he didn't. Well, that's because he needed me to get to Dustin.
Nothing else.
Nothing more.
But even devils need a second chance. We were teenagers then; most guys at that age were full of ego and bravado.
Ruth, that's enough. Stop thinking and just go upstairs and hit the bed now.
I snapped out of my thoughts and stood up, ready to leave the room, when Dylan looked away from his phone and said, "So, no good night, Ruth?" He stood up as well and smiled a little.
Damn, that smile makes me weak. Why now?
"I'll walk you to your room. Come," he said blankly.
"It's okay, I can walk there on my own," I replied.
"I didn't offer to pick you up in my arms and carry you there. I just said I'll walk you since you're staying across from my room. Or, if you prefer, I can carry you. Bridal style or over my shoulder?" he chuckled, letting out a slight, notorious laugh.
"Shut up. I prefer neither," I retorted, walking out of the dining room and heading up the stairs.
I felt him walking up the stairs right behind me. As I was about to turn left and head to my room, I heard his raspy, deep voice say, "Good night, Dana."
I looked at him and softly replied, "Good night, Mr. Fynder."
I went to my room and changed into the soft, silky pink robes that had been placed on the bed for me. Once I was comfortable, I got into bed, scrolling through my phone. I thought about telling Lucas what was going on and apologizing to him.
After sending him about 10 texts I closed my eyes and then fell into a deep and comfortable slumber.