CHAPTER SEVEN

He claims me twice more during the night, leaving me so sore by morning that I feel utterly raw. The number of times I’ve climaxed has blurred together, lost in the haze of exhaustion.

Sometime after sunrise, he leaves. I’m so depleted I don’t even notice his departure, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I finally wake, it’s already well past noon.

I drag myself out of bed, brushing my teeth before stepping into the shower. As the water streams over me, I spot dried traces of his release on my thighs. Once again, he hadn’t used protection.

The thought of STDs creeps into my mind. Does Lucifer even consider the risk? He probably assumes there’s no danger from me, given my lack of experience. But I can’t help worrying about what I might catch from him. Raising my arm, I glance at the faint mark where my birth control implant resides. My mom’s paranoia about teenage pregnancies has never felt more like a blessing. Without it, the consequences would be unthinkable.

As soon as I leave the bathroom, Daphne enters my room, balancing a tray of food and another set of clothes. This time, the meal is more traditional: a vegetable and cheese omelet, a slice of toast, and fresh tropical fruit.

She greets me with an overly bright smile, clearly determined to pretend the fork incident never happened. “Good morning,” she says, her tone annoyingly chipper.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Good morning to you too,” I reply, lacing my words with sarcasm.

Her smile widens as if she’s completely unfazed. “Oh, don’t be such a grump. Lucifer says you’re allowed out of your room today. Isn’t that nice?”

It is, actually. The chance to explore this prison might offer an opportunity. If this really is an island, maybe there are others here—people who might be willing to help me.

Or perhaps I’ll find a phone or computer. Just one text or email to my parents could lead to the police getting involved. Rescue might finally be within reach.

At the thought of my family, my chest tightens painfully, and tears sting my eyes. They must be frantic, not knowing if I’m alive or dead. As their only child, I know how deeply they’d be grieving. My mom always said she wouldn’t survive losing me. I pray she didn’t mean that literally.

I hate him.

And I hate the woman standing before me, smiling as if none of this is wrong.

“Sure, Daphne,” I say coldly, wanting to wipe that smug grin off her face. “It’s always such a pleasure to swap one cage for another.”

She rolls her eyes, settling into a chair. “You’re so dramatic,” she remarks lightly. “Just eat, and I’ll show you around.”

I consider refusing to eat, just to spite her, but my hunger wins out. Reluctantly, I finish everything on the tray.

"Where’s Lucifer?" I ask between bites, genuinely curious about how he spends his days. So far, I’ve only seen him in the evenings.

"He’s working," Daphne replies smoothly. "He has a lot of business matters that demand his attention."

"What kind of business matters?"

She shrugs casually. "All kinds."

"Is he a criminal?" I ask bluntly.

She laughs, as though I’ve just told the funniest joke. "Why would you think that?"

"Maybe because he kidnapped me?"

Her laughter grows, as if my question only amuses her further. She shakes her head, smiling like I’m some naïve child.

The urge to lash out at her burns inside me, but I hold back. I need to gather as much information as I can before I do anything rash. Losing what little freedom I have right now would only hurt my chances of escape.

Instead, I rise from my seat and fix her with a cold stare. "I’m ready to go."

"Then put on a swimsuit," she says, gesturing to the clothes she brought, "and we’ll head out."

Before we leave, Daphne takes me on a tour of the house. It’s expansive and tastefully decorated, with modern designs accented by subtle tropical and Asian influences. The color scheme is predominantly light, though bold splashes of color catch my eye—a crimson vase here, a vibrant blue dragon sculpture there.

There are four bedrooms: three upstairs and one on the ground floor. The kitchen, located on the first floor, is particularly impressive, with state-of-the-art appliances and gleaming granite countertops.

We pass by a closed door that Daphne identifies as Lucifer’s office. "This is where he handles his business," she explains. "No one is allowed in there except him." Her tone makes it clear the room is strictly off-limits.

After the house tour, Daphne spends the next two hours showing me the island. It’s undeniably isolated, just as she said.

The island itself is small—only about two miles across and a mile wide. According to Daphne, we’re somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, with the nearest inhabited land more than five hundred miles away. She repeats this detail more than once, likely hoping to discourage any thoughts I might have about attempting to swim to freedom.

I wouldn’t try swimming; I’m not a strong swimmer, nor am I reckless enough to risk my life like that.

Stealing a boat, however, is a different story.

We ascend to the highest point on the island, a small mountain—or a large hill, depending on how one defines it. The view from the top is breathtaking, with endless bright blue water stretching as far as the eye can see. On one side of the island, the water takes on a vivid turquoise hue. Daphne points out that it’s a shallow cove, perfect for snorkeling.

Lucifer’s house is the only residence on the island. It’s perched on one side of the mountain, slightly elevated and set back from the beach.

“This is the most protected spot on the island,” Daphne explains, gesturing toward the house. “It’s shielded from strong winds and the ocean. The house has weathered several typhoons with minimal damage.”

I nod absently, pretending to care. I have no intention of sticking around for the next typhoon—or for much longer at all. The fire to escape burns fiercely inside me. During the house tour, I hadn’t seen any phones or computers, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

If Lucifer conducts business from here, there’s definitely internet access. And if they’re foolish enough to give me the freedom to roam, I’ll find a way to connect to the outside world.

We end the tour at the beach near the house.

“Feel like swimming?” Daphne asks, peeling off her shorts and T-shirt to reveal a blue bikini underneath. Her body is lean and toned, almost athletic.

Her figure is so impressive that I find myself wondering about her age. Her body could belong to someone in their teens, but her face tells a different story.

“How old are you?” I ask bluntly. Normally, I’d never be so rude, but I don’t care if I offend her. Social niceties seem irrelevant when you’re being held captive by lunatics.

She smiles, unfazed by the question. “I’m thirty-seven.”

“And Lucifer?”

“He’s twenty-nine.”

“Are you two lovers?” The question escapes me without thought. There’s no indication she’s jealous of my current role as Lucifer’s toy, but I can’t stop myself from asking.

Daphne laughs lightly. “No, we’re not.”

“Why not?” I press, astonished by my own brazenness. I’ve always been polite, taught to mind my manners, but there’s something oddly freeing about not caring. For once, I don’t feel the need to appease anyone—especially not her.

Her laughter fades, and she turns to me with a serious expression. “Because I’m not what Lucifer needs or desires.”

“And what is that?” I press, intrigued.

“You’ll find out someday,” she replies cryptically before stepping into the water.

I watch her go, curiosity gnawing at me, but she offers no further explanation. Instead, she dives in gracefully, her strokes smooth and practiced.

The heat of the sun beats down on me, the soft white sand warm beneath my feet. The water sparkles invitingly, its coolness beckoning me to join.

I want to loathe this place, to despise everything about my situation, yet I can’t deny the island’s breathtaking beauty.

Daphne doesn’t seem intent on forcing me to swim, leaving the choice up to me. But the idea of relaxing at the beach while my family is likely distraught over my disappearance feels wrong—almost selfish.

Still, the pull of the ocean is irresistible. I’ve always been drawn to the sea, even though my visits to tropical paradises have been rare. As much as I resent my captivity, this island is stunning, a slice of paradise owned by a serpent.

After a moment of indecision, I slip off my dress and sandals. Denying myself this small pleasure feels futile. I understand my precarious position here all too well.

At any moment, things could change. Lucifer and Daphne could lock me away, starve me, or worse. Their current civility might not last, and I refuse to squander what little freedom I’ve been given.

So I surrender to the moment, stepping into the ocean. The water soothes me, easing my fear and cooling the fiery anger churning within.

We alternate between swimming and lying on the warm sand, the waves lapping at our feet. I ask no more questions, and Daphne seems perfectly content with the silence.

For two hours, we stay on the beach, basking in the sun and the calm. Finally, we gather ourselves and head back to the house.