12. Annalise

12

ANNALISE

T he quiet stillness of my room shatters as the door creaks open, sending a jolt through my body. As I sit up in bed, my heart races with apprehension. A maid enters, her arms laden with a tray of food that sends wafts of delicious scents into the air. She pauses once she makes it inside, taking in my disheveled appearance, and her eyes widen in surprise.

This is the first person I’ve seen since I’ve been locked up in this room. Usually, when I wake up, there just happens to be a tray of food by my door—food I’ve yet to actually eat.

Maybe she’ll have some answers for me.

“Miss Tryst,” she stammers, quickly recovering her composure. “I-I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Come in,” I say, trying to sound calm despite my pounding heart. The tension in the room is palpable as she approaches cautiously, the delicate silverware on the tray clinking together like chimes.

“Your breakfast, Miss Tryst. The chef has prepared a fine spread for you,” she murmurs, glancing at me before averting her eyes.

Breakfast is the last thing on my mind.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling with fear and concern. “Tell me, are my children safe?”

The maid hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she glances at my pleading expression. She swallows hard, then diverts the conversation in a breathless voice. “Miss Tryst, you must be famished. Please, try some of this delicious breakfast.”

She places the tray of food on the bed, the aroma tantalizing my senses, but it does little to distract me from the burning question that threatens to consume me whole.

My fingers clench into fists, and I can feel my frustration bubbling beneath the surface, ready to erupt. I lock eyes with her. Is it that she doesn’t know the truth, or has she been instructed not to tell me?

“Tell me what happened to them,” I demand, my voice growing sharper with each word. “I won’t rest until I know they’re safe.”

“You haven’t been eating.” She’s ignoring me. “I figured that maybe it was because you wanted a bit of company. I can only imagine how lonely you might be.” She offers me a kind smile, but I can see right through her.

My chest tightens. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, I hate to hear that. If it’s the food, I’ll have you know that the chef happens to be one of the best in the country. He can make you whatever you’d like. Just tell me something, and I’ll get him to make it for you.”

She can’t be serious.

I take a deep breath, struggling to contain my irritation. The mention of food does nothing to satisfy my hunger for answers, and her attempt to distract me only fuels my determination. I force a smile, my lips barely curving upward. “That’s lovely,” I say, my tone icy. “But that’s not what I’m looking for, right now.”

The maid fidgets with the hem of her apron, her fingers trembling slightly. She seems to be at a loss. I know she must understand how important this is to me, yet she continues to evade my questions.

“Please,” I whisper, my eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I need to know they’re safe.”

“Miss Tryst, I—” she stammers, her face paling as she struggles to find the right words.

“Enough,” I snap, my voice sharp and unforgiving. “This isn’t a game. My children’s lives could be in danger, and all you’re doing is avoiding the question.”

Her eyes widen, and I can see the fear flicker behind them. She knows she has backed herself into a corner, but it doesn’t bring me any satisfaction. I want answers, not fear. My hands clench into fists at my sides, knuckles turning white as I fight to maintain control over my emotions.

“Miss Tryst,” the maid murmurs, “I understand your concern, but I’m not the one who can help you with that.”

But you know something.

My heart pounds in my chest as I stare the maid down, my voice unwavering. “I won’t ask again. Where are my daughters?”

Her eyes dart around the room. She opens her mouth to speak but hesitates, as if trying to decide whether it’s worth the risk.

“Please, Miss Tryst,” she whispers, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I want to help you, but I can’t, not with that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I challenge, stepping closer to her until we’re practically nose-to-nose.

“I—” she begins, her voice barely audible.

“Speak up!” I demand, my eyes blazing with determination. “Tell me what you know.”

“Miss Tryst, I…” she tries again, but her voice falters under the weight of my anger.

“Answer my question!” I demand once more, my voice laced with anguish and frustration. But the maid remains tight-lipped, her eyes wide with fear.

A sudden surge of desperation courses through me, igniting a fire in my veins. Without another word, I grab the edge of the tray and send it flying across the room. Plates and cutlery crash to the floor with a deafening clatter, food splattering against the pristine walls.

“Please,” I plead, my throat raw with emotion. “Just tell me where they are.”

The maid stumbles backward, her eyes wide with shock and terror. She must think I’ve completely lost my mind—I can hardly blame her. Maybe I have. Being isolated in a room will do that to a person.

“Miss Tryst, I—” she chokes out, but her voice trembles, unable to form the words I so desperately need to hear.

“Is it really so hard to tell me the truth?” I ask, though it comes out more as a sob than a question. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to not know if your own flesh and blood are safe?”

She hesitates, her gaze darting between me and the door, as if weighing her options. Then, in a split second, she makes her choice. With a gasp, the maid turns on her heel and flees from the room.

“Wait!” I cry out, right after her. I’m not as fast as I used to be…likely from a lack of food.

I reach the door just as she’s trying to get it closed and push on it while she does the same from the other side. I know that if she closes it, she’ll lock it, and when she does, I’ll be left here…again. I can’t let that happen.

“Please, just tell me if my daughters are safe!” I shout, desperation creeping into my voice.

No response.

My hands grasp the edge of the door, fighting to keep it open as the maid pushes back with surprising force. “I won’t let you lock me in here like a prisoner! I need to know they’re okay!”

As the struggle continues, our breaths come in ragged gasps, the air heavy with tension and fear. The door groans under the pressure of our efforts, the sound mirroring the ache in my heart.

“Please,” I whisper one last time, my voice breaking as the weight of it all threatens to crush me. “Please help me save them.”

“I’m sorry,” are the only words she says. In that split second, the maid summons her strength and delivers a final, powerful push. The door slams shut, and I hear the click of the lock as it seals me out. Her victory is swift and merciless.

“NO!” I scream, my fists pounding against the cold, unyielding wood of the door. “Don’t you dare leave me in here!”

My voice breaks into desperate sobs, the anguished cries echoing through the room like the tolling of a funeral bell. The pain is unbearable, a crushing weight on my chest, stealing my breath away.

“Please,” I gasp between sobs. “I need to find them. They’re all I have.”

But there’s no answer from the other side of the door, only silence—a deafening, mocking void that feeds my mounting despair.

Bitter tears stream down my cheeks, their hot tracks burning like acid against my skin. I slide to the floor, my legs giving way beneath me, my body trembling with a volatile mixture of fear, frustration, and a deep, profound longing to be reunited with my daughters.

I sit on the bed, my back pressed against the cold wall. My legs are drawn tightly to my chest, arms wrapped around them. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, staring straight at the wall.

“Annalise.” Nikhil’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, startling me. He enters the room, leaving the door open behind him. My eyes flit to the open door, and he catches me. “You can leave if you want, but you won’t know where your children are.”

His words grab hold of me, freezing me in place. I can’t leave without knowing where my daughters are, but staying with these men feels like a trap I may never escape. My thoughts race, trying to come up with a plan, but every idea ends in failure.

It’s not worth the risk where Franny and Gina are concerned.

Nikhil’s imposing figure towers over me, his icy gaze piercing through my soul. “You really scared Portia.” Portia? That must be the maid. “She wanted to cheer you up, and you ran her off.”

“Portia wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

“And what truth are you looking for?” He already knows the answer to that. He’s toying with me.

“Where are my daughters?” I demand, refusing to let fear consume me.

“Annalise.” His voice is cold, almost robotic. “You haven’t eaten or taken care of yourself in days. If you continue like this, you will die. Is that what you want?”

His words hit me like a slap in the face, but I refuse to cower. All I can think of are my precious girls, held captive somewhere beyond these walls. “No,” I snap, my voice laced with anger and desperation. “I just want to be with my children.”

“You can’t do that if you’re dead.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I laugh, but it lacks amusement, and I summon just enough strength to spit on the ground beside his feet. The truth is that there’s only one way for him to hurt me now…and that’s through my kids. “I’d rather die.”

Nikhil looks far from pleased, but remains composed. “If you want to know about your daughters, I’d suggest you reconsider.”

My nose twitches. I don’t want to be anywhere near this man, but if that’s what it takes to get the information I need.

“Fine.” I give in.

“And you’ll actually eat. You’re not going to starve yourself. You look like crap.”

“I wonder why,” I say sarcastically, my voice low.

Nikhil hears me but doesn’t say anything. My body tenses as he approaches me, an instinctive resistance flaring up. But before I can back away, he grips my arm firmly and guides me forcefully into the bathroom.

He releases me, stepping back as he flips on the bathroom light switch. The harsh fluorescent lights illuminate the polished tiles and gleaming surfaces of the walk-in shower. I’m just now realizing that I’ve never turned the light on when I’ve had to use the bathroom.

He turns the water on, adjusting the temperature until steam begins to rise from the shower floor.

“Get in,” he orders, positioning himself just inside the entrance to prevent any attempt at escape.

“Are you seriously going to stand there while I shower?” I ask incredulously, trying to mask my discomfort with anger.

“I’m just making sure you get in.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sensing he won’t leave, I begin to undress myself. I should be nervous about him seeing my naked body, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

I step into the shower without even sparing him a glance. As the water courses over my skin, washing away days of grime and despair, I can’t help but feel a sense of renewal. But that feeling is quickly overshadowed by the presence of Nikhil, his watchful gaze reminding me that I’m far from free.

Through the haze of steam and the pounding water, I catch Nikhil’s gaze lingering on my body, his eyes tracing every curve and angle. I feel my nipples harden under his intense scrutiny, betraying my arousal despite my best efforts to remain detached.

“Can’t you at least give me some privacy?” I snap, trying to cover myself with my hands.

“I can,” he says. “But I don’t want to.”

His words send shivers down my spine, but I refuse to let him see how much he affects me. Instead, I focus on scrubbing the grime from my body. “You could at least close the door.” I gesture to the walk-in shower door.

My heart races as I watch Nikhil reach out toward me, his fingers grazing my hardened nipple. A moan escapes my lips as my body involuntarily leans into his touch. The intimacy of the moment is a stark reminder of just how vulnerable I am right now.

And just how lonely I’ve been the last few…however long I’ve been here.

The steam engulfs us, the heat intensifying the tension that hangs heavy between us. Nikhil’s eyes are filled with a mixture of desire and frustration as he abruptly releases me.

“Finish your shower,” he barks, his voice strained. “And make it quick.”

With that, he closes the door. I hear the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut behind him, and I’m left alone, trembling in the hot spray of the shower.

My heart races, and I can’t help but feel my own conflicting desires for this enigmatic man. He’s the reason I’m here, the reason I don’t know where my children are. And yet, there’s an undeniable connection between us, one that threatens to consume me even in this vulnerable moment.

I press my hands against the cool tiles, steadying myself against the onslaught of emotions raging within me. The water cascades down my back, soothing my muscles while my mind races with a thousand questions.

“Dammit, Annalise,” I mutter under my breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Focus on what matters. Your daughters need you.”

But as much as I try to push away the thoughts of Nikhil and the intensity of our encounter, they persist, lingering in the back of my mind like an unrelenting shadow.

“Get out of my head,” I whisper, though I know it’s futile. A part of me craves the danger and excitement that comes with being near him. It’s as if some dark force is drawing us together, despite the danger it poses to my heart and my resolve.

As I stand there, the water pouring over me, I make a silent promise to myself. I will not let Nikhil Volkov break me. I will find my daughters and escape this twisted web that entangles us.

But for now, I must play his game, no matter how dangerous it may be.