It was Marcus’s personal assistant, a man named Thomas.

“Yes,” the guard said. “Where do you want her?”

“The study upstairs,” Thomas said. “Marcus is waiting.”

I was marched up a carpeted staircase.

My knees trembled with every step, but I forced myself to keep moving.

We stopped, and I heard the sound of a heavy wooden door clicking open.

I was pushed into a room, my knees hitting a soft rug.

The hood was violently yanked off my head.

The bright light of the room made me squint.

I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust my vision.

The room was a large, wood-paneled library.

A fire crackled in a large stone fireplace on the far wall.

Sitting in a leather armchair by the fire was Marcus.

He held a glass of amber liquid, his eyes fixed on me.

He looked exactly as he had the day I escaped him.

His hair was perfectly combed, and his tailored suit was immaculate.

“Hello, Arya,” he said softly.

He took a sip from his glass, a thin smile spreading across his face.

“You look tired.”