The Mute Bride's Secret Billionaire Contract

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind Arnulfo, the sound of the shower started-a heavy, aggressive spray.

Erline moved.

Adrenaline cut through the fog of the drugs. She scrambled to the foot of the bed where a grey dress lay folded. It was modest, high-necked, the color of wet pavement. She didn't care. She pulled it on, her hands shaking so badly she fumbled the zipper twice.

She grabbed the tablet. It was her only link to the outside world.

She ran to the bedroom door. Her hand gripped the cold brass handle. She held her breath, expecting it to be locked. She pushed down.

It clicked open.

Hope, wild and desperate, surged in her chest. She slipped into the hallway.

The corridor was vast, lined with dark wood paneling. The art on the walls was disturbing-abstract faces twisted in silent screams, painted in violent reds and blacks. It felt like walking through a nightmare.

She ran toward where she assumed the stairs were. She turned a sharp corner and slammed into a wall of solid flesh.

Erline bounced back, falling onto the runner carpet. She looked up.

A woman stood there. She was in her fifties, wearing a stiff, black housekeeper's uniform. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it pulled at the corners of her eyes. This was Mrs. Higgins.

Higgins looked down at Erline, her lip curling in a sneer. "This one is trying to run already?"

Erline scrambled to her feet, trying to sidestep the woman. Higgins reached out, her fingers like talons, and clamped onto Erline's wrist. Her grip was bruising.

"Mr. Bond is bathing. You are not permitted to wander."

Erline pulled back, panic rising. She couldn't speak. She couldn't scream. She opened her mouth and, in a fit of desperation, snapped her teeth toward Higgins' hand.

Higgins yelped and let go, but the reaction was immediate. She swung her hand, a heavy, open-palmed slap aimed at Erline's face.

Erline ducked. The hand missed her cheek but caught her shoulder, sending her stumbling back into the wall.

"Enough."

The voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a gavel strike.

Erline froze. Arnulfo stood in the doorway of the master bedroom. He was wearing a white bathrobe, open at the chest. His hair was wet, dripping water onto the dark wood floor.

Higgins' demeanor changed instantly. She bowed her head, her voice dripping with false subservience. "Sir. The Madam was lost."

Arnulfo ignored the housekeeper completely. He walked toward Erline, his bare feet silent on the carpet.

He didn't look angry. He looked bored. He pulled a smartphone from his robe pocket.

"Watch," he said.

He tapped a single button on the screen. It was red and labeled LOCKDOWN.

A mechanical whirring sound filled the hallway. At the end of the corridor, heavy black titanium shutters began to descend over the floor-to-ceiling windows. Clang. Clang. Clang. The sound was final. The daylight was choked out, replaced by the artificial glow of the sconces.

A red light pulsed above the stairwell door.

The estate hadn't just been locked. It had been sealed. It was a fortress. A prison.

Erline stared at the shutters, her chest heaving.

Arnulfo stepped closer, backing her into the wall. He smelled of cedarwood soap and rain.

"There are no exits, Verity."

He held up his phone again. He swiped to a photo. It was grainy, taken from a distance. A woman in a hospital gown sat on a bench, staring at a blank wall. Her back was to the camera.

"That was number eight," Arnulfo said casually. "She liked to run, too. Now she resides in a facility in Zurich. She drools on herself mostly."

He swiped the screen off and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"You are number nine. I would prefer not to send you to Switzerland. The paperwork is tedious."

Erline's legs shook. This wasn't a threat of violence; it was a threat of erasure. He could make her disappear, and the world would thank him for paying her medical bills.

"Go to the dining room," Arnulfo said. "Don't make me say it twice."

Higgins stepped aside, gesturing to the stairs with a mock-polite sweep of her arm, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

Erline pushed herself off the wall. She kept her head down, sliding past Arnulfo. She felt the heat radiating from his body.

As she passed him, he reached out. She flinched.

He adjusted the collar of her grey dress, smoothing a wrinkle with his thumb.

"Grey suits you," he murmured. "Insignificant. Like dust."

Erline ran. She took the stairs two at a time, fleeing the monster and his keeper.