My mind screams for my body to move, to fight, to run, but nothing responds. Not my fingers, not my toes—not even my eyelids obey. I’m a passenger in my own body, fully aware but utterly powerless as Sebastian carries me from the house to his car, which is parked around the back. His athletically lithe arms feel repulsive around me—an unwanted intimacy that makes my skin crawl, but I can’t physically recoil.
He places me in the passenger seat with disturbing gentleness, buckling my seatbelt as if I’m precious cargo. His fingers linger at my collarbone, brushing against my skin as his sharp silver eyes drink me in.
How did I not see this?
How did I not spot the silent psychopath in my socially awkward stepbrother?
Five years in college couldn’t prepare me for this twisted horror story. I pray to fuck I don’t end up on a Netflix documentary—one which I’ll never see because I’m six-feet under the ground.
He gets into the driver’s side and pats my bare thigh where my dress has hitched up. Nausea rises within me.
‘The drug will wear off in a couple of hours,’ he explains as he slides into the seat. His voice has changed—no longer the awkward, erudite stepbrother I barely acknowledge at rare family gatherings. This voice is confident, possessive. ‘If you’re a good girl and cooperate, I won’t have to dose you again. I don’t want to, Avery. I want you awake. Present. With me. That’s where you belong. But if it takes months of keeping you docile like this, then I’ll do it.’
I try to scream, to lift a finger, to do anything. Nothing happens. Panic claws at my chest, but I can do nothing except watch and try to work out where the fuck he’s taking me. He starts the car, leaving his hand on my bare skin as we drive into the distance. His thumb traces small circles and the urge to vomit consumes me.
‘Our parents thought they found true love. The real love story in this family is ours.’ His thumb inches higher. Why didn’t I wear trousers today? I feel horrifically violated, and he’s barely even begun.
Sebastian continues, one hand on the wheel. ‘Remember the first time we met? You were sixteen. Your father—brought you to our house to introduce us before he proposed to my mother.’
I do remember, vaguely. A forgettable meeting with the awkward, skinny son of the woman my father ran off with. I’d barely looked at him, too angry with all of them to care.
‘You were wearing a sundress with calla lilies printed on it. Black ones, against white fabric.’ His voice softens with the memory. ‘You were so stunning, even then. Young, but stunning. I knew then. I knew we were meant to be together. It made it easier overhearing your father grunt and pant on top of my mother every night, knowing that I would have the last laugh. That his daughter would be in my arms, in my bed, and her body would be mine.’
He’s even more deranged than I can comprehend. I try to move again, but nothing. My mind wanders to Killian. He had more of the brandy—or whatever it was—than me. If anything happens to him, so help me, I will bide my time and kill this twisted motherfucker in his sleep.
‘I was at college then, of course. You were too young. I knew I needed to wait, to give you time to grow up, to become the woman you were meant to be.’ He speaks as if reading from a love story, not describing years of stalking. ‘I promised myself I’d build a life worthy of you. That I’d earn enough to give you everything you deserve. And I have, my darling. Wait until you see the tower I’ve built for you.’
Oh my god. If Killian doesn’t find me, I might have to fling myself from it. There’s no way I can stay with this delusional bastard.
‘You pretended not to notice me, of course. At our parents’ wedding. It would have been inappropriate. I brought Yvonne so no one would suspect my feelings for you. She was merely the means to an end. I loved you from the second I saw you. I know you felt it too.’ A hint of bitterness creeps into Sebastian’s voice. ‘But then you started parading yourself around at that disgusting club. You lost your way.’
He exhales heavily, snatches his hand from my thigh and grips the steering wheel so tightly his fingers turn white. Fear floods my stomach. The silence is almost worse than the deranged love story he crafted.
We drive through the city, then onto smaller roads, then winding coastal lanes. My paralysed body slides slightly with each turn, and Sebastian reaches over to adjust me. I count each touch, each violation, storing them away as fuel for when I can finally move again.
Through the windscreen, it’s clear we’re heading up the coast, away from Dublin, away from Killian. Oh God, Killian. Please, please, please, find me.
‘When you weren’t unnerved by the first few lilies, I knew that you understood the significance of them, that somewhere deep in your subconscious, you remembered the sundress and the day we met. I booked that trip to St. Barths to surprise you. To propose to you. Then Beckett bulldozed in and tried to take you from me. Tried to ruin everything I’d ever worked for.’
The car turns onto a narrow, bumpy track that jostles my limp body. Sebastian steadies me, his hand on my thigh again. I’m going to be sick. And I can’t even move to vomit, which means I’ll probably choke on it and die. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
‘I watched you, though. I watched you finish college. I was so proud when you got your psychology doctorate. I was so sure you’d finish at that hellhole club. And then you went on to betray me again, baring what’s mine to the world.’ He tuts in disgust.
The sea comes into view, grey-blue and angry in the winter light. And there, standing stark against the horizon, is a lighthouse. Old, stone, isolated on a rocky outcrop that’s barely connected to the mainland.
‘It’s okay, though, princess. You can spend the rest of your life making it up to me. Your body is for my eyes only now. For my pleasure alone, and for yours. We’re going to be so happy together.’
I stare straight ahead as he drives silently for another forty minutes. Finally, we slow to a stop outside the abandoned lighthouse. It looms above us, tall and imposing–and utterly remote. No other structures in sight. No neighbours. No witnesses.
‘Home sweet home,’ Sebastian says, a note of pride in his voice. ‘I’ve spent years preparing it for us. You’ll love it once you see it properly.’
He exits the car and comes around to my side, lifting me into his arms again.
‘I know it seems extreme,’ he continues as he carries me up a winding stone path. ‘But Beckett left me no choice. The way he touched you, the way he looked at you… The way he violated you in front of his men… He doesn’t deserve you, Avery. He doesn’t know you like I do.’
The door creaks open, and warm air rushes out. Inside, the lighthouse is nothing like I expected. It’s been entirely renovated, transformed into a modern home. Plush rugs over polished wood floors. Expensive furniture. There’s even a Christmas tree decorated in silver and white standing in the circular main room. My eyes drift to the walls, and my blood turns to ice. Dozens of framed photographs line the space—family portraits, vacation snapshots, wedding pictures—all featuring Sebastian and me together. Except we were never together. He’s meticulously photoshopped himself into moments of my life with disturbing precision—standing beside me at my graduation, arm around my waist, at my birthday dinner last year in Paris, even at Scarlett’s wedding on the beach at St. Barths. The images are so perfectly edited that at first glance, they look genuine—a curated history of a relationship that never existed. The physical manifestation of his delusion hangs on the wall like a shrine. It’s beyond unsettling.
‘Surprise,’ Sebastian whispers against my hair as he carries me inside. ‘I’ve thought of everything. And we have an off-grid power system. Satellite internet. Enough supplies to last months if needed. No one will ever find us here.’
He lays me carefully on a sofa, positioning me so I can see the room. My eyes dart frantically, taking in potential weapons, exits, anything that might help when I can move again.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he says, kneeling beside me, stroking the smooth hand across my cheek. I can’t even flinch. ‘You’re wondering if Beckett will find you. He won’t. No one knows about this place. I bought it through a shell corporation years ago. On paper, it doesn’t even exist.’
He leans closer, his face inches from mine. ‘Plans change, but destiny doesn’t, Avery. We were always meant to be together. And soon, you’ll see it too.’
The certainty in his voice sends ice through my veins. As he moves away to adjust the lighting, my mind races to Killian. Please be okay. Please find me. Please.
Because the way Sebastian is looking at me makes me certain of one thing: he has no intention of ever letting me go.
