WICKED PARADISE | JENLISA

EIGHT

JENNIE
***

FATE HAD BEEN THE reason for my kidnapping and captivity. An awful version of karma that ensured I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, serendipity gave me a chance at freedom.

A perfectly choreographed moment that had no other explanation for its occurrence than divine intervention.

I’d been brought here because I’d been easy, silly prey. But I would leave because I’d grown wise and brave. I didn’t want to be a girl who had erotic dreams about her new lord and master. Who allowed her days to be filled with pampered promise. To forget she had a life before she’d become someone else’s.

I had to be honest with myself: I had a very limited amount of time to flee. Limited time before I lost myself, lost to her, lost to servitude.

And that time was already running out.
Every day, I grew more and more lulled by this existence she offered.

Every night, I curled up in a bed that’d become familiar, welcomed…home.

Stay any longer, and I’d forget that I wasn’t here of my own free will. I’d forget how I was snatched, degraded, traded, and delivered. I’d accept. I’d enjoy. I’d fall in love with the sand, the palms, the tiny parrots…and even…possibly…Lisa Manoban herself.

The veil between love and hate constantly tore in the battle of romance. And that thought began a wormhole of self-reflection, forcing me to admit that sometimes…for microseconds of connection, when Lisa stared at me, kissed me, and held me firm, my hate would stray into affection. My belly would flutter. Butterflies would become fireflies. Fireflies became moths. Moths became warnings clawing at my heart.

She blurred right and wrong.

She smudged yes and no.

She dazzled my senses until I didn’t trust myself anymore.

She was the real danger here.

And I was in danger of being the worst kind of idiot.

The stupidest type of girl.

I was in danger of actually liking her. Of not just lusting but liking. Of finding out her secrets. Of wanting more between us than owner and possession.

No.

It can’t happen.

I refuse!

My silent shouts were my one saving grace, delivering a single opportunity to escape.

I shot from my bed at four in the morning, my blood popping with fury and fear.

I couldn’t lie there and drown beneath such truth anymore. I needed to be outside. To breathe fresh air. To finally come up with a concrete solution to escape.

Wrapping a silk dressing gown with embroidered silver lilies around me, I slipped from my villa and headed down the sandy path. The lanterns still flickered with light, leading me through the darkness toward the main beach.

There, I plopped onto the sand beside the same bush where I’d eavesdropped on the goddesses and brought my knees up to rest my chin on.

The sun hadn’t made an appearance yet, but the stars slowly faded, yawning with fatigue, wrapping themselves up with swathes of midnight. No sea breeze. No waves licking. Just utter, bone-deep silence.

The quietness had a weight, heavy like a knitted blanket, cascading over my shoulders with comfort.

Where the stars twinkled was the direction of my escape.