Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
The humid room buzzed with hidden sprinklers and small insects. It was as if they trapped a tropical summer within a bitter tundra. “I suppose this is where the flowers come from.”
“And the produce.” She pointed past the archway lined with draping wisteria. “There are more gardens that way. Everything we serve is farm-to-table, regardless of the season.”
Marigold leaned forward, angling her head to see the next room, but trusted Katya’s word. An awkward silence expanded between them. She folded her hands on her lap, no doubt wondering what they might have in common.
“Why did you escape the facility?” Katya finally asked. “Was it simply because you didn’t want to be locked away, or were there other reasons.”
“There were other reasons.” A knowing look passed between them.
Katya nodded. “I was sent away, too. But I had a choice in the matter.”
“How long?” she asked gently then said, “Do you mind talking about it?”
“I don’t mind. Six months. It was a private facility in Switzerland. Very discreet, very exclusive.” Katya’s laugh held no humor. “My brothers wanted the best care money could buy for their broken little sister.”
“You’re not broken.”
The words came out with more force than Marigold had intended, but she didn’t regret them.
She’d heard that particular lie too many times, had it whispered in her ear by orderlies who thought emotional damage was something that dehumanized a soul, as if her values could be medicated away.
“You sound like my brothers.”
“Well, that’s because I hear it from them too.”
“Before... everything... I used to love the gatherings,” Katya said softly. “Not here—my brothers kept me away from their business. But I’d attend the masquerades on Isola Verde.” Her laugh was bitter. “Their parties were beautiful on the surface. Venetian masks sipping poisoned wines, secrets traded like currency.”
“You’ve been to the other islands?”
“Most of them. The Nakamura gardens are actually stunning if you visit during the right season. And Björnholm is beautiful when it’s not hunting season. The Björn family has a daughter my age. Was my age. She doesn’t speak anymore.” Katya’s fingers trembled on her book. “That’s what these islands do. They take things from you piece by piece until you’re not sure what’s left. My brother’s never wanted that sort of crime here. They take pride in making sure every guest abides their rules.”
Marigold lowered her gaze. “Until Jordan.”
“Your brother was never meant to be here. Hunter will never forgive himself for allowing him through the doors. But it was my fault for venturing out of my wing during a party.”
“None of this was your fault.”
Katya visibly drew in a deep breath, but remained outwardly calm. “It’s hard to imagine what I was like after. What I became. All of my innocence vanished in a blink. I was so ashamed, so afraid of what they would say, who they might blame.”
“Did they blame you?”
“Never. I think, on some level, my brothers’ devastation runs deeper than my own. They saw it as a personal failure on their part.”
She could imagine as much. All three men prided themselves on being great protectors. To have their little sister attacked right under their roof, in this fortress they called home, it must have been an incredibly humanizing moment for all of them.
“Life has a surrealness about it after something like that,” Katya continued. “Like a living dream. Or a nightmare.” She laughed without humor. “Sometimes I think I’m going crazy, lost within the strange thoughts running through my head.”
“I know what it’s like to live in an unfathomable reality,” Marigold whispered. “I know what it’s like to question yourself so much that you lose your grasp on life. Truth loses meaning, and lies carry a tangible weight. It’s like you’re falling every day, through time with no landing in sight.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t trust your mind.”
“But you feel it. Here,” Katya said, resting a hand on her chest.
Marigold nodded. “A fragile thread of a lifeline.”
She recalled how some days, her mind was so fried and her drug-induced haze was so heavy, she lost that thread back to reality. Days slipped by, without hope, and with every passing minute, she’d lost her grip on the truth, the likelihood of her staying in that hellhole forever grew.
That’s what happened to the residents there. They once cared, but over time, it became easier to give up. They would rather surrender to numbness than push through the fog to fight for their freedom.
It was the first time she found herself able to think about her time at Whitmore without the creeping panic she usually felt. “The more they tried to help me, the more I felt myself slipping away.”
“Sometimes, grief is so personal, we can only help ourselves,” Katya said. “It seems almost impossible to pick ourselves up when we’re at our lowest. I’ve learned patience like I’ve never known, and my brothers remind me every day to give myself grace.”