Uncovering You 2: Submission Read Free Page A

caution, it takes a good five minutes to creep to the glass wall.
    My fingers tremble as I lay them against the cool glass. The sun is so bright. So warm.
    I breathe onto the glass to fog it, then wipe the condensation with the side of my hand, just to make sure it’s real.
    Everything feels so surreal right now. I look past the glass and try to wrap my mind around all that’s been hidden from me these last few tortuous weeks. My room—this room—sits on a massive estate built into the side of a cliff. The view is magnificent. Beautiful, red rock extends a hundred yards from where I stand, and then gives way to a jagged ledge that forms a sheer drop into the ocean.
    The ocean. The Pacific Ocean, beautiful and unmarred. If I take a deep breath, I can almost smell the tangy, salty, sea mist—even through the glass. The water is still today. The red rays reflecting off it make it seem like a pool of rubies.
    I turn around. The sunlight filling the room makes it seem so much more hospitable. It’s almost enough to make it seem more like a palace than a dungeon.
    A palace with no way out , I remind myself.
    Admittedly, I feel a little thrill getting to explore. Stonehart said the paintings cover doors. I want to see that for myself.
    I walk around the outside of the massive room, completing one full circle while trailing a hand along the walls. After spending so many hours confined to the pillar, I have no desire to return to that dreadful spot.
    I walk up to each of the paintings, examining them, one by one. I see the hinges on some of them, along with an opposing latch. I mark those in my mind but do not open them.
    Not yet. I want to enjoy every second of sunlight that I can.
    I stop in front of the glass door that Stonehart used to leave. He said I could go through any unlocked door, did he not? And I won’t know what type this one is until I try.
    I’m not expecting miracles here.
    My hand clasps the handle. I push down. It doesn’t budge.
    I smother my disappointment. I knew in the back of my mind that this door would be locked. Only desperation led me to expect otherwise.
    I may be a lot of things. I may act a lot of things, for Stonehart’s sake… but desperate is something I can never allow myself to become.
    Because I need to be clear-minded and lucid if I am to plan my revenge.
    My stomach growls, reminding me of food. I sigh. Even after the feast the old woman brought me, my body is crying out for nutrition. My next meal doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning. She told me so.
    That means I have all night to explore.

Chapter Three

    Behind the first painting is a short hallway with two doors at the end. I walk slowly, always mindful of triggering my collar. Stonehart may have said I could wander without worry, but can I really trust him to tell the truth?
    The door to my right opens to a majestic bathroom. Shining tiles line the floor. All the appliances are gilded gold. My eyes take in the titular bathtub. It is already filled with water. I dip my hand in, and am delighted to find it warm.
    Soaking in a tub is a privilege I have not had in years. I close the door for privacy—then stumble when I can’t find any way to lock it.
    Of course you can’t lock it, you dolt. Stonehart wouldn’t let you bar yourself away.
    A shiver crawls up my spine as I remember his words: “The time I make for you is a privilege.”
    Suddenly, all desire for a hot bath vanishes. I am to be a sex slave. A pampered sex slave, perhaps, but a sex slave nonetheless.
    I am halfway out of the room before I change my mind again. Stonehart said he would leave me alone for a week. That promise gives me a sense of security, false as it may be. I should not worry about him yet.
    You have five years for that, a small voice reminds me.
    I shake my head. No . No! I have no intention of letting things last that long.
    Mustering all my dignity, I disrobe and slip into the water, chin held high. I even pull the door open behind me.
    I won’t