Chapter 347 Rude Awakening
It was Julius Whitethorn.
“You’re awake,” Julius murmured, his voice a velvet hush.
Quinn froze mid–motion, staring at the man in rumpled pajamas stretched across the bed.
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How in the world have I ended up sharing a mattress with Julius? Last she remembered, she had been standing in his living room.
Right, I had taken the cup of coffee he had offered, and after that, everything dissolved into darkness.
“You drugged my coffee, didn’t you?” Quinn demanded, eyes blazing as she straddled his chest.
“I did.” he admitted without apology. “It won’t hurt you. It only made you sleep for a while.”
She frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I can’t bear the thought of you flying to Celosia,” he replied.
She blinked, struggling to connect his twisted logic: knock her out so she could not board a plane?
“You think slipping me a sedative is enough to keep me grounded?”
“At least until that shoulder mends, yes,” Julius said, unruffled.
Quinn scowled, pushed off him, and swung her feet to the floor.
Julius sat up slowly, saying nothing, his gaze following her like a fixed spotlight.”
She spotted her bag on the couch, checked it–passport and phone were both inside.
Snatching the bag, she strode for the door.
The moment she stepped into the hallway she stopped cold.
The place was a villa–broad staircase, a polished corridor, and at its far end a sunlit balcony.
The balcony doors stood open/framing an endless sheet of sapphire water that glittered beneath the
morning sky.
Where on earth is this? Jerburgh? But there isn’t a place in Jexburgh where you can see the ocean.
A nervous jolt shot through Quinn She tore down the corridor–slippers slapping the hardwood–and burst onto the balcony like a swimmer lunging for air.
It really is… the ocean! There’s the beach, and a forest, too. But I don’t see anyone else around
It was quiet, with only the sound of the waves.
What is this place, really?
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Chapter 347 Rude Awakening
As the question echoed in her mind, a measured footfall clicked against the floor behind her.
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“This is an island, encircled by water on every side. Without a boat or a plane, no one leaves.” Julius voice-
rang out.
Quinn spun around. Julius Whitethorn advanced in measured steps, his shoes whispering across the terrazzo as though even the floor dared not deny him.
“I am leaving, right now!”
“Impossible. With no boat or plane, you cannot leave,” he said.
She shot him a burning glare. Is he really planning to cage me on this island? But if I could leave with a boat or a plane…
Julius guessed her thoughts and continued, “The boats and planes are kept elsewhere. Every three days, a helicopter drops the supplies we need. If there is anything special you want, I can have it flown in the same way.”
A flicker of astonishment crossed her face; she had never imagined he would orchestrate something this elaborate.
“For the moment, it is just you and me on this entire island.” He closed the remaining distance until their breaths mingled.
Quinn’s brows knitted. “What are you really after?”
He spread his arms and gently pulled her into the shelter of his chest, as though his body alone could shield her from every storm the world might send. “I told you, Quinn. I want you healed, not rushing off to Celosia with your stitches barely dry. Once you are better, I will escort you back to Jexburgh.”
“So you intend to imprison me on this island?”
“Imprison? If that is how you choose to see it, so be it,” he murmured, still holding her in place.
She wrenched free, slapped him hard across the face, and snapped, “Julius Whitethorn, I am not a toy for you to lock away. If you do not want me reporting you to the police, send me home–now!”
He barely seemed to feel the strike. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath brushing her cheek. “Does your hand hurt? There’s one more side. Want to hit this side, too?”
“You-” She choked on the rest, lost for words.
He lifted her hand and slowly kneaded her palm. “Even if you press charges, I still will not let you go. I told you. Once you are healed, I will take you back myself.”
She pulled her hand back and glared at him. “Julius Whitethorn, you are a madman!”
Julius let out a low, self–deprecating laugh. “Yeah, I’m crazy–you’ve always known that, haven’t you?”
A lunatic made mad by you and you alone.
Even he could not measure how far that madness would carry him, and the uncertainty hummed behind his eyes like an exposed wire.
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“Quinn, once your wound heals and you’re strong again, I’ll send you home. If you decide afterward that you never want to see me, that you want every thread between us severed, I swear I’ll honor it.”
