I take a defiant step toward the staircase. If he or anyone sees me, I’ll say I’m hungry. Or lost if I’m caught near his office. After what he did to me, I need to be smarter about things. Not so passive. Not allowing things to happen to me. I need to be more proactive about saving myself. Because I’m on my own, and I know it.

I think back to the days before the wedding. It feels like years ago. I feel like I was a different person then. To think that for a brief span of time, I’d thought I could ask Santiago to help me. I’d thought I could go to my husband for help in keeping my sister safe against my own brother. I’m an idiot, though, because I can’t even keep myself safe, and the man I thought I might turn to is the devil himself.

The last step creaks, and I stop, holding my breath as I wait to see if anyone else heard. But there’s no one. The servants must be asleep, and Mercedes is probably out prowling the night for fresh blood.

She never did come to take me shopping or whatever it was she was going to do to ready me for the gala. Just sent word with Antonia that something had come up, and I was free for the day.

When my heart rate settles, I take the final step down, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floors. I hurry through the hall to duck into the corridor where Santiago’s office is. It’s dark here, too, but the sconces that line these walls are lit and I can see light under his closed door at the far end.

I’ll need to be quick. If he catches me here, I’ll have hell to pay, so I move as quickly as I can and quietly open the library door. I’m not stupid enough to listen at his door. I slip inside the dark room and close the door behind me, giving my eyes a minute to adjust. Once they have, I make my way through the aisles of bookshelves to the false wall. He never did ask me how I got into his office. He doesn’t know I know about this, and the thought makes me feel like I’ve got one win. One to his dozen.

Now that I know the cutout door exists, I can almost see a thin line of light coming from inside his office. I’m quiet as I approach, holding my breath because I’m too afraid to breathe. I press my ear to the wall.

“Why didn’t they see this before?” Santiago asks, voice raised, sounding angry.

The other man’s voice is muffled. Quieter. I hear mumblings and only a few words, but those words give me chills: “…Toxicology…Metabolized too quickly…Coma.”