CHAPTER 11

Trapped and Trembling

Naomi's POV

I gazed at the dish of food in front of me, cold and untouched. With its polished silver and crystal glasses, the sophisticated table arrangement only served to heighten the eerie quiet in the dining room. I was left to battle the burden of my thoughts alone in the empty mansion as Roman had disappeared elsewhere.

But in this house, loneliness didn't stay long.

Before Camille even made her appearance in the doorway, the click of heels on marble signaled her presence. As if she had come out of a beautiful magazine, her dark hair fell over her shoulders as she moved with a predatory ease.

"Well, look who's sulking." She said, with a tone full of faux tenderness. She walked confidently into the room, her presence like a thunder cloud.

I tensed, holding onto the table's edge. "What are you looking for, Camille?"

The pointy tips of her stilettos tapped the floor as she walked around the table, her smile growing. “Oh, don’t look so defensive. I’m just here to check on Roman’s new... project.”

“Project?” I repeated, a hint of resentment in my voice.

With her back against the chair, she leaned nonchalantly and murmured, "That's what you are, aren't you? A small charity case that Roman chose to accept. How charming.”

As heat rose to my cheeks, I squirmed. “I’m his wife.”

Camille laughed, a sound so light and cruel it cut like glass. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t actually believe that, do you? This is nothing more than a business deal, a favor for your pathetic father.”

Her words struck like a whip, each syllable peeling back the thin layer of pride I’d tried to hold onto. But I refused to let her see the cracks.

“Whatever it is,” I said, hardening my voice, “it’s none of your business.”

"Oh, but it is," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "I've known Roman for years, and I can tell you, any kindness he's shown you is just an act."

Her words made my stomach turn, and I swallowed hard.

He's not kind." In a low, conspiratorial voice, Camille said, "He's not gentle. Naomi, he is not your savior. No matter the cost, he is a man who achieves his goals. When he's done with you, he'll throw you away like yesterday's garbage.”

"Stop it." I said, in a shaky voice.

“Why?” With a head tilt, she questioned. “Because it's painful? Because you don't want to accept it? Believe me, sweetheart, you would be better off facing reality sooner rather than later.”

Like a snake, her words curled around me, getting tighter by the second. Standing on wobbly legs, I pushed back my chair with trembling hands.

"I don't need to hear this.” I said, with a voice hardly audible above a whisper.

“Run away, then,” Camille said, her smile razor-sharp. “But you can’t escape the truth, Naomi. You’ll see it soon enough.”

I turned on my heel and fled, the sound of her laughter chasing me down the hallway.

My chest felt like it might burst by the time I arrived at the art studio. The room's air felt oppressive and thick, as if it were bearing the weight of all the feelings I can't express.

I snatched up a blank canvas and, with shaking hands, slapped it onto the easel. I sank my fingers into the deepest hue I could find, holding on to the paintbrush like a lifeline.

In a desperate attempt to muffle Camille's words, the brushstrokes were quick and intense. Her voice, however, kept coming back to me like a broken record, no matter how hard I tried.

“Naomi.”

As I froze, the paintbrush fell out of my hand and clattered to the ground. Roman stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between the tumultuous painting and me, his face unreadable.

"What is it that you want?" With a scratchy voice, I asked.

He closed the door behind him and entered the room. “What happened?”

"Nothing," I blurted as I stooped to pick the brush. "I'm fine."

"You're lying." His tone was calm yet forceful as he continued, “Tell me.”

I shook my head, laughing angrily. "It wouldn't matter to you even if I did."

"Try me," he replied, his voice suddenly quieter.

For a brief period, I noticed something in his eyes that caused my throat to tighten as I gave him a serious look. Was it a worry? Are you guilty? Or was it just another strategic move in this twisted game we are playing?

"It's Camille.” I eventually blurted out, before I could stop myself. "She said something,"

Roman clenched his teeth and advanced a step further. "What things?"

"It doesn't matter,” I said, and returned my attention to the canvas. "She is right, isn't she? About everything. About you.”

The stillness hung between us like a tension wire as he took his time to respond.

"Camille doesn't know me as well as she thinks she does." In a hushed voice, he said finally.

With my heart thumping, I turned to him. "And do I? Do I know you all?”

Roman's eyes met mine, and I briefly believed he might open the door for me. However, his expression hardened again and he turned his head away.

"This isn't about me," he stated in a decisive tone. "The goal is to teach you how to survive in this world."

"Survive?" I cracked my voice and reverberated. "I feel like I'm in a war because of you."

"Perhaps you are." He said softly.

Then he drew closer, his presence overwhelming me before I could reply. A tear that I don't know had fallen was wiped away by his fingertips as they touched my cheek.

"You underestimate yourself," he murmured, his voice almost audible above a whisper.

"And you're more cruel than I imagined," I yelled back, my voice shaking.

His mouth quirked, but not quite into a smile. “Maybe.”

Electric and charged, the moment lingered between us until he eventually took a step back.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice distant now. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” My heart sank as I asked.

Roman did not respond. All he did was turn and leave, leaving me to think and the prospect of more struggles ahead.