Chapter 8
Hatred flickered in Renee's eyes. Then — a flash of inspiration.
Sylvia was locked up in a psychiatric hospital. Completely at her mercy.
A plan took shape.
All those years she and Maggie had spent clawing their way through the underbelly of society — they'd built quite a network of 'connections.'
She wanted to see what would happen if Sylvia lost her virtue entirely. Would Damien still care about her then? He'd probably be too disgusted to look at her.
The thought made Renee giddy.
She knew exactly how obsessive Damien was about cleanliness.
So the man she chose to violate Sylvia had to be carefully selected — the more revolting, the better.
A candidate came to mind immediately. She pulled out her phone and sent a message. The reply came quickly. Renee couldn't help humming a little tune.
The psychiatric hospital.
Sylvia woke from unconsciousness to a stark white ceiling. The walls were padded with soft silk. Even the floor was cushioned. The single window was fitted with stainless steel bars.
Everything in this room had been designed to prevent another suicide attempt. Beyond the bedding, there wasn't a single sharp or hard object in sight.
Another patient shuffled past her window, peering in with a vacant, probing stare. Mumbling something unintelligible. Smiling that eerie, empty smile.
Sylvia's heart pounded. She twisted the door handle and screamed at the hallway. "Let me out! There's nothing wrong with me!"
The doctor stationed outside gave her a weary glance. "Everyone who comes in here says that, Ms. Orsini. Cooperate with your treatment and you'll be discharged sooner. Keep causing trouble, and we'll have to resort to more extreme measures."
Sylvia clenched her jaw, forcing herself calm. "I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just want to make a phone call. Even a psychiatric patient has the right to contact family."
The doctor frowned, glanced both ways down the corridor, confirmed no one was watching, and pulled his personal phone from his pocket. "Just this once."
The next second, Sylvia seized his arm and slammed his head against the iron door.
He crumpled, unconscious. Sylvia dragged him inside, unclipped the keys from his belt, and unlocked the door.
A breeze drifted through the corridor. Freedom. The air had never tasted so clean.
She was going to find Milo. Take him and run. Get as far from Damien as possible and never see him again.
Sylvia changed into the doctor's coat, dragged his body into the room, shut the door, and crept toward the administration office — searching for a floor plan, a way out.
Suddenly, alarms shrieked through the building.
"Patient escaped!"
"Get after her!"
Sylvia's pulse spiked. She looked frantically left and right for somewhere to hide — and accidentally knocked a glass off the desk.
The crash rang out like a bell.
"She's in here!"
"Somebody grab her!"
Staff converged from every direction. Sylvia shoved a bookcase over, hurling books at them like weapons.
It wasn't enough. They caught her.
"Let go of me!"
She was dragged back to her room. The iron door slammed shut with a deafening clang.
"Patient is in extreme emotional distress. She meets the criteria for sedation." The doctor's order was crisp.
Several orderlies pinned her to the bed. Sylvia watched helplessly as the needle pierced her arm.
The sting faded into warmth, then weakness. Every muscle went slack. Even her desperate need to save Milo seemed to dissolve, diluted by the chemicals flooding her bloodstream.
The staff filed out one by one.
Sylvia lay limp on the bed, tears sliding silently down her temples.
Just as her body surrendered and consciousness began to blur, the door clicked open.
She assumed it was a doctor. She turned her head with enormous effort — and saw a man squeezing through the gap.
He wore a filthy padded jacket so grimy its original color was anyone's guess. His hair hung in greasy clumps. A jagged old scar cut across his face from the corner of one eye to the corner of his mouth, making his grin look like something that had been ripped open by force.
He walked with a dragging leg, one shoe slapping the floor in an off-rhythm beat, like he was keeping time to a song only he could hear.
He spotted Sylvia on the bed. Tilted his head. Stared for several long seconds. Then erupted into a high-pitched giggle — thin and squeezed out from deep in his throat. He rubbed his hands together, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand and smeared it on the wall.
"Pretty. So pretty. Prettier than any of 'em I've seen before…"
His eyes stuck to Sylvia like a starving stray eyeing raw meat.
He shuffled closer, head swaying side to side, muttering fragments — "baby" one second, "sweetheart" the next, then suddenly spitting out an obscenity and hawking on the floor.
Sylvia's heart seized. Stopped. Restarted in a sickening lurch.
This man looked more deranged than any patient in this place.
She thrashed against the bed, whimpering, but the sedative held her prisoner. She could only watch him approach.
He crawled onto the bed, pressed his face into the curve of her neck, and inhaled deeply. Then he let out a long, satisfied sigh — grotesque, almost reverent. Without warning, he flopped onto his back beside her, kicking his legs in the air like an excited child throwing a tantrum.
"Hurry up, hurry up, I can't wait anymore!"
Sylvia was trapped — paralyzed by the drugs — forced to watch as this lunatic peeled off his disgusting jacket.
"Who… sent you?" she managed, her voice barely a rasp.
He cocked his head, thinking for an unnervingly long time. "A woman… purple dress… big tits… hee hee hee."
"I'll pay you. More than she did…" Sylvia tried to reason with him.
He didn't seem to hear. He was already unfastening his pants, humming some tuneless nursery rhyme, punctuated by slurred murmurs of "gimme a kiss" and "don't run away, don't run."
Tears poured from Sylvia's eyes. She threw every ounce of remaining will into rolling off the bed. Her body refused.
Then the door exploded inward.
Damien stood in the doorway. His face was black as a storm, veins pulsing at his temples.
He'd blown through every red light to get here. Renee's words had been ringing in his skull the whole way — "Sylvia's old lover came to visit her." But what he found was this.
The man turned around. Saw Damien. Blinked in confusion. Then he pulled Sylvia against his chest and leered. "Who're you? You're interrupting my date with my girlfriend."
He pawed at Sylvia's face, then seemed struck by a thought. "Wait — are you my girlfriend's side piece?"
