10 His Greatest Inspiration

Morning came quicker than expected. I rose from bed when it was still dark outside, having tossed and turned restlessly throughout the night. I made breakfast as per usual and drilled it into my mind to pretend as though everything was normal. That seemed to be the norm in this distorted household. Strangely enough, Isaac didn't come downstairs.

I followed his preposterous schedule to a tee, and yet, he was the one who didn't adhere to it. It was infuriating, to say the least. What's more idiotic is that I contemplated whether I should trudge upstairs and hand his meal to him. Would it gain me brownie points? I was prepared to do anything to survive this living nightmare.

After a couple of hours and not a peep from Isaac, I relented by reheating his breakfast and personally delivering it to him. Without knocking, I barged into his study and instantaneously sighted his reserved persona slouched on a comfy chair whilst he keenly analysed the content on his laptop screen.

"Has no one taught you basic etiquette, Miss. Thomas?" The question was rhetorical and laced with firm disapproval.

"I've never had a reason to learn something so outdated, sir." My tone matched his sharpness akin to the edge of a blade.

"What brings you here?" He responds nonchalantly, not casting a single glance towards me.

"I made your breakfast ages ago, but you didn't come to the kitchen."

"My apologies, I have been very immersed in a chapter of my new novel," he expresses in a monotone, still occupied elsewhere. "You can set it on the table, thank you."

I did as requested, briefly peering at his laptop screen when I was bent over. The plate slipped from my fingers and clinked stridently, making impact with his desk. My chest constricted as if someone were crushing my heart in reaction to the few paragraphs I had read. There were intricate and vulgar depictions which detailed Jaxson's death. At least, that's what came to mind.

The descriptions aligned exceptionally to what happened at the strip club. Of course, there were a lot of variations so a normal reader would not be able to connect the dots. However, I was a witness who observed as everything unravelled before my eyes. This scene painted a spitting vision of that night. The only thing omitted from his chapter was my involvement, since there were no mentions of any other person being present aside from the main character. Nevertheless, this was undoubtedly horrifying!

"Are you not a fan of thriller novels?" He inquired innocently, though underneath it unveiled a loaded question. I cleared my dry throat, taking a few minutes to conjure a response.

"It's not my preference, that's for sure." An amused grin crept on his lips, giving me his now undivided attention. "But I don't mind them as long as the gruesome details are not enacted in real life," I jabbed, hoping to get a reaction from him though to no avail.

"I find your pure heart quite intriguing, Miss. Thomas." His eyelids leisurely narrowed into attractive, yet crafty, slits with traces of a devious smirk. "However, the real world is much crueller than you could imagine."

"How very intuitive of you, sir." I bit down on my bottom lip, resisting the urge to lash out on him. The metallic taste which formed in my mouth was an indication that I needed another means for controlling my turbulent emotions. "I do believe that anyone who could write such intense thrillers is pretty sick in the head."

"That's a judgemental opinion, Miss. Thomas," he retorted rather fast, almost defensively.

"Maybe you can educate me on them?" I proposed as bait to attain information.

"Alright, ask me anything."

"How long have you been a writer?"

"I started very early. Seventeen years of age to be specific." He impassively reclined in his chair, casually rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "I've always been fascinated with murders and the mind of a supposed criminal."

My eyes meticulously observed as his glasses descended the bridge of his refined nose. It glazed over his plump, lightly pink lips and chiselled jawline. It further travelled to the opening in his shirt, admiring the lining of torso muscles as flashing images of his naked body probed my mind. I tried to shake away the thought, howbeit it didn't help when our gazes intently locked onto each other.

"Um… What was so captivating about dead bodies?" My effort to regain control of the situation was a mega fail. Isaac knew the effect he had on me and that reinstated his power.

"There's some artistic value in the work of murderers which I find interesting, especially the victims they choose." I knitted my brows in mystification, prompting him to elaborate. "Everything has a purpose, meaning and message… We simply have to look at the bigger picture."

"Taking into account a reader's perspective, I'm sure their curiosity stems from wanting to understand the reasons behind a killer's heinous crimes rather than viewing it as a form of art."

"I have to disagree," he countered instantly. "Readers are drawn to the darkness of a murderer's brutal actions as though they were gazing at art in an exhibition."

"I personally don't give a shit about any of that. I'd prefer watching them rot in jail for the rest of their miserable lives."

"Oh?" His eyebrow quirked, while a cocky smirk tugged on his mouth. "You're trying to convince yourself otherwise, but it's evident that deep down you too hold the same captivation as my readers do."

"Humour me then, how do you come up with these twisted ideas for your novels?"

"I'm flattered you are taking an interest in my work, Miss. Thomas."

His condescending tone conveyed the opposite meaning. He seemed adequately suspicious of my motives for asking so many questions. Although, I'm certain he didn't know the answer yet.

"There is no impressive method to my ideas. I wake up every morning and an entire, incredibly descriptive, scenario would already be imprinted in my head… Almost like a memory." He exhaled harshly, pondering whether he should discontinue our conversation.

"What do you mean?" I tested in an attempt to catch him off-guard, but that merely raised his scepticism.

"I highly doubt you'd be able to comprehend the content I write. With all due respect, you appear to be the kind of woman who'd read a trashy romance novel in bed to pass the time."

"I'm a tad disappointed you think so low of me."

"No offence was intended, Miss. Thomas." He rose forward from his chair, signalling that he was tired of entertaining our discussion. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to return to my writing." He began typing on his laptop, completely ignoring my existence. That silver tongue of his could do no wrong. It was both a gift and a weapon used at his own convenience.

"Of course, sorry for bothering you." Surprisingly, my teeth had not shattered with how hard I've been grinding them. I was reaching my limit. The obedient girl act would falter if I stayed a second longer. "Don't forget to eat your breakfast."

"I appreciate your concern, Miss. Thomas," he muttered condescendingly. I have to get the hell away from here before I lose my composure.

I was one step out of the door when a book of his caught my attention from the corner of my eye. The floor squeaked as I trod towards the shelf behind him. Isaac paid me no mind. It was as if he could already predict my actions and thoughts.

There was a large number one printed on the top edge of the book's cover. My fingertips lightly skimmed over the font which title read 'The Markings of a Wolf.' It seemed to be the first series of his novel. My instincts screamed that I should take the book. There was a churning in the pit of my stomach which indicated that it was a vital missing piece to the puzzle. But I simply couldn't just snatch it. Regrettably, I required Isaac's permission.

"Would you mind if I borrow this?" I held up the novel to my face, immediately drawing his focus. "I'd love to read it in my spare time. The mansion is huge, and it gets lonely sometimes." Playing the pity card was degrading, but I knew it would cause a dent in his facade.

"That novel is one of my best works, so do treat it with care." He didn't mask the disappointment on his features. That book meant more to him than he was letting on and that only made me want it stronger.

"I will." For some reason, I felt victorious like I had hit the lottery. Funny how something trivial could have such a prominent impact. I spun on my heel and tried to retreat quickly, but not without Isaac's chilling tone halting me in my tracks.

"Miss. Thomas."

"Y-Yes?" He wasn't looking in my direction, thus it almost felt as though I were imagining things.

"I believe it would be in your best interests if you refraining from gnawing on your bottom lip," he stated apathetically, invoking me to gawk with startled disbelief. "The skin is breaking and the blood on your pretty mouth was quite distracting."

How did he… Oh my, God. Was this a subtle warning? It made no sense why he'd abruptly divulge that information unless there was a hidden connotation attached to it. Maybe he was giving me a small peek into his impeccable observational skills, hinting that I would have no chance in hell opposing him because nothing goes unnoticed – he'd be one step ahead of me.

I scurried out of his study and locked myself in the bedroom. The book was compressed tightly between my fingers. This was a clue as to what I was up against. If he was a wolf, then I crucially had to become a formidable prey. One that he could never attain.

After a deep breath of confidence, I climbed into bed and opened the cover. It was only when I read my name on the front page did I tremble in fear.