Isabella

I never used to sleep on the right side of the bed. Funny how that's the detail my mind keeps catching on – like a snag in expensive stockings. That's what happens when you're trapped in a gilded cage: you start noticing the strangest things.

Has it been a week? Maybe more.

The heavy curtains in Alex's room make it hard to track the days, and my phone's been gone since he brought me here as his bed warmer.

The mansion is beautiful in a cold way, all marble and mahogany. During the day, I drift through it like a ghost, touching nothing, leaving no trace. The staff pretend not to see me. Maybe that's what I've become – just another piece of expensive decoration Alex Ivanov acquired, like the Monet in the dining room or the Fabergé eggs in the display case.