The jet landed on a private runway carved into the cliffs.
Emma stepped onto the tarmac and immediately understood that she had entered a different world. The air here was colder, sharper, smelling of salt and pine and something else… something ancient that made the hair on her arms stand up.
Blackwater Estate rose from the cliff face like something out of a gothic novel. Stone and glass and shadows, all of it surrounded by walls topped with razor wire. Security cameras blinked from every corner. Men in dark suits moved along the perimeter, their hands never far from their weapons.
This is not a home, Emma thought. This is a fortress.
Lucas Grey appeared at her elbow. "This way, Mrs. White."
Mrs. White. The name felt like a collar.
She followed him through the massive oak doors and into a foyer that could have housed her father's entire house. A chandelier the size of a small car hung overhead, its crystals catching the gray light. The floors were black marble. The walls were hung with paintings that looked old enough to be museum pieces.
Emma inclined her head towards Sloane. "I was told I'd be meeting Mr. White."
"You'll meet him when he's ready to meet you." Sloane turned and began walking. "Follow me. I'll show you to your room."
My room.
Emma followed, her heels clicking on the marble. They passed through a series of corridors, each one more lavish than the last until they reached a door at the end of a long hallway. Sloane opened it and stepped aside.
The room was beautiful. A four-poster bed dominated the center, draped in white linen—a fireplace crackled against the far wall. French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the sea. Fresh flowers sat on the nightstand… white roses, Emma's favorite, though she had never told anyone that.
"Your things have been unpacked," Sloane said. "Dinner is at seven. Mr. White expects you in the library."
"He expects me?"
Sloane's expression didn't change. "He expects punctuality."
She left.
Emma stood alone in the beautiful room, surrounded by luxury she had never asked for, and felt the walls closing in.
You've been in worse situations, she reminded herself. You died, for God's sake. You can survive dinner.
She walked to the balcony and looked out at the sea. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, white foam exploding against black rock. She thought about Celeste, about the water filling her lungs, about the darkness swallowing her whole.
Not the same, she told herself. You're not her anymore.
But she was. She would always be.