Bella tried to shift her weight, but Adonis was like a boulder. His arms hung loosely at his sides, but his chest was pressed firmly against hers. His hair tickled her chin.

She could feel his heart beating against her ribs. It was slowing down, finding a calm rhythm that matched the rise and fall of his heavy breaths. He smelled of sweat and expensive soap, and beneath that, the sharp, cooling scent of the herbs she had unleashed.

The door flew open.

"Master Adonis!" Hansel shouted, rushing in. Two large security guards flanked him. Hansel held a taser raised, the prongs sparking blue.

They skidded to a halt. The tableau froze them in place.

Hansel lowered the taser, his mouth gaping. He looked from the shattered ashtray on the floor to the shards of the tea set, and finally to his master, who was sleeping peacefully while standing up, propped against the new girl.

"Is he...?" Hansel whispered.

"He's asleep," Bella croaked. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She pointed a trembling finger at Adonis's back. "Help me. He's heavy."

One of the guards stepped forward, reaching out to grab Adonis's shoulder.

"Stop!" Hansel hissed.

The guard froze.

Hansel crept closer, sniffing the air. He caught the scent of the peppermint and valerian. He looked at Bella with a new, sharp intensity. "He hasn't slept without sedation in three days. He's in a state of total collapse. If you wake him, and he wakes up violent..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

"So I'm just supposed to stand here?" Bella whispered furiously. "My legs are going numb."

"Adjust her," Hansel ordered the guards. "Slowly. Infinitely slowly. Do not wake him."

The absurdity of it almost made Bella laugh. The guards moved with surgical precision, as if defusing a bomb. Every shift of weight was infinitesimal, every breath held. One gently supported Adonis's back while the other slid a velvet ottoman behind Bella. They guided her down until she was sitting, Adonis sliding with her until he was kneeling between her legs, his head resting on her lap, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist.

It was an incredibly intimate, compromising position.

"Comfortable?" Hansel asked. He didn't care about the answer.

"No," Bella snapped.

"Endure it," Hansel said. He picked up the taser. "We will be outside. If he stirs, if his breathing changes, you call out."

They retreated. The door clicked shut.

Bella was alone with the beast again. She looked down at him. In sleep, the lines of cruelty and pain had vanished from his face. His lashes were long, casting shadows on his cheekbones. He looked younger. Human.

Adonis shifted. Bella held her breath, her body tensing for another attack.

He didn't wake. He just burrowed his face deeper into her stomach, inhaling sharply. His hand tightened on the fabric of her dress at her hip.

"Mom..." he murmured. The word was a broken fragment of sound.

Bella felt a strange pang in her chest. It wasn't forgiveness-he had nearly strangled her-but it was understanding. He was broken. Just like her family. Just like her.

She sighed, her hand hovering over his head before gently, tentatively, landing on his hair. She waited. He didn't recoil. He sighed, sinking deeper into sleep.

Bella leaned her head back against the wall. She watched the dust motes dance in the shaft of light from the window. She was trapped, literally and metaphorically, serving as a human pillow for a monster.

The light in the room shifted from the harsh white of noon to the golden hue of late afternoon. Bella's legs had gone past numbness into a prickly, burning agony. She had been sitting in the same position for four hours.

Adonis's breathing hitched. The deep, rhythmic pattern broke.

Bella froze. Her hand, which had been absentmindedly stroking his hair, stopped mid-motion.

Adonis stiffened. He pulled back, his head lifting from her lap. He blinked, his eyes focusing on the fabric of her dress, then moving up to her face.

For a second, there was confusion. Then, cold, hard reality slammed into him.

He scrambled backward, pushing himself across the floor until his back hit the side of the bed. He looked at Bella as if she were a grenade that had failed to detonate.

"What did you do?" he rasped. His voice was rough from sleep.

Bella tried to stand, but her legs gave out. She slumped back onto the ottoman, wincing as blood rushed back into her limbs. "I didn't do anything. You passed out."

Adonis ran a hand over his face. He checked his hands. No blood. He touched his temples. No headache. The ringing in his ears-the constant, high-pitched screech that made him want to drill into his own skull-was gone. It was just... quiet.

He looked at Bella again. This time, he didn't see a victim. He saw a variable.

He crawled forward on his hands and knees. He moved like a predator stalking prey. Bella pressed herself against the ottoman, her heart restarting its frantic rhythm.

"Stay back," she warned.

Adonis ignored her. He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of her neck, right where she had applied the oil earlier. He inhaled deeply.

Bella shuddered. His nose brushed her skin. It was invasive, terrifying, and confusing.

"That smell," he muttered. "What is it?"

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. His grip was firm but not crushing. His eyes were clear now, an icy, piercing blue.

"It's... it's a blend," Bella stammered. "My grandfather made it. For anxiety."

Adonis's thumb brushed her lower lip. He seemed fascinated by the texture of her skin, or perhaps by the fact that she wasn't screaming.

"And the pressure?" he asked. "Behind the ear?"

"Acupressure," she said. "It blocks the pain receptors."

The door opened. Hansel entered with a dinner cart. He stopped, seeing Adonis on the floor, leaning over Bella.

"Sir?" Hansel asked, hope coloring his voice. "You're... awake."

Adonis stood up in one fluid motion. He smoothed his wrinkled pants, instantly regaining his towering, imperious aura. He looked at Hansel, then pointed a finger at Bella.

"She doesn't leave," Adonis said.

"Sir?"

"She stays in the West Wing," Adonis commanded. He turned his back on Bella, walking toward the bathroom. "She handles the night shift. Exclusively."

Bella's jaw dropped. "What? No! That wasn't the deal!"

Adonis paused at the bathroom door. He looked over his shoulder. A ghost of a smile-cruel and possessive-played on his lips.

"The deal changed," he said. "You're not collateral anymore, Miss Miller. You're my prescription."

He slammed the bathroom door. Bella sat on the ottoman, staring at the closed door, realizing with a sinking dread that she had just saved herself into a deeper hell.

Within an hour, Bella's belongings were moved. Not to the servants' quarters, but to a guest suite in the main house. It was luxurious, filled with cream-colored furniture and silk drapes, but the location was the problem.

It shared a wall with Adonis's master bedroom. There was a hidden door in the paneling connecting the two rooms.

Bella sat on the edge of the king-sized bed. She felt small. The maids who had brought her things had looked at her with a mixture of envy and disgust. They thought she had seduced him. They thought she was sleeping her way to safety.

If only they knew.

The hidden door clicked. It swung open.

Adonis stood there. He was dressed in fresh clothes, a dark grey sweater and slacks. He held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand.

"Come," he said.

Bella followed him into his room. It was vast and dimly lit. He sat in a leather armchair by the window and pointed to the floor beside him.

"Sit."

Bella sat on the thick carpet, hugging her knees. "What do you want?"

Adonis rubbed his temple. A flicker of pain crossed his face. "The noise is coming back. It's distant, but it's there." He took a sip of whiskey. "Talk."

"Talk?" Bella asked. "About what?"

"Anything. Just make sound."

Bella stared at him. "You threw an ashtray at me for making sound earlier."

"Your voice," Adonis said, his eyes closed. "It's... different. The frequency. It doesn't hurt. It covers the ringing."

He gestured impatiently with his glass. "Go."

Bella swallowed. Her mind went blank. What do you say to a man who holds your life in his hands? She looked at the pattern on the rug. She started reciting the only thing she knew by heart.

"Lavandula angustifolia," she whispered. "Common lavender. Used for sedation, anxiety, insomnia. Mentha piperita. Peppermint. Good for headaches and nausea. Valeriana officinalis..."

She listed the botanical names, her voice soft and rhythmic. She watched Adonis. As she spoke, the tension in his shoulders dropped. The line between his brows smoothed out.

He reached out, his hand finding her wrist. He didn't pull. He just held it. An anchor.

Bella kept talking. She moved from Latin names to describing the process of drying herbs. She talked about the way the sun hit the drying racks in her grandfather's shop. She talked until her throat was dry and her voice rasped.

She stopped.

Adonis's fingers tightened on her wrist. "Don't stop."

"I'm thirsty," she whispered.

He handed her his glass of whiskey. She took a sip. It burned going down, but it wet her throat.

She continued. Hours passed. The moon rose high outside the window. Adonis's breathing deepened. He was asleep in the chair, his hand still clamped around her wrist.

Bella tried to pull away. His grip held fast. Even in sleep, he was strong. He needed her there. Not her body, not her mind, but her presence. She was a human white-noise machine.

She rested her head on his knee, exhaustion overtaking her. She was the only thing standing between this man and madness. It was a terrifying power to hold.