When I enter the main cabin, I see Julian sitting on the couch, an open laptop on the table in front of him. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up, exposing tan, muscular forearms, and there is a frown of concentration on his face. He looks serious—and so devastatingly beautiful that my breath catches for a moment.

As though sensing my presence, he looks up, his blue eyes gleaming. “How are you, my pet?” he asks, his voice low and intimate, and I feel a hot flush moving over my entire body in response.

“I’m fine.” I don’t know what else to say. My butt hurts because you whipped me, but that’s okay because you trained me to enjoy it? Yeah, sure.

His lips curl in a slow smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I was just about to come get you. You should get into your seat—we’ll be landing soon.”

“Okay.” I follow his suggestion, trying not to flinch at the pain caused by the simple act of sitting down. I will definitely have bruises for the next few days.

Strapping myself in, I look out the window, curious about our destination. As the plane breaks through the cloud cover, I see a large city spread out below, with mountains looming on the edge of it. “What city is that?” I ask, turning towards Julian.

“Bogotá,” he replies, closing his laptop. Picking it up, he walks over to sit down next to me. “We’ll only be there for a few hours.”

“You have business there?”

“You could say that.” He looks vaguely amused. “There is something I’d like to get done before we fly to the estate.”

“What?” I inquire warily. An amused Julian is rarely a good sign.

“You’ll see.” And opening the laptop again, he focuses on whatever he was doing before.

* * *

A black car similar to the one that dropped us off at the airport waits for us when we get off the plane. Lucas assumes the role of our driver again, while Julian continues working on his laptop, seemingly absorbed in his task.

I don’t mind. I’m too busy staring at everything as we drive through the crowded streets. Bogotá has a certain ‘Old World’ vibe that I find fascinating. I can see traces of its Spanish heritage everywhere, mixed with a uniquely Latino flavor. It makes me crave arepas—corn cakes that I used to get from a Colombian food truck in downtown Chicago.

“Where are we going?” I ask Julian when the car pulls up in front of a stately old church in a wealthy-looking neighborhood. Somehow I hadn’t pictured my captor as the church-going type.

Instead of answering, he climbs out of the car and extends his hand to me. “Come, Nora,” he says. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Time for what? I want to question him further, but I know it’s futile. He’s not going to answer me unless he feels like it. Placing my hand in Julian’s large palm, I climb out of the car and let him lead me toward the church building. For all I know, we’re meeting some of his associates here—though why he wants me with him for that is anyone’s guess.

We enter through a little side door and find ourselves in a small, but beautifully decorated room. Old-fashioned wooden benches line the sides of it, and there is a pulpit with an intricate cross toward the front.

For some reason, the sight of it makes me nervous. An insane, improbable thought occurs to me, and my palms begin to sweat. “Um, Julian . . .” I look up to find him gazing at me with a strange smile. “Why are we here?”

“Can’t you guess, my pet?” he says softly, turning to face me. “We’re here to get married.”

For a moment, all I can do is stare at him in mute shock. Then a nervous laugh escapes my throat. “You’re joking, right?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Joking? No, not at all.” He reaches for my hand again, and I feel him sliding something onto my left ring finger.

My heart racing, I look down at my left hand in numb disbelief. The ring looks like something a Hollywood star might wear—a thin, diamond-encrusted band with a large, round stone sparkling in the center. It’s both delicate and ostentatious, and the fit is utterly perfect, as though it had been made just for me.

The room fades in front of my eyes, spots of light dancing in the corners of my vision, and I realize that I literally stopped breathing for a few seconds. Desperately sucking in air, I look up at Julian, my entire body beginning to shake. “You . . . you want to marry me?” My voice comes out in a kind of horrified whisper.

“Of course I do.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Why else would I bring you here?”

I have no response to that; all I can do is stand there and stare at him, feeling like I’m hyperventilating.

Marriage. Marriage to Julian.

It simply doesn’t compute. Marriage and Julian are so far apart in my mind, they might as well be on opposite poles of the planet. When I think of marriage, it’s in the context of a pleasant, yet distant future—a future that involves a doting husband and two noisy children. In that picture, there is a dog and a house in the suburbs, soccer games and school picnics. There is no killer with the face of a fallen angel, no beautiful monster to make me scream in his arms.

“I can’t marry you.” The words tumble out before I can think better of it. “I’m sorry, Julian, but I can’t.”

His face turns black. In a flash, he’s on me, one arm wrapped around my waist, pressing me against him, and the other hand gripping my jaw. “You said you loved me.” His voice is soft and even, but I can feel the dark rage underneath. “Was that a lie?”