Casually, I stroll up the stairs, encountering minimal breathing resistance. I woke up at six toady, and I'm generally in a bad mood... but it's all for a good cause: I'm here early to sneak Bellamy some food and find out why he's here. Possibly free him if all goes well.

I sneak into the painting and retrace my steps as best as I can, cursing my lacking sense of direction all the way. Soon I come across the same bend and glance into the room that houses Bellamy. He lies there, asleep and there's no one else, but there are other cages, identical to his, all empty and look as though they haven't been used in recent times.

The slave trade rose up again a few years ago but was once more abolished, now, it's no more.

Rushing over to Bellamy, I rattle the bars and he stirs. When he realizes it's me, his expression becomes relieved.

"Angelica." He breathes, "Please get me out."

I drop my purse and begin searching for the lock. It's nowhere, I look from top to bottom and finally I come across a small metallic slab under my feet. The good news is that I found it but the bad news is that it works via finger print. Mr Garrison's if I have to guess.

Bellamy stares from it to me I depression but I shake my head, "I can get his finger prints." I say.

"It's too dangerous."

Ignoring that, "Here's some food." I hand him two protein bars from my purse and wait until he's devoured them both before giving him a bottle of water. When he's done, I hand him a strawberry, thinking that he'll like it. When he bites into it, his face transforms as I presume mine did.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." I say, noticing how intently he gazes at me, with my skirt-suit and hair pulled into a bun. I look more formal now than I did as a princess. "Why does he have you here?"

"I don't know!" he says, almost in tears, "he keeps saying something about his sister, Celeste and I don't know what he's talking about, and he doesn't believe me!"

I try to keep my cool, because me panicking, does him no good.

"He asks me why I left and I don't even know who he's talking about. He barely feeds me and he shocks me with a cattle rod..."

My stomach roils as I try to envisage Mr Garrison doing these things.

"I'll get you out." I swear, "You've always protected me and I won't let him kill you, I just need his prints."

I sit with him for a few minutes more and we hold hands through the bars, how much I've missed him finally takes its toll and I'm almost in tears; almost a week since we last held hands... talked... gossiped...

"I have to go." I say.

He clutches my hands tighter, his stern face creasing further. His brown, unwashed hair and dishevelled appearance only adds to the pinch in my chest. How much he's suffered... and now I'm leaving him.

"I'll be back I promise." Trying to mask how much seeing his huge, muscled frame, hunched and folded in submission.

Bellamy releases my hand reluctantly, "Just be careful, please."

"I will." And I turn and walk away.

When I get to Mr Garrison's office, I've managed to pull my emotional shards back into a workable piece of infrastructure.

He sits there at his desk like the king he wishes to be and his eyes snap up on my arrival. His bodyguards, Monty and Annalise flank the entrance to the office and glare at me in passing.

"Is this man dangerous or something?" I ask, gesturing to the breathing pillars destruction.

He shrugs, "I've never met him."

And we just presume he's a world-class murderer. "Well you'll certainly make an impression."

I pull a chair and sit across from him and his eyes leave his laptop for a second to peer, speculatively at me. I stare back at him and he just returns to typing a mile a minute. His profile is tense, his suit is crisp and the white shirt underneath is pressed and his cufflinks carry the coat of arms of the America's. With an expression that dares the laptop to disobey his commands he beats the words into them rapidly, without breaking a sweat... or taking a break to think about what he wants to say; he's not the most eloquent person I've met. But besides that small detail he's his usual unapproachable self. How am I supposed to steal fingerprints from him, especially with his attentive security guards?

Something churns my soul and I glance up to realize that Mr Garrison has forsaken all his principles of being a workaholic to stare at me. I stop jogging my leg and return his stare.

"Is something the matter?" I ask.

"Yes." He says brusquely, "You."

"Yes?"

"You're the picture of nervousness," he says, glancing at me disapprovingly, "Do you want him to think that we are a bunch of fools. Nervousness betrays weakness; and even if you've got an Achilles heel, there is no reason for him to know it. For the duration of this meeting you will remain cool and composed and even if he introduces anything that may be uncomfortable you sit there and pretend that you don't give a damn."

I'm so stunned that Mr Perfect has deigned to utter a cuss word that I ogle him for a moment. He gives me the equivalent of a wry look and says, "I can see that you need some practice."

"I think it's a bit too late to master your look now." I mutter.

He suddenly stands and sits on the chair opposite me. With a deft movement he sheds his suit-jacket as though it were a second skin and Annalise takes it from him as he reclines. The white shirt doesn't look as I expected, it's actually not completely white. It's for the most part, white but there are baby blue vertical stripes that oddly match his cinnamon eyes. He hooks his foot on my chair and turns me so that we're directly facing each other. In my periphery, Monty gives us an astonished look.

Maybe he's never seen Mr. Garrison's shirts either.

But what happens next makes me forget all about any look the muscled American could give us. Mr Garrison places his hands on my bare knees and squeezes gently. Then stares at me with eyes that don't belay as much disinterest as they did before. Or maybe everyone looks like they care once they're staring at you like that.

Maintaining his gaze, he says lowly, a single finger tracing curls across my skin, "I know who you are, why you escaped."

Shoving him away with so much force that his chair upturns, I don't even stay to marvel at if he remains on the floor or not. The door is my one goal. If he knows that I'm a princess... a run-away princess running away from a marriage arrangement; he's sell me faster than I can be processed. The money my parents would pay would surely push him over the boundary for his kingship. Then I would be as good as dead after wedding Prince Fenix. His last three wives certainly were.

Monty and Annalise jolt into action, trying to grab me, but they don't know where I've been trained. I'm millimetres from the door when something the snake constricts around my lungs. Mr Garrison, I can tell because the other two are still on the ground, staring at us, releases me and moves to block the door.

"I knew nothing about you." he begins, "But now, due to your adverse reaction, I know you're running from someone important, I mean, you had the audacity to shove me off a chair. Not many would do the same."

"Shall I dispose of her?" demands Monty.

To my shock, Mr Garrison waves his hand and gestures for us to retake our seats.

"It's a good thing we don't have to walk about during this consultation." He says.

I giggle, "No shit. Although Asians seem to like walking about."

"That's not common knowledge he muses."

Shrugging, I try his nonchalance.

He realizes and nods, "Admirable effort. You're not as good as me, but I don't expect you to be."

"Oh, thank you Mr Garrison."

Ignoring my sarcasm, he sets the chair into its former position and retakes his own seat, while I prepare to take mine. "The man who's coming, these are his details. You may browse while continue my work."

Reaching out, I take the documents from him and settle back into my seat. Monty shifts, uneasily, I guess that they don't think that me pushing Mr Garrison off of a chair doesn't merit a good laugh. Annalise returns his jacket and while he dons it, I see the cuffs of his shirt retract, revealing a portion of his skin. The skin isn't skin, it's been chaffed to the point that the scars are still pink and jagged. "What is that?" I ask.

His guards shift wearily and his impenetrable mask drops for about a few seconds, letting me see his face. His real face. The vulnerability I see is violent, his eyes burn into mine, not with rage, but with resigned fatigue.

"I did not have a traditional start to life." He says.

Until this point, I almost forgot Bellamy in the cage. What a horrible friend I am. He's always been there for me, helping me and just being there... but Mr Garrison, I don't even know what I say to that.

It doesn't matter though; I've lost my window of opportunity. The barrier is back up with full force, more imperishable than before.

Filled with mystification, I crack the folder, discretely glancing at Mr Garrison. If he feels it, he doesn't look up.

The cruel trap that greats me in that folder makes me drop it in horror, sending all the papers flying. Yet the picture sits upright, managing to haunt me even after all these years. I touch the spot where his ring used to sit and almost break down. My anger saves me.

"You're despicable!"

Mr Garrison looks up and stares at me. It sends me off, just not into a violent rage. My legs give out and I collapse into the chair.

"Why am I despicable?"

"I can't be as insouciant as you. I thought that we had established that, why do you want to rub him in my face?" I demand weakly. My voice seems to conk out on me as much as my legs.

He makes a gesture to Monty and he approaches and picks out the picture and hands it to Mr Garrison who studies it intently, then looks back to me. From the look on his face I already know what he's going to say, but I still need the verbal conformation before I heave on his desk.

"He's our ambassador." He says, "How do you know him?"

My stomach can't take it any longer, Mr Garrison dumps the stationary from the stationary basket onto his neat table and shoves the metal box near my mouth. Just in time, he holds it steady as I empty my stomach. It's just too much: Bellamy in a cage, Kalvin's miraculous return from the dead.

When I'm done throwing up, Mr Garrison hands my bodily fluids to Monty who almost runs from the smell. And gestures for Annalise to follow him. He grasps me arm and pulls me up slowly, and I fight another bout of nausea.

Quickly, the three of us march into the bathroom where he stops and opens the door for Annalise and I. Ignoring her, I lock myself in a stall and will myself not to vomit. I blow my nose and eventually emerge when the pungent taste in my mouth becomes overwhelming.

Annalise watches with a glare as a rinse and drink some water.

Kalvin is alive. I just threw up in Mr Garrison's stationary pan. Can life become any worse?

When I return to his office, the smell gone, but something worse has replaced it. A masked man, stands opposite Mr Garrison, and just from his headstrong stance, I know exactly who it is. Kalvin has his back turned to me, but he turns not too soon enough and grins at me; only it isn't his boyish grin, this grin is filled with malice and the promise of torment. Right beside him stands the man from the ice cream store.