“What’s the big deal? Did you impose a curfew or something?” I folded my arms across my chest, my eyes pinned on him.
He held my gaze a little while before slowly rising to his feet. He buried a hand in his pocket and then approached me with slow, menacing steps. His expression was blank, his eyes cold as ice.
“Perhaps I didn’t make it super clear the first time,” he began, halting in front of me. “You’re not going anywhere.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “You belong to me now.”
My jaw tightened.
“Instead of trying to run away,” he added, holding my gaze, “you should consider yourself lucky that I put you in a luxury suite and not a damp cell with the rats and cockroaches.”
“You can dress it up all you want. But a prison is still a prison,” I said to him, eyes blazing with fury.
He paused for a moment, then said, “You’re right. You’re inmyprison—and it doesn’t matter how many times you try…you’ll never escape.”
His words struck me like a knife to the heart, and it only fueled my rage.
“Accept your new reality, and save yourself the trouble.” With that, he stepped away from me and headed back upstairs.
It wasn’t until he’d disappeared out of my sight that my lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. This was my first attempt at an escape, and I wanted him to catch me. It would be a lot easier to have him more focused on my escape plan than on the actual plan.
I wanted him to believe I was reckless and stupid so he wouldn’t look deeper. He must not know that my real mission was observation. Not escape.
After that night, I made more bold moves, and the more I tried, the more he caught me. It became like a game between us, and this time,Iwas the one calling the shots. He was doing exactly what I wanted him to while I gathered as much information about his business as I could.
I’d noticed the subtle signs of criminal activities in the mansion: muffled screams from the basement like someone was being tortured, hushed conversations behind closed doors, and coded phone calls in Russian.
Strange packages were constantly being moved in and out of the mansion under the cover of night. Although nothing was concrete yet, I was sure that with time, I’d get to the bottom of this.
This place wasn’t a home. It was a hub for criminal activities.
Meanwhile, despite all of these findings, something else was swelling between my captor and me. Something that could either help me destroy him or end up destroying me. Every time he faced me, he looked at me in a way that was both captivating and unsettling.
His cold eyes lingered a little longer, and whenever his skin grazed mine, it ignited a flame within me. Every time I sensed the tension between us, or the emotions his touch stirred inside me, I’d mask my feelings with rage.
Pretending not to notice any of this was the only way that I could stay focused on the mission. However, my pulse betrayed me whenever he was near.
This uneasy attraction was an unwelcome distraction that unsettled me in more ways than one. I had to remind myself every day why I was here, what the mission was, and what was at stake if I lost.
My captor wasn’t someone to be seduced by. No. He was a man to be exposed and locked away forever. This was a dangerous game, and I was clearly playing with fire. I could either burn or get burned, and I preferred to burn. Maybe if I played this game well enough, I might actually win.
Chapter 8 – Nik
I sat at the head of the table, watching her closely as she ate in silence. The soft click of her cutlery filled the room, the aroma of grilled chicken and red wine mingling in the air.
Her brown hair spilled over her shoulders tonight instead of her usual messy ponytail. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate, her jaw moving in a smooth, poised rhythm. Her skin shimmered under the chandelier’s soft light, and she tightened her grip on the cutlery just a bit.
My eyes roamed over her body, drinking in every little detail I could capture. I noticed the freckles across her nose that hinted at how much time she used to spend out in the sun.
She was beautiful and feminine. No doubt. However, the texture of her skin told a different story. She had bruises—scars that predated the most recent injuries she sustained during the auction. And considering her violent nature, it was clear that she was no ordinary girl.
Her fingers were bare and unmanicured, suggesting a non-feminine lifestyle—one far from delicate. She had the hands of someone who’d faced war and come out alive, someone who didn’t just handle a weapon but knew how to use it expertly.
However, that could’ve been caused by being held hostage by her kidnappers for so long—a period that somehow changed her appearance. Perhaps captivity had shaped that roughness, carving traces of endurance into what might’ve once been soft.
Whatever the case, she was no ordinary girl. She was tough, rugged in more ways than one. The girl was slender but strong, with a dancer’s grace and a soldier’s posture. I had no idea who she was, where she had come from, or why.
At first, I didn’t want to ask about how she got entangled with human traffickers. But my curiosity got the best of me. I needed to know, even though I had a feeling she might lie and not tell the entire truth. That’s what I would do if I were her.
I reached for my half-empty glass of wine, lifted it to my lips, and took a sip. “Tell me,” I began, my voice low and even. “How did you end up with those men?”
