I could feel my heart rate spike just by remembering how difficult it was to breathe. My fingers tightened around the sheets, trying to anchor me to reality as I struggled to catch my breath in real life.
It was almost like I was still locked up in that cell—cold and dark. My hand flew to my chest as if to prevent my heart from jumping out. My breathing came in ragged, and I felt like I was being swallowed up by the dark.
My lips parted, but no words came out, and even when I tried to move, I felt numb. All I could do was squeeze against the sheets. My eyes were wide open, yet all I saw was darkness. I knew none of this was real. I knew it was all in my head, but I was still stuck. Unable to move, unable to breathe, and unable to speak.
“Snap out of it,” a deep, husky voice caught my attention. “You’re not in the basement anymore. You’re safe now. You’re in your room.”
The familiar voice anchored me to the present, and gradually my vision began to clear. My heartbeat steadied, my muscles relaxed, and my tension dissipated into thin air.
I let out a soft sigh and blinked a few times, finally getting a grip on myself.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” that familiar voice spoke again.
I recognized it now. It was my jailer.
My face twisted into a frown. “You…you were behind this, weren’t you?” I sat upright, glaring at him. “You ordered your men to lock me up in that cell.”
He was seated on the sofa beside the bed with his legs crossed, wearing a blank expression on his face. His jacket was draped over the armrest, sleeves rolled up, as he exuded his usual air of confidence and authority.
“I could’ve died in there!” I snapped, brows drawing together in anger.
“But you didn’t. Get over it.”
His nonchalance and cold attitude only fueled my rage.
“Get over it?” My scowl deepened. “Are you serious?” A soft scoff of disbelief fell from my lips as I combed my fingers through my hair.
I shouldn’t be surprised; he was the devil’s incarnate, and people like him were unpredictable. This was proof that I wasn’t safe in this mansion because this man had the power to decide my fate. He could wake up one morning and order his men to put a bullet in my head. That was how dangerous he was.
He had claimed ownership of me multiple times, but always denied it. I guess he thought it was time to prove his superiority and the authority he had over me. Maybe the ideawas to remind me that I was still his prisoner—that I was only breathing because he allowed it.
My hatred for him had doubled at this point. But there was nothing I could do about it—whether I liked it or not, my life was in his hands. He had the power to decide whether I had a future. It sucked, yes. But that was my reality.
“You should be thanking me, Scarlett,” he said, his voice low and even.
Strange.
He’d never called me by name before. I used to think he didn’t know it, but I guess I was wrong. My eyes squinted ever so slightly as I recalled a memory from last night—one buried beneath the surface.
“Scarlett!”his voice echoed in my head.
I remembered the way he called out to me when he came barging into my cell. His voice wasn’t just loud; it was laced with traces of concern and fear.
What?
My gaze settled on his face, trying to reconcile the cold-hearted man seated before me with the worried one from last night. It seemed like they were two different people. There was no way in hell that the man staring at me right now was the same one who carried me in his arms last night.
I was confused.
Or maybe I was tripping. Maybe I was seeing things, and he was never as tender as I thought he was. It made more sense that I might have been hallucinating, and it never happened. Men like him were incapable of showing affection; he didn’t have what it took to actually care about someone.
He might have been the one who carried me out of the dungeon and called me by name. But the glint of concern in his tone must’ve been my imagination.
“You want me to thank you for saving my life when you were the one who put it at risk in the first place?” I raised my eyebrows. “Classic.”
He uncrossed his legs and rose from the sofa. “I’m not here to debate you,” he said, picking up his jacket. “I’m here to break the good news.”
Good news?
