Page 107 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Stalker

I went over to the door and found it locked. Frowning, I bent down to study the doorknob. It was painted black, making it hard to see where the locking mechanism was in the dimly lit room. There wasn’t one that I could see. I ran my fingers over it, finding only smooth surfaces.

It had to lock from the outside. The basement door locked from theoutside only. Fear shot through me.

Who in the world set it up where someone couldn’t getoutof the house if they needed to? I turned, almost frantic, hoping beyond hope I was wrong. I hit the stairs running and practically threw myself at the door that separated the basement from the rest of the house. I paused, full of hope, and tried to turn the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

I whimpered and rested my forehead against the door.

“No,” I whispered to myself. “No, no, no.” This couldn’t be happening. Last night I’d discovered my boyfriend had been spying on me and spent millions on a house just to be in the sameneighborhood as me.

And then what? I’d run out the door into the path ofanotherstalker? How was that even possible?

And why was I so groggy? I thought back to the previous evening. The last thing I’d had to drink was water Ivan had given me. I remembered the cap had already been twisted off and replaced. At the time, I’d thought he was being nice.

Now? I’m pretty sure he drugged me.

“Ivan!” I yelled, knocking on the door. There was no answer. No sound. I waited a few moments. There were zero noises inside the house. No footsteps, no sounds of someone cooking, or running water, or anything.

“Ivan!” I screamed as loud as I could, beating my fists against the locked door. I breathed heavily as I waited, hoping this was a mistake. That he’d brought me to his house late last night and had to leave this morning before waking me up.

But I knew it wasn’t a mistake. I sat down heavily on the stairs. No one locks someone in their basement ‘by mistake’.

I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t have my car or my bike. Even if I could figure a way out of this place, I had no clue where I was. What if Ivan lived on a farm outside of town? I could be running through fields all day trying to find my way to the road.

I shuddered hard. Ivan had left me here. When he came back, what was he going to do? Something told me I’d rather me trapped in a maze of corn than face him.

Especially if he’d been the one leaving me those notes.

I went back down the stairs, looking at everything, trying to assess whether or not I could get out of here. I narrowed my eyes at the small windows. They were high on the walls, and horizontal. They were only one pane tall, but several panes wide. Were they locked? If they weren’t locked, did I have any hope of fitting through them? I scrunched my nose at the size of the panes of glass. I was pretty sure I could squeeze through there except for my hips and butt. I had to try, though. It was the only way out.

There wasn’t much furniture, and what there was wouldn’tbe tall enough to reach the windows. I remembered the boxes in the bedroom and hurried to get some. God, they were heavy. I had to carry them, one at a time, painstakingly slowly, as dust and dirt got all over me and mixed with my sweat to make me feel gross and grimy.

I stacked the boxes as high as I could and still hope to climb them without falling over. I pushed a low table over beside the boxes. I climbed on top of it, hoping it could hold my weight. It didn’t seem sturdy.

Sure enough, it creaked and cracked as soon as I stood on it. It was breaking, so I hurried to push off it and climb up the rest of the boxes. I had to go slow. The whole thing was shaky, and my legs were wobbly from exertion and nerves. And from the aftereffects of whatever drug Ivan had given me. Finally, I reached the top box and got on my knees, leaning over to try the windows.

At first, I was excited. The locks opened without too much trouble. They were old and squeaked as I put all my strength behind turning them. But it worked. I was going to get out of here!

My hands were shaking as I reached for the bottom of the window and pulled upwards. Nothing. It didn’t budge.

“What the hell?” I murmured to myself.

I tried again, using every last bit of my strength to push the window up.

It didn’t move. I wanted to scream with frustration. I carefully balanced myself on the box, being careful to stop every time it swayed too much. I was about to throw everything I had left in me into making that window open, when I saw the tiny, flat nail heads that had been coated in the same black paint as the windowsill.

The window had been both painted and nailed shut.

What the hell was going on here? Did Ivan do this often? Did he stalk and kidnap women all the time?

I looked around nervously. Would I find the skeletons of long dead missing women somewhere down here?I shivered at the thought and turned too quickly to look back at the window. I was trying to make out how easily I might be able to break the thick glass. It seemed to be double paned.

That’s when the tower of boxes came crashing down, dumping me onto the hard floor below. I lay there for a while, not wanting to move. I was in a lot of pain, and I was pretty sure I’d heard my ankle make a popping sound. It was also hard to breathe. I’d landed hard on my side, and I was afraid I’d broken a couple of ribs. At least I hadn’t fallen on my head.

Damn the floor was hard. I wondered if there was a concrete slab underneath the old carpet.

I tried to roll over and hissed at the pain. I laid there in defeat for a while, letting myself cry. I had plenty of time to think while lying there, trying to come up with a plan to get out of my predicament.

I decided to try to throw something at the windows and break them. If I couldn’t crawl out, maybe I could at least scream for help and get someone to hear me.