A Thread of Hope
1187 Words
Natasha’s POV
I don’t know how long I was in there.
Seconds passed into minutes. Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. Time blurred into an endless, shapeless thing.
All I knew was that I’d been in there too long.
Long enough for my thoughts to stop making sense—looping, circling, spiraling.
Long enough for my teeth to ache from the constant clench, my jaw locked with tension.
Long enough for the cold to stop feeling foreign and start sinking into my bones like it belonged there.
I was in there long enough to stare death in the eyes as he waited patiently in the corner. Silent. Patient. Watching.
My body shook with cold, and my hands wrapped around me as I tried to reserve the last bit of heat I had left. But all I had on was the red dress I was meant to wear for the dinner, and that didn't seem to do any good.
I kept expecting the door to swing open. For him to come back and laugh. To call it a joke.
But the door stayed shut.
I knew he hated me, but I didn't think his hatred ran that deep. Deep enough to kill me. It was obvious I knew nothing about the man I had married.
Some part of me still waited for him to pull the door and bring me out.
But it didn’t happen
He didn’t come.
No sounds. No footsteps. Just the ticking silence that bled into my bones.
The darkness was still complete. The silence pressed in like it was alive, breathing down my neck, crawling beneath my skin.
I didn’t know what would kill me first—the cold or the madness crawling up my spine.
My fingers had gone numb. My back screamed from the unyielding stone. My toes ached like they didn’t belong to me anymore. But I didn’t move.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of screaming.
Of crying.
Of breaking.
Then—I heard it.
A sound.
A key turned in the lock.
My heart jumped, and I straightened, trying not to look desperate.
The door creaked open. Slowly.
My eyes lit up in hope, hope that finally someone had come for me but that hope came crashing down the next minute.
The door had been opened alright, but not all the way. Just enough for light to spill in—a faint golden glow from the hallway.
Like I was being teased with freedom, but unable to truly grab it.
That was when I noticed the figure and I blinked at the silhouette standing there.
Lucian.
He didn’t speak.
Just looked at me.
Still sitting. Still shivering.
His expression was unreadable. Calm again. That same terrifying calm.
I met his gaze, defiantly, even though my jaw trembled.
It seemed as if he came to check if I had learned my lessons.
And to be honest, I didn't think I had.
Then he did something I didn’t expect.
He crouched—slow, like he had all the time in the world—and slid something inside the room.
A tray.
I blinked. My vision was blurred around the edges. I hadn’t even noticed him carrying anything.
My eyes immediately shifted to the contents of the tray
It was a bowl of soup, bread, and a bottle of water. And then right beside it… a thick gray blanket.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
He brought a blanket for me after he locked me up in here?
I almost told him I didn’t need it.
Almost.
Lucian didn’t hand it to me.
Didn’t step in.
He just looked down at me and said, “Eat.”
One word and I was supposed to obey.
His voice was soft. Almost bored.
And God, those eyes.
They stared at me like I was the scum of the earth, the kind that you wouldn't even touch with a six-foot pole.
I could see the disgust swirling in them, though his lips said nothing, but his eyes were all I needed to see.
I stared at the tray, then at him.
“I’m not your prisoner,” I muttered.
He had locked me in here. Now he was offering me bread as ‘food’. I came here as a wife but it seemed like that was a synonym prisoner.
“You are, Natasha,” he said simply. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
He didn't even hide it.
I didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the food. Even when my stomach turned on itself. Even when I could feel my bones ache for warmth.
He stood, watching me to see what my next move was going to be.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, with a glance at the tray, “I’m not cruel. I told you that.”
Then the door creaked shut again.
And the darkness came back.
But this time, I had something.
A blanket. Soup. Bread. A sip of humanity dropped like crumbs from a god.
I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, legs folded to my chest.
I didn’t eat. Not yet. Not until the shaking stopped.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but eventually, my eyelids started to sink. The cold still bit at my fingers, but the warmth of the blanket was a mercy I didn’t want to admit I needed.
And then the door opened again…
It was him.
Lucian stepped in, slow, measured, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. He didn’t speak. Just looked at me—eyes scanning my face, like he was trying to read if I’d broken.
I didn’t look away.
I wouldn’t give him that.
I wanted him to know I was still here. Still me.
But I was tired. So tired. My pride only went so far when my body was betraying me. My eyes drooped, keeping them open was a hard task. But I was afraid of sleeping, so I forced myself.
He crouched again, this time closer. Reaching out, he touched the edge of the blanket wrapped around me. He tugged it gently, and when I didn’t resist, he picked me up.
Just like that.
No struggle.
No words.
Just silence.
I didn't want to be here anymore, and so I had to do everything I could. Even if it was accepting his touch as he carried me out.
Lucian carried me out of the cellar like I weighed nothing.
Up the stairs. Down the hall. Into a room, I didn’t recognize—warm, softly lit, with a fireplace crackling in the corner. He laid me down on a plush bed. Covered me. Then turned without a word.
My eyes were starting to close, I was barely able to fight the exhaustion.
But just before he left, he paused at the door.
“You made it through the night,” he said without turning. “Not many would.”
The door shut behind him.
And for the first time since he locked me away, I exhaled.
I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, and so I let the darkness consume me.
- Writer
