Love Under The Sheets

Chapter 3

Freya followed mindlessly, her body moving as if detached from her will. Orion Black hauled her effortlessly toward his car—like a weightless leaf caught in a storm. Only when the door slammed shut did she snap from her daze.

"My mom—" The words burst from her, panic clawing up her throat. She couldn’t leave her mother behind. If she did, the Robinsons would s*******r her without hesitation.

"Chris will handle it." Orion’s reply was curt, his gaze fixed ahead, refusing her even a glance.

Rubbing her stinging wrist—still tender from his grip—Freya finally dared to study him up close. His jaw was clenched, his expression carved in ice, but there was no denying his unnatural magnetism. He looked like a god sculpted for war: sharp features, a physique that commanded power, an aura that smothered the air around them.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, so loud she feared he might hear it.

"Where are you taking me?" she whispered after swallowing hard.

"Somewhere I keep my investments safe." The edge in his voice was unmistakable—a warning.

Freya understood. He wasn’t a man who tolerated questions. To avoid provoking him further, she pressed back into her seat, holding her breath, willing herself to stay silent.

As collateral for her grandparents' company debt, she expected the worst from CEO Black. But one thing was certain—he wouldn’t dare harm her until the payment was made. If Talia Robinson even paid to free her. The thought made her hope waver.

Still, she held thirty-five percent of the company’s shares and all her grandfather’s properties. Talia had to bring her back.

The entire ride passed in a blur, her mind racing with escape plans. She and her mother couldn’t stay in Frostvale for long. Now that she understood why they’d been dragged back, the danger was all too clear.

"Don’t even think of escaping, or you’ll never see your mother again."

The icy voice snapped her back to the present. Only then did she realize the car had stopped in front of a brilliantly lit mansion. The sheer grandeur of it stole her breath—so much so that she barely registered the man’s sharp warning.

Was there some grand celebration?

But as her eyes swept over the scene, she frowned. Aside from the uniformed staff waiting outside, there was no sign of a party.

Unless the Black household always reveled in such extravagance, the opulent display made no sense—Orion Black wasn’t hosting a guest. He was bringing in a prisoner.

So why did he brought her to a castle fit for royalty?

"Welcome back, Master Orion," a stern-faced man greeted as the car door opened.

Instead of returning the courtesy, Orion issued a cold command: "Bring Miss Winters inside, Julio"

"Right away, Master Orion." The man nodded, then turned to her with an open-arm gesture and a slight bow. Reluctantly, she obeyed.

"This way, Young Miss." He motioned toward the mansion, but her gaze lingered on the still-open car door.

She expected CEO Black to step out—but to her shock, the door shut, and the car drove off.

"Master Orion is… preoccupied," the man explained, noting her confusion.

For a moment, she stared at the retreating vehicle, half-expecting—what? For Orion Black to step out and personally escort her through his fortress? The absurdity of the thought made her cheeks burn, and she shook it away with a sharp inhale.

Focus, Freya. You’re not here as a guest.

“This way, Young Mistress.” The attendant’s voice snapped her back to reality. Too drained to protest, she followed in silence—until she noticed the staff falling into step behind her, a synchronized procession of uniforms and bowed heads. It was like something out of a period drama, surreal enough to momentarily steal her breath.

They ascended a sweeping staircase, the maids gliding behind her like a silent honor guard. The precision of it unsettled her. Were they escorts… or guards?

“This will be your chamber.” Julio paused before an ornate door, swinging it open with a deferential nod.

Freya’s pulse stuttered.

The room wasn’t just luxurious—it was a fantasy. The bright light from a chandelier above spilled across a bed piled with silken pillows, so inviting she nearly forgot she was a prisoner. Her gaze darted from the gilded sitting area to the walk-in closet—no, a boutique—its doors ajar to reveal a bathroom straight out of a five-star resort.

“We prepared a few necessities on short notice,” a maid said, smiling as if this were normal. “Tomorrow, we can arrange a shopping trip for anything else you desire.”

Few necessities? Freya stepped into the closet, her throat tightening. The “few clothes” spanned racks upon racks, designer bags lined up like trophies, shoes gleaming in meticulous rows.

"Maybe CEO Black was expecting a guest, and you mistook me for her," Freya mumbled uncertainly, her voice barely above a whisper. The overwhelming hospitality was unsettling—foreign to someone like her.

"Sir Chris called earlier to prepare for Miss Freya Winters' arrival. His instructions were very specific. There’s no mistake," the maid replied with a polite smile, though her words only deepened Freya’s confusion.

"It’s getting late, Young Miss. We’ll leave you to rest for now. Caren will fetch you for dinner later," Julio said before motioning for the others to follow him out.

Alone at last, Freya remained frozen in place, her eyes tracing the opulent details of the room. Was this really how Orion Black treated his prisoners?

Earlier, when she’d been torn from the place her mother once called home, relief and fear had warred within her. Relief to escape the suffocating grip of the Robinsons—yet fear of the unknown, of being at the mercy of a man like Orion Black.

Had she made the right choice, surrendering to his so-called *rescue*? How long would this gilded cage keep her safe? Where had they taken her mother? Was she unharmed? And if Winters Corporation failed to pay their debt—what then?

Questions gnawed at her, relentless and unanswered.

Even the extravagant dinner laid out for her felt like a taunt. She moved mechanically, tasting nothing, her appetite lost to the storm in her mind.

A week had passed. Each morning, she woke hoping for news—some clarity about her fate. Against her better judgment, she found herself wondering why Orion Black hadn’t appeared since delivering her here. But she quickly chastised herself.

Who was she to expect his attention? Her only concerns should be her mother and survival.

At least Julio had assured her safety—and last night, he’d even arranged a call with her mother. Hearing her voice had been a fleeting comfort.

"I’ve done nothing but eat and sleep for a week. I’m not used to this," Freya admitted as she walked with Caren in the garden, plucking flowers for her room.

"What would you like to do, Miss Freya? We’ll arrange it at once," Caren replied, pausing to face her.

"I can… ask for anything?" Surprise flickered in Freya’s voice, tentative hope stirring.

"Of course. Anything you wish—we’ll make it happen," Caren promised warmly—before adding with an apologetic smile, "Except leaving the estate, of course."

With a sad smile, she mumbled, "I know, Caren." No matter how warm the Blacks' hospitality had been, Freya would never forget why she was there in the first place.

Proving she could request anything, Caren brought her to the mall.

"I won’t escape," Freya whispered solemnly, a sad pout adorning her pretty face.

Caren glanced around and immediately understood. Not far from them, Black Security agents in casual clothes blended seamlessly with the shoppers. Though out of uniform, Freya recognized them—the same men who guarded the mansion day and night.

"They’re here for your safety, Miss Freya," Caren explained gently, offering a reassuring smile.

"But this is excessive," Freya protested with an embarrassed smile. "My roots are here, but I didn’t grow up here. No one even knows me."

"They’ll keep their distance if it makes you uncomfortable," Caren assured her, and Freya seemed to relax slightly.

They browsed for sketchbooks and specialty pencils, strolling leisurely until a jewelry shop caught Freya’s eye.

"Let’s check the displays!" she exclaimed, eyes sparkling as she tugged Caren inside.

The moment they entered, Freya darted to the nearest glass case, captivated by the shimmering array of meticulously crafted jewelry.

"This design is breathtaking!" she gasped, pointing to a set of an ornate platinum piece studded with dazzling diamonds. "The craftsmanship—and these stones are flawless!"

The store attendant, noticing their interest, approached with a polished smile. "You have an excellent eye. This is one of only four in the world. Priced in the millions, naturally."

"Millions?!" Freya’s eyes widened, still glued to the glittering treasure.

"Indeed. We’ve already notified our VIP clients, but as per policy, the first to complete payment takes it home."

Caren studied Freya’s awestruck expression. "Do you want to buy it?"

Freya giggled, shaking her head. "I don’t have millions, Caren. I just came for sketchbooks and some pencils"

"Then move aside—you're wasting everyone's time."

Before anyone could react, a figure shoved Freya backward, followed by two others who flanked her like bodyguards. She stumbled, arms flailing, before crashing to the floor with a gasp. The attendants froze, their polished professionalism shattered as they gaped at the girl now sprawled near the display cabinet.

"Miss Freya!" Caren’s voice sliced through the silence, horrified. She lunged forward, but Freya was already scrambling up, dusting off her skirt with frantic energy.

"I’m fine! See?" Freya forced a laugh, raising her hands as if to prove she was unharmed. The gesture only made the scene more jarring—her smile too bright, her voice too loud.

One of the newcomers, a woman with a sneer sharp enough to cut glass, flicked her gaze over Freya. "No one cares, bitch." Her friends tittered, exchanging glances dripping with mockery.

"Honestly," the woman continued, turning her venom on the attendants, "why let trash like this in? Can’t you tell they couldn’t afford a single piece here, let alone a million-dollar collection?" She gestured derisively at Freya’s sketchbook. "How ambitious—admiring treasures when you belong in a dollar store. They’ve got plenty of fake necklaces for you there."

The shop plunged into icy silence. No one laughed. The attendants exchanged uneasy glances; Caren’s fists clenched, her jaw tight. But Freya’s attention wasn’t on the insults—it was on the shadowed figures outside the shop. Through the glass, she caught the glint of watchful eyes, the tension in broad shoulders ready to storm in. Desperately, she shook her head, motioning for them to stand down.

Miraculously, only one entered—a man who lingered near the entrance, scanning the room like any other customer. But his stance was too rigid, his gaze too sharp.

The woman scoffed, her gaze dismissive. "Go on. Crawl back to where you belong."

Freya’s fingers clenched around her sketchbook, her smile a flawless mask—honed by years of practice. She drew a breath to retaliate, but before a single word could form, an icy voice sliced through the room.

“Who is crawling?”

Every head whipped toward the entrance. The air turned to frost. Even Freya stiffened, her breath hitching mid-throat.

There, stepping into the shop with the lazy grace of a predator, was the man she hadn’t seen in a week. Orion Black. His presence was a shockwave—unexpected, electrifying. A peculiar warmth fluttered in her chest, sudden and unwelcome, yet impossible to ignore.

The attendants jolted to attention, snapping into a flawless line. “CEO Black,” they chorused, voices crisp with reverence. “Welcome.”

The three women near Freya instantly straightened, fingers darting to smooth hair and adjust necklines—their eyes never leaving him. “Hello, CEO Black,” they purred, saccharine smiles plastered across their faces.

Orion didn’t so much as glance their way.

The silence thickened, heavy with something dangerous—the quiet before a storm. His gaze, dark and unreadable, swept past the simpering women and landed on Freya.

****TBC****