Chapter 5 BELLA
794 Words
I let my legs carry me as I sprinted blindly through the unfamiliar streets. My lungs burned, my heart pounded, but I didn’t dare stop.
"She's getting away!" A voice—*the old man’s —shouted behind me. I glanced back and immediately regretted it. My foot caught on uneven pavement, and I crashed hard onto the concrete, scraping my arm. Before I could scramble up, two massive hands yanked me off the ground. Tears blurred my vision as I struggled uselessly.
"Where do you think you’re going, little thing?" one of the men growled, his grip like iron. Defeated, I let them drag me back to the car. The New York air, once alive with city noise, now felt icy against my skin.
Mr. Jones sat inside, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, the smoke curling lazily in the dim light. Just like Dad used to do when he was stressed.
"Running away makes me feel like a bad person," he mused, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.
"I’m sorry," I whispered, my earlier defiance gone. Where was the girl who had screamed at her stepmother hours ago?
He studied me for a long moment before nodding at the driver. "Let’s go."
The car pulled away, and I choked on the thick smoke. Who smokes in a closed car?
"Sorry," Mr. Jones muttered after a pause, finally opening the sunroof. Cold air rushed in, and I gulped it down, staying silent as we sped toward the airport.
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30 Minutes Later
A private jet. Of course. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t just rich—he was powerful. The kind of man who didn’t ask for things; he took them.
"Where are we going?" I asked the flight attendant, a woman with a too-sweet smile.
"California," she replied before gliding away.
Mr. Jones was on the phone, his voice low but commanding. When he hung up, he moved toward me, settling into the seat beside mine.
"What do you need me for?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He gave me a genuine smile—*the first real one I’d seen from him."At first, I wanted you to work at my club. But then I saw you—saw the state you were in—and took pity."
"I don’t need your pity," I snapped, turning toward the window. The dark clouds outside mirrored my mood.
"You’ll like my son," he continued, ignoring my bitterness. **"He’s… intense. A control freak. Some anger issues."
Great. A psycho."I can’t marry him."
"Call me Matthew," he corrected. "And why not?"
"Your driver said he’s gay. Why would you force me into that? I used to dream of love—of a real marriage, a family. I don’t even know your son!"
His expression darkened. "You have her eyes," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Whose eyes?" I frowned.
He stood abruptly. "If you won’t marry him, you’ll work at my club. I paid good money for you. You will be useful."
Paid for me? Like I’m some kind of object?
Before I could argue, he walked away, leaving me seething.
-5 Hours Later
"We’re here."
A deep voice jolted me awake. The jet was empty except for one of the hulking men from earlier Sean.
"Boss is waiting," he said, gesturing for me to follow.
Outside, a sleek Tesla idled. The California air was warmer, the skyline dazzling, but I barely registered it. My stomach twisted as we pulled up to a sprawling white mansion. *Who the hell is this guy? A mob boss?*
Inside, the house was immaculate—all black and white marble, cold and luxurious.
"Hello, Mrs. Jones," Sean greeted as an elegant older woman descended the stairs.
"Hello, Sean!" She beamed before turning to me. "You must be Annabella Campbell."
"Yes, ma’am," I said stiffly.
Then, without warning, she *hugged* me. I froze. The last person who hugged me was my best friend—before she vanished from my life.
"Call me Clara," she said warmly. "I’m Kylan’s grandmother."
Kylan. The son.
"Granny is fine too," I managed, forcing a smile.
She led me upstairs to a guest room— or so I thought—until a sharp voice cut through.
"Who are you*?"
A girl my age stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Then recognition flickered in her eyes.
"Oh. You’re the girl Dad bought for my brother." She smirked. "I’m Lia. Kylan’s *only* sane relative."
I shook her outstretched hand. "Annabella. But Bella’s fine."
She rolled her eyes. "Granny gave you my room. Classic."
As she led me to the real guest room, chattering about the family, I realized one thing:
I was trapped.
And the worst part? I still didn’t know why.
- Writer
