chapter six
1034 Words
Lana’s head hung low as she walked behind John. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, each beat sharp against her ribs, but she stayed silent. She counted her steps, one after another, as if the rhythm could keep her grounded.
Maybe this is just a dream, she thought. A long, twisted dream. no it wasn't a dream. it was a nightmare. She was trapped in a nightmare.
Any moment now, she would wake up in her cramped little house, her phone buzzing endlessly with calls from debt collectors, her bags half-packed, ready to flee again. The thought of her miserable life made a sad smile tug at her lips.
But what did she even have to go back to? A leaking roof, a bed too small, and a life full of running? For a fleeting second, the thought whispered through her mind, maybe her end here wasn’t such a bad thing.
But no. The moment the thought crossed her, her heart rebelled. She didn’t want this to be her end. It would be too cruel, too unfair, if this was where her story stopped.
Her steps faltered as John came to a stop. He stood in front of a heavy door, his hand on the knob.
“This is your room,” he said evenly. “Everything you need is inside. I’ll be back soon.”
The door creaked open.
Lana’s gaze darted from the doorway back to him. She had begged him to let her go earlier, and he had refused. Now, he was just like the blue-eyed monster. If he were truly kind, he would’ve helped her escape this place.
A sigh left her lips. Her legs moved on their own, carrying her into the room. She turned back once, but John was already shutting the door. The click of the lock made her stomach drop.
“No, no, no…”
Lana rushed forward and shoved at the door. It didn’t budge. Her fingers clawed where a handle should’ve been, but it wasn’t there. They’d removed it, sealing her inside like a prisoner.
She raised her fist, ready to pound on the wood, to scream until her throat tore. But her hand froze midair. What was the use? Everyone in this house was on his side. Even if she shattered her lungs screaming, no one would open the door for her.
She stepped back, staring at the silent door.
Windows!
The thought struck her like lightning. She spun around, eyes scanning the room, until she spotted one at the far wall. She bolted across the room, hope sparking in her chest, and grabbed the frame.
Her hands pushed with all her strength. Nothing. She tried again. Again. The window wouldn’t budge. It was bolted shut, locked tight. She shoved harder, desperation fueling her strength, but it was useless.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “This can’t be.”
Her eyes darted around for another way out. Another door caught her attention. She ran for it, yanking it open only to find a bathroom.
It was large, bright, with white marble walls and polished fixtures. Modern yet antique, elegant in a way that mocked her desperation. But she wasn’t here to admire it. Her gaze swept the walls. No window. No way out.
Her chest tightened. A dead end.
She staggered to the sink and twisted the tap. Cool water gushed out, and she splashed it on her face, trying to calm the storm inside her. Lifting her head, her gaze fell on the toiletries neatly arranged by the mirror. Toothbrushes, soap, all pristine.
She picked up a toothbrush, staring at it as unease curled through her.
was all this all meant for her?
None of her father’s debtors had money like this. They were sharks, yes, but the kind that lived off scraps. They bullied, exploited, dragged men like her father into ruin. But they didn’t live in mansions, didn’t lock people away in furnished rooms.
This was something worse. Something she didn’t understand yet.
She set the toothbrush back, careful to leave it as it was, and walked out of the bathroom.
Her eyes landed on the bed, where a collection of dresses lay neatly arranged on a chair nearby. Designer fabrics gleamed under the light, expensive and elegant. Her hand lifted to her hair, tugging at it in frustration.
She walked over, running her hands across them. Her breath hitched. High-end brands. The kind of clothes she only saw in magazines.
She stepped back sharply. No. She wouldn’t wear them. If they wanted her to, they could force her, but she wouldn’t willingly.
What if they asked her to pay for them? She almost laughed bitterly. She could barely afford her own rent. She wasn’t about to add designer clothes to her list of debts.
She turned away and sank onto the bed, her eyes roaming over the lavish room. Every corner reminded her of her captivity. Every detail screamed that she didn’t belong here.
So she waited. For what, she didn’t know. Maybe for John. Maybe for the monster. Maybe for her chance to escape.
Her heart jumped when a knock sounded on the door. She held her breath, waiting. Silence stretched for a few seconds before the lock clicked open.
The door swung inward.
John stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the room until they landed on her.
“Are you done?” he asked.
Lana nodded slowly, a frown tugging at her lips.
His gaze lingered on her a moment, then shifted to the untouched clothes. He said nothing, but the sigh that slipped from him was heavy.
Whatever they planned for her, she wasn’t going to accept it. She would fight. Even if it killed her, she would fight for her freedom.
“Mr. Carson is waiting for you,” John said.
Lana drew in a deep breath, steadying her nerves.
This was it. Time to face him again.
John stepped aside, expecting her to resist. To dig her heels into the floor.
Instead, Lana stood. Her chin lifted, her eyes hard. And she walked forward.
It caught him off guard.
Was she finally giving in? Or was she preparing for something else?
- Writer
