25 Years Ago
Gumamela sat quietly in the sunlit sitting room, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee mug. The walls of the estate, once a symbol of warmth and family, now felt like cold barriers closing in on her. She thought deeply about Wile—about the man she loved, and the man who had become her captor.
Why was he restraining her like this? She wondered. What fears haunted him so deeply that he needed to cage her within these walls?
She recalled the strict rules that had been imposed. She was allowed to leave the estate only under two conditions: either Wile was with her personally, or she was accompanied by the bodyguards, who enforced an unforgiving curfew.
One afternoon, as the sun dipped low, Wile stood by the grand entrance, his expression unreadable.
“Mela, Mahal.
