owned by the billionaire

CHAPTER 4

Brielle

The room is wider, wider than my living room back at home, but why can’t I breathe?

Am I having a panic attack? Is this normal?

I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into but I didn’t think it’d be this. I thought it’d be more torture and threats. Although I’ve received a million threats from him in such a short time.

I miss father already. I’m not sure how he’s coping. I’ll have to send word sometime, make sure he’s fine and I also need to tell him I’m doing well.

He’d probably think I’m going through hell and back. I didn’t know Mr. Grayson before now, but from the shivers of Father’s hands, I know he’s not someone people mess around with.

My dad did an excellent job shielding me from this part of life.

I knew there was more to our lives than just a tiny department store with a smaller shelf of romance novels for me.

I always wanted to know a lot of things and he lied to me. He continues lying until he doesn’t have the chance to add anything anymore.

The air is heavy with the scent of fresh paint.

The walls are painted a soft shade of lavender, a color that soothes my frayed nerves. A large window bathes the room in natural light, allowing long shadows across the tiled floor. The curtains are drawn back to showcase the view of the city skyline.

Against one wall sits a simple wooden desk, its surface cluttered with papers and small books. I'm content to simply bask in the quiet stillness.

Beside the desk is a tall bookshelf, filled to the brim with novels. I run my fingers over the spines, tracing the titles as memories flood my mind.

Opposite the bookshelf is a small dresser, its drawers neatly organized with clothes and personal belongings. Not my belongings. But they belong to me now.

A mirror hangs above it, reflecting my image at me. I pause for a moment, studying the girl staring back at me with tired eyes. She looks the same as always. Just tired. Tired of lies and betrayal and threats.

I want it all to end. I wish it could, but I’m in too deep.

The bedside table catches my eye next. It's a simple piece of furniture, adorned with a small lamp and a vase of fresh flowers. I reach out to touch the petals, marveling at their delicate beauty. Somehow, they seem to bring a sense of peace to the room.

Who is this man? Why the hell will he take me hostage only to our fresh flowers in my room? I’m sure I’m not here for a picnic.

Regardless of the tranquility of my surroundings, I can't shake the feeling of tension that still lingers in the air. The air is tight as if the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. And something with surely happen.

I push the thought aside instantly. I wish I could stop being paranoid.

This is my new reality and I need to face it head on.

I’m never one to show my weakness and I don’t intend to begin now.