His Stolen Obsession

The Golden Cage

My eyes fluttered open, not to the familiar, comforting grays of my tiny room, but to a bewildering symphony of opulent gold and deep jewel tones. Soft, cool silk caressed my skin, a stark contrast to the worn sheets of my own life. A massive, four-poster bed, draped in what looked like spun moonlight, dominated the vast space. Where was I? My mind, still thick with sleep's haze, struggled to grasp the lavish reality, before the memory, sharp and brutal, crashed down: Damon Volkov. The alley. The chilling gunshots. The monster.

A raw, strangled sob tore from my throat, a desperate sound quickly swallowed by the cavernous room. Hot, stinging tears streamed down my face, blurring the impossible luxury into a watercolor of terror. I scrambled off the bed, my legs unsteady, threatening to buckle beneath me on the impossibly plush carpet. I lunged for the ornate door, my fingers fumbling for the knob. It twisted uselessly in my trembling hand; locked. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed its way up my throat, stealing my breath. I yanked, rattled, and even threw my shoulder against the heavy wood, but it remained as unyielding as a fortress wall.

Desperate, I spun, darting to the towering windows. Thick, velvet curtains, the color of twilight, were drawn back to reveal an expansive view, but my heart sank. Below, manicured gardens stretched out, meticulously designed, but the ground was impossibly far away. The thought of jumping sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. I was on a high floor, too high. Death was a certainty, a jagged, brutal end on the distant cobblestones. There was no escape that way.

I turned back to the room, my eyes frantically scanning every corner, every piece of furniture, searching for any hidden passage, any overlooked crevice. Nothing. Just more suffocating luxury. The air felt thick, trapping me.

"No! Let me out!" I screamed, my voice hoarse, pounding on the unyielding door until my fists ached and tears blurred my vision. The wood remained impassive, a dark, silent barrier to my freedom.

Click.

The sudden, sharp sound made me jump, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The door swung inward with a soft, almost mocking sigh, revealing him. Damon Volkov. He filled the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim hall. His eyes, those dark green eyes that had already begun to haunt my nightmares, fixed on me, cold and laced with an anger that instantly petrified me.

"Shut the hell up," his voice, a low, dangerous rumble, sliced through my ragged sobs, cutting them short. "You should be thankful you're not locked in the basement like the rest of your kind. They were a testament to how cruel I can be."

My entire body began to tremble uncontrollably, a violent shiver that shook me from head to toe. My voice, when it finally emerged, was a fragile, defiant whisper, barely my own. "Wh-why? How…how do you think you can do this to a human being? I'll run away, I'll leave the country, I won't tell anyone, I swear—"

He took a slow, deliberate step into the room, his gaze never leaving me, dissecting my fear. "You still haven't understood, have you, piccola?" His voice was dangerously soft, the Italian accent a silken threat that wrapped around me like a chokehold. "You belong to me. Must I brand my name on you before you finally understand?"

I flinched violently, my breath catching as he reached out. His gloved hand, the one that had held the gun, moved with agonizing slowness, his fingers brushing against a stray curl near my cheek. An icy wave of terror washed over me, making me tremble even more fiercely.

He leaned closer, his deep voice a chilling whisper against my ear, entirely in Italian. "Avrò così tanto divertimento a rovinarti, piccola. Tanto divertimento." (I will have so much fun ruining you, little one. So much fun.)

He stepped back abruptly, a faint, dark smirk playing on his lips as he felt the uncontrollable shaking of my body. Yet, his gaze darkened with a knowing glint as he caught the subtle way my body, despite its terror, seemed to hum, alert to his proximity. The dark amusement in his eyes intimidated me even further, yet it also sparked something unsettling, something akin to a terrifying curiosity deep within me that I didn't want to acknowledge.

"Someone will attend to you shortly," he said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone, dismissive yet absolute. "Don't even dream of escaping."

He turned, his movements fluid and unhurried, the sharp click of the lock echoing like a final, damning pronouncement. I dashed after him, clawing at the heavy, unyielding door, but it was too late. He was gone. I sank to my knees, raw sobs tearing through my chest, desperate, wishing I was anywhere but here, trapped with a monster. I eventually dragged myself back to the opulent bed, burying my face in the silk pillows, clinging to the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, all of this would simply be a horrific dream when I woke up.

______________________________________________________________________

Sharp tap on the door jolted me awake. I blinked, disoriented for a split second before the crushing weight of reality descended. My face felt stiff, still wet and sticky with dried tears. i***t, I silently cursed myself. How could I have fallen asleep in the house of the monster who wants to end me for something that wasn’t even my fault?

I sat up abruptly, scooting further back on the vast bed as a young woman in a crisp maid’s uniform entered, holding a covered tray. Her face was impassive, her eyes devoid of warmth. “The Don instructed me to bring you food,” she stated, her voice flat. “He said you are to eat and not cause a scene, or you will not like the punishment that awaits you.”

I just stared, my mind reeling. Who the hell did Damon think he was? Did he see me as some kind of dog, to be ordered and threatened? The urge to roll my eyes was immense, but a shiver of pure fear traced its way down my spine. I knew better. I was too terrified of Damon to risk any defiance. I still felt like I was being watched, every move scrutinized by unseen eyes in this lavish prison.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice a dry whisper as I reached for the tray.

The maid gave no acknowledgment, her expression unchanging. It felt incredibly rude, but I bit back the retort, choosing to ignore her as she turned and left, the soft click of the door echoing behind her. Left alone with my unwelcome thoughts, I focused on the tray.

I lifted the silver cover to reveal a full English breakfast: sizzling sausages, crispy bacon, a fried egg with a perfectly runny yolk, grilled tomatoes, and even a small dish of baked beans. It smelled… normal. Almost comforting. I picked up the fork, my stomach rumbling in protest against my fear, but then I dropped it instantly, the clatter loud in the silent room. Poison. My mind screamed the word. Who feeds their prisoner? Was I a goat, being fattened for slaughter? I certainly wasn't going to risk it.

Instead, my eyes landed on a sealed bottle of water. That, at least, felt safe. I fumbled with the cap, breaking the seal, and practically chugged half of it. I wouldn't take anything else from that monster. Not a single bite.

I headed to the bathroom, desperate to escape my own thoughts, and gasped at my reflection. My eyes were red-rimmed, lifeless hollows in a face that looked ravaged, roughened by tears and fear. My oversized, soft jumper and faded jeans were wrinkled and stained, looking utterly out of place in this pristine sanctuary. My shoes were missing from my feet. I looked like a complete mess, like someone who had truly been through hell.

A deep sigh escaped me. My gaze drifted over the gleaming marble, the oversized tub, the luxurious rain shower. I’d never seen anything so extravagant. Hesitantly, I reached for a thick, fluffy towel. I had no idea how any of these fancy fixtures worked, but I was determined to figure it out.

Slowly, methodically, I filled the enormous tub, adding fragrant bath salts that dissolved into a soft foam. Stepping into the warm water, I let out another deep sigh as every tensed muscle in my body began to relax. I closed my eyes, allowing the heat to soothe my raw nerves, and my thoughts drifted to my father. Was he searching for me? I doubted it. He probably hadn't even noticed I was gone, too immersed in his liquor. How long had I been here? I hoped it hadn't been days.

When my fingers started to prune, I rose from the water, feeling a strange lightness despite the lingering fear. I reached for a soft towel, wrapping it around myself, and then I faced the large mirror again. My reflection startled me. The redness around my eyes had faded, and while a deep exhaustion still lingered, my face looked less strained, less ravaged. The mess of moments ago was gone, replaced by something calmer.

I saw a walk-in closet. My jaw dropped. It was massive, a room in itself, filled with racks of clothes and shelves of shoes. So many lavish items, more than I’d ever owned in my entire life. My awe quickly turned to a chilling unease as I examined the clothes. They were all in my size. Every single piece. It was beyond creepy. How could he know my size? Had he truly been watching me for that long?

Shaking off the shiver, I quickly rummaged through the endless options, bypassing the dresses and heels. My eyes landed on a simple, oversized sweatshirt and a pair of soft leggings. I pulled them on, desperate for anything that felt remotely normal and comforting. I was still so tired, and my stomach rumbled with a hunger I refused to acknowledge, but I knew I needed to conserve my energy.

With a heavy heart, I walked back to the bed, pulled the covers over me, and forced myself to lie down. I would rest, if I could. Tomorrow, I would plan. Tomorrow, I would find a way to escape this nightmare I was trapped in.