The price of disobedience
1284 Words
The morning after the storm broke with silence. No thunder. No rain. Only the distant hum of the city far below the penthouse.
Alice woke up sore and disoriented. The events of the past few days replayed in her head like scattered shards of glass, the kidnapping, the basement, the penthouse, Anton Kray’s cold voice.
She pressed her palms to her temples, grounding herself. You have to get out of here, she told herself. You can’t stay in this place. You can’t stay with him.
Her room was painfully quiet. The only sound was the faint buzz of the security camera in the corner. She had tested the window already, it didn’t open. The door had a coded lock that clicked every time it sealed. Still, she wasn’t giving up.
When the woman in black, the silent assistant brought her a tray of breakfast, Alice forced a small smile. She noted everything: how long the door stayed open, how the woman turned her back, how the hallway looked behind her.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Hours slipped by. Alice cleaned and dusted, trying to appear obedient. Anton had left early, surrounded by men in dark suits. She overheard them mention a deal at the docks.
That meant he wouldn’t return until night.
She waited until evening settled over the mansion and the halls quieted. The house was an unsettling mix of luxury and paranoia, security cameras in every corner, sensors at every exit. But Alice had always been resourceful. Fear sharpened her mind instead of clouding it.
Earlier, she had noticed something in the laundry room: a small ventilation shaft low enough to crawl into, just big enough for someone thin like her. She didn’t know where it led, but anywhere was better than here.
She moved silently down the hallway, her bare feet whispering across the marble. The lights were dim, shadows stretching long across the floor. Every step felt like walking through the mouth of a beast.
She reached the laundry room and crouched beside the vent. Her fingers dug into the edges of the metal cover. She pulled. It scraped softly. She froze.
Nothing.
She crawled inside.
The vent was cold and narrow. Her elbows scraped the sides, dust clinging to her skin. She kept moving, forcing her breaths steady. After several meters, the shaft slanted downward and opened into a small storage corridor.
She dropped to the floor, landing softly.
Her heartbeat soared. Freedom was close, close enough to taste.
At the end of the hallway, a faint red EXIT sign glowed like hope itself. She ran toward it, tears stinging her eyes. For the first time in days, she felt the fragile spark of possibility.
Her fingers brushed the handle.
And a voice slid through the darkness.
“Going somewhere, Miss Jane?”
Alice froze.
Anton Kray stepped out of the shadows, his expression unreadable. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the faint scent of smoke and whiskey drifting from him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to know.
Her voice trembled. “You weren’t home.”
His gaze didn’t soften. “You thought I wouldn’t notice if one of my pets tried to run?” He glanced up at the ceiling. “There are cameras everywhere, Alice.”
Her name on his tongue felt like a sentence.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispered. “You kidnapped me. You lock me up. What did you expect me to do?”
“I expected obedience.”
He moved toward her slowly, deliberately, until her back hit the cold metal emergency door. She tried to sidestep him, but his hand shot out and captured her wrist, pressing her palm against the door.
“You were told not to leave.”
“Let me go,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t belong here.”
Anton’s jaw tightened. “You belong where I say you do.”
Fury sparked in her eyes. “You’re a monster.”
A flicker, only a flicker, crossed his face. His fist clenched once before he released her wrist.
“Then let the monster remind you what disobedience costs.”
The punishment was swift.
Two guards dragged her to a small, windowless room. Just stone walls. A single bulb. No furniture. No warmth.
The door slammed with a sound that echoed like finality.
No food.
No water.
No light after dark.
Time dissolved into aching hunger and cold that seeped into her bones. Her lips cracked. Her body shook. When she tried to sleep, the floor bit into her skin.
Anger replaced fear.
I hate him.
I hate him for what he’s done to me.
She tried to remember her old life, the café, her tiny apartment, her mother’s soft laugh in old photos. But every memory blurred into his face. Anton Kray’s shadow swallowed everything.
On the second night, footsteps approached. A small slot in the door opened, and a strip of light cut through the dark. She crawled toward it, desperate, breathless.
Anton stood on the other side.
“You’re learning,” he said.
Her voice was hoarse. “You’re cruel.”
“I’m realistic.” His tone was calm, too calm. “The world I live in doesn’t forgive weakness.”
“I’m not weak,” she rasped. “I’m human. You” Her voice cracked. “You’re empty.”
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Something else. Something raw. But it vanished instantly.
“You’ll stay here until I decide otherwise,” he said quietly. “Maybe then you’ll understand that freedom is a privilege.”
The slot snapped shut.
Alice pressed her forehead against the metal. “You can lock me up,” she whispered, “but you’ll never own me.”
Her voice trembled but it didn’t break.
She didn’t know how much time passed. Hunger blurred her thoughts. Her body throbbed with exhaustion. When the door finally opened, light flooded in and stabbed at her eyes.
Anton stepped inside. He had no guards with him.
He looked at her, really looked. The sunken cheeks. The cracked lips. The stubborn, silent fire that still burned in her eyes.
“Have you learned?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
He crouched, lowering himself to her level. “Hate me if you want. But remember, Alice… everything you have now even your breath depends on me.”
Her voice was a whisper. “Then take it. End it.”
The world paused between them. Her challenge. His stillness.
Then he stood and left.
An hour later, guards brought food. Bread. Water. She ate slowly, every swallow bitter with hatred.
That night, Anton stood in his study, staring out at the rain-soaked city. For once, he didn’t touch his drink. His mind echoed with her words.
You’re empty.
He had been insulted before. Threatened. Feared. No one had ever struck him like that. He wanted to break her, but somehow her defiance had carved a crack inside him instead.
He told himself it was about control. About discipline.
But he could feel the lie.
Anton Kray ruled through fear because fear was the only thing he had ever known. But in Alice’s silence, he had seen a reflection of the man he once was before power became the only way to survive.
He turned away from the window and poured the whiskey down the sink.
Meanwhile, locked below, Alice stared at the ceiling. Every sound, the hum of pipes, the echo of distant footsteps became a heartbeat counting down the seconds.
She no longer feared Anton Kray.
She despised him.
And sometimes, hatred was stronger than fear.
- Writer
