BOUND BY OBSESSION

chapter 4

CHAPTER 4: THE CAGE INSIDE THE WALLS

By day four I started noticing s**t that made me want to scream. Like actually screaming. But I didn't because f**k that. Patterns. Like the guards outside had the exact same schedule every single day. Seven in the morning. Three in the afternoon. Midnight. I could literally set my phone on it and that made me feel insane for some reason. Like why did that bother me so much? It's just guards. But it was like... everything was planned. Everything was controlled. Even the quiet was controlled, if that makes sense. It wasn't peaceful and quiet. It was like someone had decided what sounds were allowed and what weren't. The apartment was too quiet. Too perfect. Too empty. And I know that's stupid but it's true.

By day six I stopped pretending I was getting used to it.

I wasn't. I was studying instead. I don't know why I started doing that. I just did. I'd walk around and like, memorize where the cameras pointed. Which doors are actually locked. How long it took to walk down each hallway. I was mapping the apartment like some kind of escape plan was actually going to work. It probably wouldn't. But I was doing it anyway because if I didn't have some kind of plan I was going to lose my mind. I was going to disappear into this place and become like... nothing. Just another piece of furniture. Mrs. Russo. The thought made me feel like I couldn't breathe.

Dominic wasn't home much. When he was gone I felt like I could actually move normally. When he was here everything changed. He'd come home at random times. Three a.m. Five a.m. I think he did it on purpose. To keep me off balance. To remind me that I couldn't predict anything about my own life.

One night I heard voices outside my door.

I wasn't even sleeping. I was just lying there thinking about my dad. Wondering if he felt bad. Probably not. He got what he wanted his life. I lost mine.

I pressed my ear against the door.

..the rival group moved again."

"We lost two shipments."

"If Russo doesn't respond, we'll lose the west route."

Then his voice.

"Handle it quietly."

That's it. That's all he said and then the voices stopped.

I understood then. People were dying somewhere. Because of him. And he was just handling it. Just saying handle it quietly like he was asking someone to pick up milk.

The next morning I tried calling Sarah.

I just needed to hear her voice. I was desperate. My hands were shaking. The phone rang twice and then just... stopped. Like someone cut it off.

"No contact."

I turned around and he was standing there in the doorway. He'd been waiting for me to try it.

"It was just one call," I said fast.

"One becomes ten. Ten becomes a leak," he said. His voice was so calm. That scared me more than yelling would have.

"That's insane. You can't control who I talk to."

"I can."

And something in his face changed. Something darker. And I took a step back.

"You don't get to decide my entire life," I said. My voice was shaking. "You don't own me."

"I already did," he said.

That night I couldn't sleep so I walked around.

There was a hallway I hadn't been down. A locked door. The east wing. Elena avoided it. The guards avoided it. Even the air felt different there.

I pressed my ear against the door and heard something. Paper. Movement. Someone was in there.

Footsteps came behind me.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said.

"What's in there?"

He didn't answer.

"Tell me."

"You don't want to know."

"That's not your choice."

He stepped closer. "You are safe in this house. As long as you follow the rules."

"That's not safety. That's a prison."

"It's survival," he said.

"For who? You or me?"

He turned and walked away without answering.

Three days later I found it.

His office drawer was open. Just slightly. I pulled it wider and there was a folder. Thick. Old. The edges were worn like someone touched it constantly.

My name was printed on it.

MAYA BEN FILE

My stomach dropped.

I opened it.

Pages. Photos. My routine is written down. My job. The volunteer center. Sarah's number. My dad's financial stuff. Everything. Years of it. Before the debt. Before all of this.

He'd been watching me for years.

I grabbed the folder and went to the kitchen and threw it on the table.

"Explain," I said.

He looked at it. Then at me.

"You weren't supposed to find that."

"So it's real. You've been watching me."

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Years."

My voice cracked. "Why?"

"Because I noticed you."

"That's not an answer. You planned everything. You made my father—"

"Your father came to me."

"You arranged it. You stole my life."

"I gave you another one," he said quietly.

Something broke inside me.

"That's not love," I whispered. "That's stalking. That's psycho."

He didn't deny it.

"I know," he said.

That night I packed everything I had.

I got to the elevator at 3:07 a.m.

I pressed the button.

Nothing.

"You're leaving," he said behind me.

I turned. He was already there.

"You can't keep doing this."

"You will stay," he said.

"I hate you."

His voice cracked.

"I don't know how to stop," he said.

And for one second I saw it. Not a monster. Just a man who trapped me because he was trapped too.

But I was still locked in.

And something told me getting out was going to destroy both of us.