The First Confrontation
2125 Words
CHAPTER 4
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Maree
The words echoed in the small bathroom, vibrating through the steam-heavy air.
“Not yet.”
I froze under the dying stream of warm water, every nerve in my body tightening like someone had pulled all my strings at once. I didn’t dare look up. I didn’t dare breathe too loudly. His presence filled the room even without stepping inside.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The steam curled toward him in soft white ribbons, but nothing softened the coldness in his voice when he spoke again.
“Stand up.”
My legs trembled, but I pushed myself off the bathroom floor. Water dripped down my shoulders, my back, my hair—each drop suddenly feeling too loud in the silence between us.
He didn’t open the glass door. He didn’t turn away either.
He stood there, shadow still and sharp against the fogged glass, as though he was studying the shape of me, not the sight of me.
“You cry too much,” he said quietly.
Not mocking.
Not sympathetic.
Just a statement.
My throat tightened.
“I—I’m scared,” I whispered.
His silence felt heavy, as if fear was something he recognized but refused to acknowledge.
Then his boots shifted slightly.
“…Good.”
I flinched.
He reached for something beside him—metal scraping against metal—and placed a folded towel on the floor, close to the shower door but not touching it.
“Get dressed.”
He turned—not fully, just half, like he didn’t want to give me privacy but also didn’t want to be accused of taking it.
His control was terrifying.
Every move measured.
Every breath calculated.
I waited until his shadow shifted a little further away before opening the glass door. My hands shook as I grabbed the towel, wrapping it tightly around myself.
The bathroom had never felt smaller.
When I stepped out of the shower, the cool air hit my wet skin instantly, making goosebumps ripple across my arms. I stood there, unsure, clutching the towel like my life depended on it.
He didn’t look at me.
He didn’t have to.
“Follow me,” he said.
My feet refused to move. My pulse hammered so loud I wondered if he heard it.
“I don’t…”
My voice cracked.
“I don’t even know your name.”
He finally turned his head, just enough for me to see half his face. The sharp jawline. The tense cheek. The faint scar near his eyebrow. His expression didn’t change.
“You don’t need to.”
He walked out of the bathroom, expecting me to follow.
Something inside me wanted to stay.
To lock the door.
To disappear.
But the fear of what he’d do if I disobeyed… was louder.
I stepped out behind him, water still dripping from my hair onto the cold floor. He stopped near the bed and pointed at a set of folded clothes placed neatly there—clothes I had not seen before.
A black t-shirt.
Soft grey pants.
Simple. Clean.
Too normal for this place.
“Wear that.”
I clutched the towel tighter.
He exhaled slowly, irritated.
“I’m not leaving the room.”
My stomach dropped.
His eyes moved over me—not in a way that made my skin crawl, but in a way that reminded me I had no decision here.
“Change.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened.
Then he stepped closer—just one step, but enough to close the distance. Enough to make me feel every inch of the fear choking me.
He leaned slightly, his voice low, controlled.
“You are not here to negotiate. Put the clothes on, Maree.”
My breath shook.
He wasn’t raising his voice.
He didn’t need to.
He turned away again, but his body remained angled toward me—as if ready to react to any stupid decision I might make.
Hands trembling, I slipped the towel off slowly, trying to shield myself as much as possible. His posture didn’t change, but I felt his attention like a weight.
I dressed quickly, heart pounding, and pulled the shirt down my damp skin.
Only then did he move.
He walked back toward me with slow, deliberate steps. Close enough for me to see the flecks of honey in his brown eyes. Close enough for the air between us to feel like a threat.
He lifted a hand.
I flinched violently.
His fingers paused midair.
Not touching me.
Not comforting me.
Just waiting.
“Stop acting like I’m going to break you tonight.”
Tonight.
My knees nearly buckled.
His hand lowered again.
“Sit.”
I obeyed before I even thought about it. He dragged the small wooden chair across the room and placed it right in front of me, the legs screeching on the floor.
He sat, elbows resting on his knees.
And he watched me.
Long enough for discomfort to burn under my skin.
Long enough for questions to fill my head again.
Finally, he spoke.
“You don’t know who your father is.”
My breath stopped.
He studied my face—waiting for recognition. There was none, and that irritated him the same way Elena’s reaction earlier suggested.
“Good,” he murmured.
“Ignorance will keep you quiet.”
I swallowed hard.
“Why am I here?”
His eyes darkened.
A shadow passed over his expression—one that didn’t belong to him, but to someone older. Someone whose anger lived inside his bones.
“Because your father made a promise he didn’t keep.”
My heart sank.
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
His head tilted slightly.
Not confused.
Not offended.
Amused.
“You’ll learn fast that lying is not something we do here.”
My chest tightened.
“What promise?”
He leaned in.
So close I felt his breath, warm and calm, despite the coldness in his eyes.
“The kind people die for.”
A pause.
“And the kind I’m willing to make you bleed for.”
My blood ran cold.
His gaze dragged down to my trembling hands.
Then back to my eyes.
“Sleep if you can.”
He stood.
Walked to the door.
Unlocked it.
Before leaving, he said one last thing—soft, low, and terrifyingly calm:
“Tonight isn’t your punishment, Maree.”
A heartbeat.
“It’s your introduction.”
He shut the door.
And the lock clicked.
The silence he left behind was colder than his voice.
For a long time, I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even try to breathe normally.
I just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door like it might open again if I even thought the wrong thing.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Every word he said replayed in my head, each one heavier than the last.
“Tonight isn’t your punishment.”
“It’s your introduction.”
“Your father made a promise he didn’t keep.”
My stomach twisted painfully.
What promise?
What did my father do?
Why was I the one paying for it?
A dull ache started behind my eyes, and before I realized it, tears had slipped down my cheeks again. I wiped them away quickly, angry at myself.
He didn’t want to see me cry.
But it felt like all I could do.
I lay back on the bed slowly, curling my knees up to my chest like I used to when nightmares chased me awake at the orphanage. The mattress was soft, too soft, like it belonged to someone with a life that wasn’t mine.
My fingers clenched the sheets.
I didn’t want to sleep.
I didn’t want tomorrow to come.
But then…
a thought I didn’t expect crept into my mind.
Tomorrow.
I blinked, my breathing hitching.
Tomorrow was my birthday.
My eighteenth birthday.
The day I used to imagine I’d finally leave the orphanage.
The day I thought freedom would begin.
The day Mama Zee always promised would be “a new start.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
A new start?
I was locked in a room by a man who hated me without knowing me.
kidn*pped.
Threatened.
Trapped in someone else’s war.
There would be no cake.
No small candle flickering on top.
No whispered blessing from Mama Zee.
No Lily hugging me before I even opened my eyes.
Just this room.
Just this fear.
Just this man who promised that tonight was only the beginning.
A quiet sob built in my chest, but I swallowed it back, forcing myself to breathe through the shaking.
My birthday wasn’t going to come with wishes.
Only warnings.
Only answers I wasn’t sure I wanted.
Only him.
I wiped my face again, staring up at the ceiling until my eyes stung.
If this was the start of my eighteenth year…
I didn’t want to know what the rest of it would bring.
- Writer
