Chapter 7 : Romeo and Juliet
997 Words
My voice refuses to obey me.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out—just a weak, broken breath that barely stirs the frigid air around me. My body feels impossibly heavy, my limbs weighed down by exhaustion, hunger, and the bitter sting of hopelessness.
I lift my gaze to him one last time, memorizing the cruel beauty of the stranger who sealed my fate. At least I will die in the presence of a handsome devil. A dark, merciless god who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, has decided to torment me.
It’s nothing noteworthy, really. A girl like me and someone like him—our paths were never meant to cross.
And yet, here we are.
A lump forms in my throat, and regret crashes over me in waves. I wanted so much more from this life. I wanted to save up and travel the world after earning my doctorate, to stand before ancient wonders, to taste the air of different continents, to fill my soul with experiences beyond my wildest dreams.
I wanted to fall in love.
Not the kind of fleeting, lukewarm love that fizzles out over time, but a love so intense, so all-consuming, that it burns through my veins like wildfire. I wanted to give myself—my firsts—to someone who would cherish me, adore me, make me feel like I was his beginning and end.
I wanted passion. Ecstasy. A love like Romeo and Juliet’s—reckless, intoxicating, defying logic and reason.
But with a happy ending.
A wistful sigh leaves my lips, and I don’t miss the way his gaze sharpens, like he can see my thoughts playing out in my eyes.
Then—he smiles.
Not a kind smile. Not a reassuring one. But a slow, predatory curl of his lips, wicked and knowing.
"I will not let you die this easily, dear Faye," he murmurs, his voice like velvet over steel, dangerous and unforgiving. "You must pay for your insolence this morning. No one—no one—talks to me like that and lives to tell the tale."
His words slam into me, knocking the air from my lungs.
Before I can react, before I can even process the weight of his threat, he leans in—so close that his breath caresses my ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that is almost... intimate.
"Just know this, my sweet Juliet—I will be your Romeo."
His tone is soft, seductive—mocking. Like a lover whispering sweet nothings in the dead of night.
A violent shiver runs through me.
All the blood drains from my face.
Impossible.
How? How did he know? Had I spoken out loud without realizing it? Had my thoughts been so transparent?
Am I losing my mind?!
No. No.
It’s him.
Everything is him.
He is the psycho. The one who had me dragged here like some caged animal. The one who dared to smirk at me like he could see into my soul.
And all because… I talked back to him?!
I blink, the absurdity of it all slamming into me like a slap to the face.
This—this whole nightmare, this abduction, this dungeon—is because I dared to stand up to him this morning?!
Because I didn’t shrink away in fear? Because I dared to talk to him like he was… what? Just a man?
A scoff nearly escapes my lips.
This rich, arrogant tyrant is furious over that? Over an insignificant, fleeting encounter that lasted mere seconds?
I had barely registered him before he spoke to me. And yet, somehow, my existence—my words—were offensive enough to warrant this entire ordeal?
How fragile is his ego that he has to kidnap me just to prove a point?
A spark of defiance ignites inside me.
If he expects an apology, he’s in for a very long wait.
Let him threaten, let him play his twisted games. I will not break.
He is leaving. I panic. I don't want to be alone.
He is leaving me in this god forsaken place!
I try to speak, but my throat feels like sandpaper-parched,raw, barely capable of making a sound.
I swallow, forcing past the ache and try again.
"L...u...c...i...e...n"
It's barely a whisper, fragile like a dying breath.
Even I can hardly hear it.
But he does.
His tall imposing figure was already nearing the door. He hadn't spared me another glance, as if he had already decided I wasn't worth his time, but at the sound of his name he stops.
The air in the cell seems to shift, thickening with something dark,something dangerous.
It’s subtle at first—an invisible weight pressing down on me, like the room itself is closing in. The flickering torchlight dims, the shadows stretching, twisting unnaturally along the damp stone walls. The air, already cold, turns frigid, a slow, creeping chill that slithers over my skin like icy fingers.
My breath turns shallow, each inhale laced with the scent of damp earth, aged stone, and something faintly metallic—blood? No, surely that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. But the feeling of unease coils tighter, suffocating, clawing at my chest.
A low hum fills my ears, barely perceptible, like the distant vibration of something vast and unseen stirring. The weight of it presses against my ribs, heavy and oppressive, making it harder to breathe.
It feels alive.
The very walls seem to pulse, as if the dungeon itself is responding to him—to his presence. And in the center of it all, he stands there.
Something is wrong.
I don’t know what he is.
But I do know one thing—this man, this creature, is nothing short of lethal.
And I’ve just made the mistake of calling his name.
My pulse spikes, my breath hitching as he stands there, unmoving, his back still turned towards me.
Seconds stretch into eternity.
Then-slowly-deliberately-he turns.
- Writer
