Bought for him

Where am I ?

Channelle's head was pounding.

Cold. The sheets beneath her were too soft. Too cold. Not her small bed in her tiny apartment.

She smelled cologne. Expensive cologne. And something like... pine and smoke.

Her eyes fluttered open.

White ceiling. A huge chandelier. A bedroom the size of her entire apartment.

This was not Rose Café. This was not home.

She tried to sit up, but her body was weak. Her waitress uniform was gone. She was wearing an oversized black shirt. A man's shirt.

Panic shot through her chest.

"Ah —"

A voice. Low. From the corner of the room.

"You're awake."

Channelle screamed and scrambled to the other side of the bed, pulling the sheets up to her chest.

There were two men.

One she didn't know — light brown hair, shocked face, standing by the door.

And the other...

Sitting in a black chair by the window, watching her. Black suit. Black hair. Cold grey eyes. Handsome like a god, but cold like a monster.

Chris Smith Hale.

The customer. The man who came to Rose Café every morning at 7:15 AM, ordered black coffee, never said a word, just stared at her from the corner table for five years.

"You..." Her voice was hoarse. "You... from the café..."

Chris didn't answer. He just stared at her. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched on the armrests. Like he was trying not to move.

Zack broke the silence. "Channelle! Hey, hey, calm down — you're safe, okay? You're safe. You're just... you're in the Hale estate."

Channelle looked at Zack, then back at Chris, tears filling her green eyes. "What am I doing here? Where is my uniform? Why am I wearing this? Did you... did you kidnap me?"

Chris finally stood up. Slowly. He was tall. Too tall.

He walked towards the bed. One step. Two steps.

Channelle pressed herself against the headboard. "Don't come near me! Stay away from me!"

He stopped.

"My father brought you here," he said. His voice was deep, quiet, but it made her shiver. "As a birthday gift."

Channelle stared at him, confused, then horrified. "A... a what?"

"My birthday gift," Chris repeated. "You."

The room went silent.

Zack quickly added, "Look, his dad is... Isaac Hale is crazy, okay? He thought — he thought Chris liked you, so he—"

"I didn't ask for this," Chris cut him off, his eyes never leaving Channelle's face. "I never asked him to bring you here."

Channelle's tears fell. "I want to go home. Please. I have a shift tomorrow morning. My rent — I need to go home. Let me go."

Chris looked at her red hair, her shaking shoulders, her lips trembling. For five years, he had imagined talking to her. Now she was here, in his shirt, on his bed, crying because of him.

He walked to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and said one sentence — the longest sentence he had ever said to anyone outside his family:

"If you try to run, the gates will not open for you."

Channelle froze.

Then — KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Loud, heavy knocks on the bedroom door.

"SON! IS SHE AWAKE? I WANT TO SEE IF SHE LIKES HER NEW HOME!" Isaac Hale's voice boomed from outside, laughing.

Chris's eyes widened.

Zack whispered, "Shit."

Channelle looked at the door, then at Chris, her entire body shaking.