Run Sweet Prisoner

Locked in

The white marble floor of the penthouse was cold under Valerie's bare feet. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and the massive apartment was still completely silent. Outside the windows, New York City looked small, gray, and far away. The clouds were heavy with rain, casting long shadows across the pristine, white rooms.

Valerie stood in her new art studio. It was a beautiful, massive room with perfect lighting, designed specifically for a professional artist. But today, she was not holding a paintbrush. She was standing by a marble counter, her fingers trembling as she packed a small leather tote bag. Her movements were quick and frantic. She had to go before he returned.

She slipped her favorite leather-bound sketchbooks into the bag. Next, she packed a small pouch containing her passport, her personal bank cards, and a few thousands of dollars she had drawn from her private account over the past few weeks. Finally, she reached for her car keys resting on the counter.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?"

The smooth, deep voice came from the doorway, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Valerie jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She dropped her keys onto the marble floor with a loud, ringing clatter that echoed off the high ceilings.

Alex Steward stood in the entrance of the studio. He had taken off his suit jacket, draped it neatly over his arm, and his crisp white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and his expression was completely blank. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look angry either. It was his calmest look, and to Valerie, it was the scariest look he could give. It meant he was completely in control.

"Alex," Valerie said, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. She forced a small, tight smile onto her face. "You scared me. I didn't hear the private elevator open."

"I know," Alex said softly. He walked into the room, his expensive leather dress shoes making absolutely no sound on the thick, custom rugs. "You were very focused. What is in the bag, Val?"

"Just some old sketches and art supplies," Valerie lied. The lie felt heavy and clumsy in her mouth. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, so loud she was certain he could hear it. She reached down to pick up her keys from the floor, but Alex moved with terrifying speed. Before her fingers could touch the brass ring, his shoe stepped flatly onto the keys, pinning them firmly to the marble.

Valerie froze on her knees, her hand hovering an inch from his shoe. She slowly looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat.

"I called your gallery owner about an hour ago to check on your schedule today," Alex said. His voice remained smooth, pleasant, and even, like a businessman discussing a casual meeting. "He told me something very interesting. He said you canceled your upcoming autumn exhibition. He said you told him you wanted to take a break from the commercial art world."

Valerie swallowed hard, her throat dry. She slowly stood up, backing away from him until the wooden frame of her heavy easel pressed against her spine.

Alex kept his eyes locked on hers as he continued. "But then, my personal security team alerted me to something else. They monitor your phone lines, as you know, for your own safety. They told me you called a real estate agent this morning and you went to look at a small, independent studio space downtown. In Soho. A place with large public windows right on the street."

The air in the studio grew instantly thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. The luxury of the room suddenly felt like a trap closing in.

"It’s just a small space, Alex," Valerie whispered, her chest tightening with panic. "I just wanted to see it. I needed to be around other artists again. I need to see the rain on the streets, the people walking by, the color, the movement. I can't paint in this quiet penthouse anymore. It feels too empty. I was going to rent it with my own money.”

Alex looked at her for a long, agonizing moment. The silence between them stretched until Valerie felt like screaming. Then, he let out a soft, low chuckle. It wasn't a mean laugh, it was the amused laugh of a husband looking at a silly child. He lifted his foot, picked up her car keys from the floor, and calmly slid them into his trousers pocket.

"Your own money?" Alex murmured, shaking his head. He walked past her, strolling over to her favorite painting, the large dark canvas of the stormy ocean he had purchased on the night they first met at the gallery. He stretched out a long, clean finger and touched the dry ridges of the oil paint.

"Valerie, sweetheart," Alex said, his back turned to her. "You seem to forget the promises we made when I put that emerald ring on your finger. Everything you have belongs to me now. Your clothes, your beautiful brushes, your safety, and your time. I bought your entire gallery collection two years ago so you would never have to deal with the dirty, stressful public again. I built this studio, hired a private curator, and brought the finest materials directly to your door so you could be completely protected."

"I don't want to be protected like this!" Valerie finally snapped, her fear turning into sudden, desperate anger. "It doesn't feel like protection, Alex! It feels like a prison! The security guards downstairs watch me every single time I walk through the lobby. The private drivers report every shop I visit, every boutique I enter. I can't even buy a cup of coffee downtown without your corporate office receiving an itemized receipt. You have erased my independent life!"

Alex’s amused smile vanished in a fraction of a second. His handsome features hardened, and his dark eyes turned into two pieces of black ice. The sudden, chilling shift in his energy made Valerie choke on her remaining words. The anger drained out of her instantly, replaced by absolute dread.

He stepped toward her, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't yell. He didn't raise his hand to strike her. Alex Steward never did anything so common or loud. But his tall, broad frame completely blocked out the gray afternoon light from the windows, trapping her against the wooden legs of her easel.

He reached out and gripped her jaw with his large hand. His fingers pressed tightly into her skin, just short of causing real pain, forcing her chin up so she had no choice but to look directly into his cruel eyes.

"Listen to me very carefully, Valerie," Alex whispered. His voice was a low, terrifying hiss that vibrated in her ears. "The world outside this penthouse is full of dangerous, envious people. They are greedy. They see a beautiful, wealthy woman and they want to exploit her. They want to steal what is mine. I have spent millions of dollars to elevate you, to make you a star in high society, to keep your talent pure and away from the mud. And your response is to try and run away to a dirty, public room in Soho to mix with regular strangers?"

"Alex, please," Valerie whimpered, a hot tear spilling over her eyelid and running down her cheek. "You're gripping my face too hard. Please let go."

He didn't release her immediately. He held her jaw for a few more seconds, his eyes examining her tears like an art critic inspecting a minor flaw in a piece of glass. He wanted to make sure she was completely broken before he showed mercy.

Then, his fingers slowly relaxed. His face instantly changed back into a mask of warmth and affection. He pulled a crisp, white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently, lovingly wiped the wetness from her cheek. His touch was suddenly so tender that it made Valerie's stomach turn with sickness.

"I am only doing this because I love you, Val," he murmured softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her forehead. "You are an artist. You are too fragile, too special for the harsh realities of the world. You stay here in the light. You paint your beautiful pictures for me. I am the only one who truly understands your value."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the heavy, soundproof oak doors of the art studio.

"Give me my keys back, Alex," Valerie called out, her voice trembling as she clutched her leather tote bag against her chest.

Alex stopped at the threshold. He didn't look back at her. He reached into his pocket, pulled out her brass key ring, and dropped it carelessly into a tall glass vase filled with water that sat on a decorative console table by the door. The keys sank to the bottom with a muffled thud.

"You won't be needing them anymore," Alex said smoothly and stepped out into the hallway, and he reached for the small, digital security panel mounted on the wall outside the room.

Click. Click.

The heavy, electronic deadbolts inside the door frame slid into place with a mechanical crunch. Valerie dropped her bag and ran to the door, grabbing the heavy brass handle. She twisted it frantically, throwing her weight against the solid wood, but it didn't budge even a millimeter. The small digital screen above the door handle flashed a bright, mocking red light.

She was locked inside her own studio.

Through the thick, reinforced glass observation pane of the door, she saw Alex standing in the elegant hallway.

He calmly adjusted the gold cuffs of his shirt, checked his watch, and gave her a warm, reassuring nod through the glass. He looked completely at peace. Then, he turned and walked away, his tall figure disappearing into the vast, silent rooms of the penthouse.

Valerie slowly pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the door, listening to the distant sound of her own ragged breathing. The golden cage had just been locked from the outside, and she had no idea how she was ever going to break the bars.