Enchanting Passion & Retribution

Episode 6

When Rina arrived at Collins' house, she was dragged inside, her hands still bound by the tightrope. The house, an imposing mansion set atop a hill, seemed to tower over her, casting long shadows in the late afternoon light. She stumbled as the cold concrete beneath her feet sent shivers through her, but she had no choice but to follow. Collins, his grip tight on her arm, steered her with ruthless efficiency. The air was thick with tension, as if the walls themselves were aware of what was about to unfold. Rina's heart pounded in her chest, her breaths shallow and rapid as she looked around, hoping for some sign of an escape—some way out. But the looming house felt more like a prison than a home.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Rina felt the weight of the house settle around her. Collins led her through a dimly lit hallway, the faint glow of sconces casting long shadows across the cold, marble floors. She flinched at every sound—the creak of the wooden beams, the echo of her footsteps on the hard surface, the slow, deliberate clicks of Collins' shoes as he walked behind her, guiding her every step. It was like walking into a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

They came to a heavy door, its dark wood stained and scratched as if it had seen years of use. Collins pushed it open with a swift motion, revealing a room that took Rina's breath away—not from its beauty, but from the horror it radiated. The room was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles on the stone walls. On the floor, scattered around the edges of the room, were various instruments of torture—chains, whips, needles, and cruel-looking tools she couldn't even begin to identify. The atmosphere was suffocating, filled with the faint scent of old leather and iron. Rina's stomach turned, the sudden realization that she had entered a space built to break people flooding her mind.

Her eyes widened, her heart pounding in terror. She tried to take a step back, but Collins' grip on her arm was unyielding, dragging her into the room. He let go for a moment, circling her slowly, his gaze never leaving her. There was something predatory about the way he moved, the way he seemed to enjoy the fear that emanated from her. It was as if he could taste it in the air. Rina could feel his presence like a weight pressing down on her chest, her breath catching in her throat as he walked around her, studying her with dark amusement.

"You thought you could escape," Collins said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Did you really think it would be that easy? You belong to me now, Rina. And I'll make sure you never forget that."

His words hit her like a physical blow, leaving her breathless. She recoiled inwardly, her body shaking, though she refused to let him see the full extent of her fear. The tightropes still bound around her wrists dug into her skin, a constant reminder of how powerless she was in this moment. Every instinct in her screamed to fight back, to break free, but she knew it was useless. She was trapped. She was nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, and she had no idea what he would do next.

Collins stopped in front of her, his eyes gleaming with something cold and dangerous. He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, a gesture that should have been tender but instead sent a shiver down her spine. His touch was chilling, almost too intimate in the way it made her feel exposed. "You're mine now," he repeated, his voice soft but with an edge of command that made her stomach churn.

Rina's pulse raced, her breath quickening. She didn't know what to do, where to go. She was in a room with no windows, no doors leading to freedom. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, trapping her in her own terror. She searched her surroundings, desperate for any sign of escape. But there was nothing. Nothing but the cold stone, the cruel tools scattered around her, and the looming figure of Collins.

He circled her again, enjoying the panic that was now evident in her wide, frightened eyes. He savored it. There was something twistedly satisfying about the control he held over her, the way she seemed to shrink under his gaze. It made him feel powerful, invincible. He stopped behind her, his breath hot against the back of her neck. She flinched but didn't turn around.

"I could make this very simple for you," he whispered in her ear. "You just have to accept that you're mine. But if you resist..." He let the words hang in the air like a threat, his voice smooth and calm.

Rina's heart hammered in her chest, her body rigid with fear. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but she knew she had to stay calm—at least for now. There was no way to know what he would do if she defied him. Collins could break her, take away everything she had left. And yet, something in her resisted. She couldn't let him see that he had completely broken her.

Collins must have seen something in her eyes because he smirked and stepped back. "Not yet," he said, more to himself than to her. Then he gave her a shove toward the center of the room. "Stay here. I'll be back soon."

With that, he left her in the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Rina's knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself breathe through the panic that gripped her. When she opened them again, the fear had settled into a cold, suffocating dread. She was alone. Alone in a room filled with instruments designed to break her.

Hours passed before Collins returned. Rina had tried to sit up, to steady her breathing, but the isolation was overwhelming. She couldn't think of anything other than the growing sense of hopelessness in her chest. And then the door opened, and Collins stepped inside again, his eyes sharp and calculating.

This time, he didn't speak immediately. Instead, he walked to the desk in the corner, glancing at the computer screen. Rina noticed that the room felt colder now, more ominous, as if the very air around her was thick with the weight of everything she had lost. Collins sat at the desk, his back turned to her, typing something into the computer. The quiet hum of the machine was the only sound in the room.

She was about to speak, to ask him why, when she suddenly heard her own voice—screaming. It was a harsh, desperate cry for help. The sound of her own voice echoed in the room, sending a chill down her spine. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to end up like the people who had been trapped here before her. She was haunted by the memories of her parents, of the night they had died, the pain and loss flooding back in full force. Her screams grew louder, more frantic, until she collapsed, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Collins, hearing the sound of her distress, turned toward the screen, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. For a moment, he looked almost concerned, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside, remembering that this was all part of his plan. Rina was playing a role, acting out a script that had been written for her long ago.

But when he showed the footage to Carlos, something shifted. Both men watched her, their expressions unreadable. Carlos was the first to speak, his tone skeptical. "Is this just another act? Is she trying to get us to take her out of that room?"

Rina spent two days and nights neglected, trapped in the cold room, feverish and alone. On the third day, the brothers finally called a doctor to check on her, and she was declared healthy enough to move to a new room. When she was led to the new space, she was both relieved and confused. The room was beautiful, filled with soft lighting and luxurious furniture, but the uncertainty of her situation gnawed at her. What was the point of living in such a place if it only brought her more suffering?

She couldn't help but feel conflicted. But as she went to the bathroom to take a bath and discovered clothes that fit her perfectly, she allowed herself a moment of relief. She chose a floral romper with spaghetti straps, something that felt light compared to everything else she had been through. She descended downstairs for a meal, but as she sat at the table, the maid handed her a phone. "Mr. Collins requested that you always be reachable," she said.

Rina barely had time to process this when Collins returned. He found her asleep on the sofa, her long blonde hair splayed out across the cushions. She wore the romper, her form delicate and alluring, and for a brief moment, Collins felt a flicker of something—maybe curiosity, maybe something darker. But before he could dwell on it, Carlos spoke, and the moment was gone. "She's nothing but a prostitute," Carlos muttered under his breath.

Collins snapped out of his thoughts at Carlos' harsh words. The two men continued to converse, but they couldn't ignore the strange energy in the room. As they spoke, Rina began to tremble, sweat beading on her forehead as she mumbled incoherently. She suddenly shouted, "Mommy, Daddy, come back to me!" before leaping off the sofa, her tears streaming down her face.

For a brief moment, both men were caught off guard. They had seen Rina's distress before, but this time, it was different. She looked completely vulnerable, broken. It stirred something in both Collins and Carlos, a flicker of guilt, maybe even compassion. But they quickly dismissed it, convincing themselves that it was all an act. She was trying to manipulate them again.

When Rina stood up, tears still streaking her face, she looked up and found Collins and Carlos staring at her. The intensity of Collins' gaze sent a shiver down her spine, leaving her momentarily frozen. But then, embarrassed, she gathered the strength to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Just as she turned to retreat to her room, she remembered why she had been waiting for Collins in the first place. Her stomach churned, but she couldn't bring herself to turn back now. What would it mean if she did?