Chapter4
1588 Words
I spent the rest of the evening pacing the room, my mind racing with possibilities. Escape was futile—every attempt had failed. He had eyes everywhere, and the walls of this mansion seemed to close in on me like a cage. Still, I couldn’t just accept this fate. I had to fight back.
The moment I heard footsteps approaching, my breath hitched. The heavy thud of his boots echoed down the hallway, making my skin crawl with anticipation and dread. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The door creaked open, and there he stood, tall and commanding, his dark eyes gleaming with something sinister. He was dressed in an open-collared shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of muscle beneath. The sight made my stomach clench with frustration and something else I didn’t want to name.
“You didn’t eat,” he noted, glancing at the untouched tray of food Linda had left.
“I wasn’t hungry,” I bit back, arms folded across my chest.
He smirked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “You need strength, Elena.”
“I need freedom.”
He chuckled darkly. “We both know that’s not happening.”
He took slow, deliberate steps toward me, his presence overwhelming. I refused to back away, even though my body screamed at me to run.
“You think you can break me?” I challenged, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me.
His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch deceptively gentle. “No, I think I already have.”
I slapped his hand away, my breath coming in sharp bursts. “You don’t own me.”
His jaw ticked, and in a flash, he had me pinned against the wall, his body pressing into mine. “Say that again,” he murmured, his lips inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my thoughts. The heat radiating from him was suffocating, intoxicating. “I will never belong to you.”
His eyes darkened, and before I could react, his lips crashed against mine in a bruising kiss. It was raw, demanding, filled with the kind of hunger that sent a jolt of electricity straight through me. I hated myself for the way my body responded, for the way my fingers clenched his shirt instead of pushing him away.
I bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, and he pulled back with a growl, his grip on my wrists tightening. “You’ll regret that,” he warned, his voice thick with something I didn’t want to name.
“Let me go,” I gasped, my resolve wavering.
He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear. “You’re already mine, Elena. Every time you resist, you only make me want you more.”
A shiver ran down my spine, a mixture of fear and something dangerously close to desire. This was a game to him, a battle of wills, and I lost. I hated him. I hated that he had stripped me of everything—my freedom, my choices, my dignity.
And yet, a part of me couldn’t deny the undeniable pull between us.
I glared at him, forcing myself to stay strong. “You can force me to stay, but you’ll never have my heart.”
His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, just as quickly, the mask returned. “We’ll see about that.”
He released me abruptly, stepping back as if regaining control over himself. I sagged against the wall, my breaths coming fast and shallow.
“Get some rest,” he ordered, turning toward the door. “Tomorrow, we have a wedding to plan.”
He was gone before I could respond, leaving me trembling with fury and confusion.
I slid down to the floor, my mind racing. If I couldn’t escape, I had to find another way to gain control. He thought he held all the power, but he didn’t know me well enough.
I would find a way to make him regret ever thinking he could own me.
And when I did, I would be the one walking away while he burned in the wreckage he had created.
The room felt colder after he left, as if his presence had been the only source of warmth, no matter how suffocating. My fingers curled into fists as I tried to steady my breathing, to push away the lingering sensation of his touch. I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel.
But hate wasn’t enough to save me. I needed a plan.
I forced myself to stand, my legs shaky beneath me. The walls of the room seemed to close in tighter, but I wouldn’t let them break me. If I couldn’t run, I had to be smarter. I had to find his weakness.
The tray of untouched food sat on the nightstand, the scent of roasted chicken wafting toward me. My stomach twisted—not with hunger, but with the gnawing frustration that my body was betraying me in every way. I needed to be strong. If I starved myself, I’d only be playing into his hands.
With a sigh, I grabbed a piece of bread and tore off a small bite. The moment it hit my tongue, I realized just how long it had been since I’d eaten. The hunger I’d suppressed clawed its way back, demanding more.
I hated giving in, but I forced myself to eat just enough to keep my strength up. I had to be ready. Because tomorrow, he wanted to plan a wedding.
I would rather die.
The thought made my throat tighten. No. That wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me. I had to find a way to turn the tables.
I needed information.
His name was Elijah DeLuca. A man whose reputation was built on power and fear. I had heard the whispers before I’d been taken—about the way he operated, about how no one ever crossed him and lived to tell the tale.
But there had to be someone who had tried. Someone who had gotten close enough to see through the cracks.
I glanced toward the door, knowing it was locked. I had checked it too many times to count. The windows were thick, the glass reinforced. But maybe there was something else.
Pacing, I ran my hands along the edges of the walls, searching for anything out of place. A vent, a hidden panel—anything that could be used to my advantage.
Minutes stretched into an hour, and just when I was about to give up, I felt it. A slight give in the corner of the bookshelf. My pulse quickened as I pressed against it, feeling it shift just enough to reveal a small gap.
A hidden compartment.
Heart pounding, I dug my fingers into the opening and pried it wider. Inside was a single book, aged and worn, its spine cracked from use. I pulled it out, flipping it open to find a collection of handwritten notes tucked between the pages.
Names. Dates. Transactions.
Secrets.
I scanned the entries, my breath catching at the realization of what I had found. These weren’t just business dealings—they were records of betrayals, of people who had been eliminated for daring to go against Elijah.
One name stood out among the rest: Lorenzo Bianchi.
The handwriting beneath it was different, almost rushed.
Still alive. Last seen in Florence. Find him before they do.
A surge of hope flickered through me. If Lorenzo was still alive, that meant there was a way out. Someone had escaped Elijah’s grasp before—someone who knew his weaknesses.
I needed to find him.
A sudden knock on the door sent the book tumbling from my hands. I barely had time to shove it back into place before the door swung open.
Elijah stood there, watching me with an unreadable expression.
"You’re still awake," he murmured, stepping inside.
I forced my face into an impassive mask. "It’s hard to sleep when I’m trapped in a cage."
His gaze flicked toward the bed before settling back on me. "Tomorrow is important. You should rest."
"For what? So you can parade me around like a trophy?"
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "You think I enjoy this?"
A bitter laugh escaped me. "You expect me to believe you don’t?"
He closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, his fingers grazing my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his. "I expect you to understand that things aren’t as simple as you think."
His touch sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. "Then enlighten me."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "Not tonight."
I scoffed. "Of course not. Because if I knew the truth, I might have a chance to escape."
His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make me aware of the power he held over me. "There’s nowhere for you to go, Elena."
"We’ll see about that."
Something flashed in his eyes—frustration, maybe even something deeper—but before I could decipher it, he let me go.
"Sleep," he ordered. "Tomorrow changes everything."
With that, he turned and left, locking the door behind him.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers brushing over the hidden compartment behind me.
Tomorrow, I won’t just be planning a wedding.
Tomorrow, I will be planning my escape.
- Writer
