Let me be your captive

Sophia, all fire and wit crammed into a twenty-one-year-old frame, hummed along to Lizzo, her favourite artist as she strolled home. The familiar London streetlights cast a warm glow on her face, softening the angles of her determined jaw. Tonight, she'd dismissed her security detail. A little walk after a late study session felt liberating. Besides, the penthouse was only a ten-minute walk from Gordon Square. Her father, Donald Patel, would have a conniption if he knew, but a girl needed a sliver of normalcy. He was a force to be reckoned with, a titan in Westminster, and fiercely protective, which in Sophia’s case was both a blessing and a constant irritation. She was his only child, his world. Suddenly, the music was cut short by a hand clamping over her mouth, the metallic tang of blood filling her senses. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Shadows loomed, coalescing into figures. She clawed, kicked, fought with a desperate ferocity that surprised even herself. But she was outnumbered, outmuscled. A rough sack was shoved over her head, plunging her into suffocating darkness. The world spun violently as she was dragged, kicking and screaming muffled against the coarse fabric, towards a waiting vehicle. The scent of petrol and fear filled her nostrils. Later, after an eternity of bumpy roads and nauseating fumes, the bag was ripped away. Sophia blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. She was in a room, surprisingly luxurious – Persian rugs, heavy velvet curtains, a chandelier that seemed absurdly out of place. But the opulence couldn't mask the chilling reality. Standing before her was a man who looked like a fallen angel. His face was all sharp angles and cruel beauty, his eyes the colour of glacial ice. Beside him, a hulking figure, Ryder, stood silently, radiating a nervous energy. "Who the bloody hell are you?" Sophia demanded, her voice trembling only slightly. She refused to show weakness. The glacial eyes flickered with amusement. "You'll find out soon enough, sweetheart." His voice was a low, gravelly drawl that sent a shiver that had absolutely nothing to do with fear. Or at least, she desperately hoped it didn't. He nodded to Ryder. "Tie her." Panic flared in Sophia's chest. "You touch me, and my father will unleash hell on earth! You won't get away with this!" Before she could launch into another tirade, Leonardo, the man who looked liked a fallen angel, struck her. A sharp, brutal blow to the jaw. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. She cried out, a strangled sound of pain and fury. Ryder, looking distinctly uncomfortable, shoved a gag into her mouth and bound her hands behind her back with zip ties that bit into her skin. Leonardo crouched before her, his face inches from hers. "Had dinner, sweetheart? Because you won't be getting any tonight. Consider it a lesson in obedience." The air crackled with an intensity that made Sophia's skin prickle. He wasn't just threatening her; he was…assessing her. She glared at him, defiance blazing in her eyes, despite the fear constricting her throat. She thrashed against the ropes, her muffled protests echoing in the room. He stood, a flicker of something that might have been grudging admiration in his eyes. "Leave her," he said to Ryder. "Let her stew." Ryder, avoiding Sophia's furious gaze, wordlessly placed a thin mat on the floor. "Lie down," he mumbled. Sophia, still seething, shook her head vigorously, grumbling indignantly behind the gag, refusing to acknowledge any gesture of kindness from her captors. Sophia shook her head violently, grumbling through the gag. She would rather die on her feet than give these bastards the satisfaction. She wanted to stand, to rage, to defy. “Your choice then,” Ryder sighed and shuffled out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him with a soft click. Sophia was alone. The silence amplified the pounding of her heart, the ache in her jaw, the burning humiliation of her helplessness. Tears welled up, blurring her vision. She wouldn't let them see her break. She wouldn't. But tonight, sleep was a distant, impossible dream. She stared at the ornate ceiling, her mind racing, plotting, calculating. She’d make them pay. Oh, she would make them pay. She remained upright, leaning against a cold wall, her tied hands aching, the gag chafing. She did not sleep. Her mind raced, replaying the brutal strike, Leonardo’s cold eyes, Ryder’s lingering gaze. This was a war. And she intended to win.