Chapter 17: Trapped
987 Words
Nadia’s POV
A bitter laugh escapes my throat as I watch the news on the television. The words of my uncle repeating in my head.
An accident?
They tagged it an accident? His hand was severed right in front me. The Bennetts are indeed ver pathetic.
I quickly look for the remote control and turn the television off. Seeing my uncle’s disgusting face irritates me so much. He is the reason I am in this whole mess.
Clutching my torn nightwear jacket, i hurry out of the dining hall, my appetite vanishing completely. I sprint up the grand staircase, I don’t stop until I’m safely behind the oak doors of my room, the muffled click of the lock offering a fragile illusion of safety.
I lean against the wood, my heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird. What do I do now?
Think, Nadia. I need to think.
If he only wanted a trophy wife to humiliate my uncle, he’s already achieved that. If this is just about the debt my uncle owes him, the millions he paid to own me would have settled the score. But the look of hatred and disdain in his eyes wasn’t just the cruel satisfaction of a business man enforcing a contract. It is personal. A deep-seated hatred.
But what could I have possibly done to a man like him? Before he bought me, he was just a terrifying name whispered in the city. A phantom monster. I had never even seen his face before.
My body shudders as a cold realization washes over me. If the sin isn’t mine, then it has to belong to my family.
Did my parents cross him in the past? Did they do something to offend him or his family?
Desperation suddenly ignites through my terror. I won’t just sit here and wait for him to break me into a million pieces. If I have to survive being trapped in this gilded cage with a monster, I need leverage. I have to find out the truth. And the way to find it is to look where he keeps his secrets.
I walk over to the window, peering through the heavy velvet curtains down at the driveway. About a few minutes later, I see his armored, sleek SUV roll past the security gates. He is gone. He said he has matters to attend to, that means I have a chance now.
Without hesitating, I change into a pair of wool, high-necked sweater and dark trousers, buring my trembling hands into my pockets. Stepping into the hallway, the mansion is eerily quiet. The Maids are probably staying clear this wing because of the scene In the dining room earlier. I slip down the east corridor toward the room I am forbidden to enter. His private study.
The heavy double doors of the private study looms closer at the end of the hall. My hands pauses at the polished Brass handle. My pulse races so loudly I can barely breathe properly. I twist the knob, expecting it to be locked. But surprisingly, it opens with a muffled click.
He thinks I’m too broken, too terrified of hi to dare defy him. I slip inside, shutting the door silently behind me.
The study smells of rich leather, expensive whiskey, and the faint woodsy scent of his cologne — a scent that instantly makes air vanish from my lungs. A massive mahogany desk dominate the room. Behind it, shelves of leather bound books stretch to the ceiling.
I sprint to the desk, my hands moving fast but carefully as I make sure I don’t leave anything out of place. I fling open the top drawers. Real estate deeds, financial ledgers, offshore account statements — numbers and names that mean nothing to me.
I reach for the lower drawers, carefully searching, looking for documents, folders, anything that connects him to my family. But I find nothing. I let out a frustrated sigh and look around the grand private study.
My eyes suddenly lands on a golden portrait of a girl — the same one in Lorenzo’s room but bigger. One fraction of the portrait looks totally out of place, not perfectly straight like the others. Driven by my instincts, I step behind the desk and tug on the side of the portrait. It swings open on a hidden hinge.
Behind it sits a small, digital wall safe.
My heart drops. A safe. Of course there’s a safe. Someone that lethal and dangerous definitely has a safe. My fingers hover over the keypad. What would a man like him use? A number? A date? I have no idea. My mind roams with different thoughts of what exactly he could use for a passcode. I know nothing about him — nothing.
Suddenly, the sound of a car door echoes from the courtyard just below.
My heart stops. I leave the safe and rush toward the window and peer out through the window. The black SUV is back. The driver is holding the door open, and he steps out, his dark coat billowing around his tall frame as he storms toward the front entrance.
He’s back early.
Panic grips me instantly. My breath hitching so fast air gets trapped in my lungs. If he finds me here, he won’t just bite my lips. He will fulfill his promise right now. And that is the last thing I want right now.
I rush back to the painting and quickly put it back in place. My hands are shaking as I scan the desk and the drawers, making sure everything is properly in its original spot. Then I sprint toward the double door, my hand wrapping around the handle
Before I can pull it open, I hear the heavy tide of his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway and approaching the doors of the private study.
There’s no time to escape. I am trapped.
- Writer
