Cracks in the Ice
966 Words
Camila paced the room she’d been confined to—a spacious, cold expanse with minimalist furniture and a single locked window overlooking the grounds. She hadn’t seen Zachary since he’d disappeared after dragging her into this house, and the frustration was eating her alive. The silence, the unanswered questions, the suffocating isolation—it was all a calculated punishment.
Her bare feet padded across the hardwood floor as she scanned her surroundings for the hundredth time. A bed with crisp white sheets. A dresser stocked with clothes she hadn’t touched. A chair. A desk. No phone, no computer, no clock. The room was a cage, no matter how deceptively luxurious it seemed.
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. They’d brought food earlier—some stone-faced man in a suit who left a tray on the table and left without a word. She’d ignored that too. Hunger was better than submission.
Her thoughts drifted, as they always did, back to her parents. To the sound of the gunshots. To the moment her father had fallen. She replayed it over and over, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why someone had come for them. Why Zachary had come for 'her.'
The door creaked open, pulling her from her thoughts. Camila spun around, half expecting to see one of Zachary’s silent men. But it wasn’t. It was 'him.'
Zachary stepped inside, his presence filling the room instantly. He was dressed in all black, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the floor. His expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, but his eyes flicked briefly to the untouched food on the table before meeting hers.
“You’re not eating,” he said flatly.
“Observant,” Camila shot back, crossing her arms. “Did you come here just to state the obvious?”
He didn’t react to her sarcasm. Instead, he walked further into the room, his measured steps making her uneasy. He stopped a few feet from her, his gaze steady and unflinching.
“You need to eat,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I won’t say it again.”
Camila’s eyes narrowed. “What if I don’t? You’re going to force-feed me now?”
Zachary tilted his head slightly, studying her. “No. But starving yourself won’t change anything. It’ll only make you weak.”
“I’d rather starve than stay here with you,” she snapped.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “You don’t have a choice.”
Camila laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Right. Because you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you? Locked doors, locked windows, guards everywhere. You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, Zachary?” She spat his name like a curse.
For a moment, he said nothing, his face as still as stone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stepped closer. Camila instinctively stepped back, but the bed stopped her retreat.
“I don’t care if you hate me,” he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. “But I’ll remind you of something, Camila—you’re alive. Because of me. Whatever twisted fantasy you have about running, forget it. This house is your reality now.”
Her chest heaved as she glared up at him, fury and despair warring in her expression. “Why me?” she whispered, her voice breaking despite herself. “Why did you take me? Why couldn’t you just leave me there?”
Zachary’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped back, the brief tension between them dissolving into cold distance once more.
“Eat,” he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then he turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes—time felt meaningless in this prison. Camila sat curled up on the bed, her mind racing with questions. Zachary’s words replayed in her head: “You’re alive. Because of me.”
She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe him. He hadn’t saved her—he’d taken her. He’d stolen her from the life she knew, from the people she loved. And yet…
The memory of her father flashed in her mind. His desperate shout—“Run!”—echoed in her ears. She’d trusted him. But what if Zachary’s cold words were true? What if her father had planned to use her for some deal? The thought made her stomach twist.
A knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts.
“Miss De Luca.” The voice was deep and unfamiliar—one of Zachary’s men. “Your dinner is here.”
She didn’t answer.
The door opened slightly, and a tray was slid in before it was shut again. Camila stared at it, her hunger warring with her pride. She wanted to resist, to show Zachary she wasn’t some pawn he could control. But her body was weak, and the smell of food made her stomach ache.
With a heavy sigh, she got up and sat at the small table. The food was simple but warm—a bowl of soup, bread, and water. She ate slowly, her thoughts spinning with every bite.
Later that night, when the house had fallen into eerie silence, Camila stood by the window, staring out into the dark expanse of the grounds. She could see the faint glow of a cigarette near the gate, where one of the guards stood watch.
Her fists clenched at her sides.
She didn’t know who Zachary Sullivan was or what game he was playing. But she wasn’t going to sit here quietly, waiting for answers.
If this was her reality now, she would find a way to survive it. And when the time came, she would escape.
No matter what it took.
- Writer
