How could he lock me in here?
This small, dark room was no better than a dungeon. Light barely crept in through a tiny window high up near the ceiling. There was no furniture. I had never even stepped foot in this room before. Back when Mrs. Moly was alive, I never needed to.
We used to sit together, sipping jasmine tea brewed in a chipped porcelain teapot. She never treated me like a maid—more like a friend. I was so grateful for that.
Now, I was still in the same house, but everything had changed. Mr. Castiel had locked me in this dusty, suffocating room. I didn't even know how many hours had passed. I sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, crying until I couldn't anymore.
There were still so many tears left for Mrs. Moly. She had become my family. She tried to erase the pain of my orphanage days. I shared all my secrets with her, and I hoped she had gone to heaven carrying them.
But now what? Would anyone even find me?
I doubted it. I never had many friends. I was a quiet girl, always working, too busy to socialize. I'd promised myself that once I graduated and found a real job, I'd start living more. Now I saw how foolish that was. I should've made more memories, met more people. I was only twenty-two, and it already felt like my time had run out.
If I couldn't convince Mr. Castiel of my innocence… I might never get another chance.
He was a dark man, in every sense. Sure, he owned a company, but Mrs. Moly had hinted at the truth. He wasn't just a CEO. He was something far more dangerous—he was part of the underworld. A mafia boss, feared by many.
Mrs. Moly used to take some sort of medication, antidepressants I think. On those days, her lips loosened. She would tell me things. Things about her husband that chilled me to the bone.
Construction—that was his public front. But what kind of business really went on behind those glossy walls?
Suddenly, the door creaked open. A maid I'd worked alongside walked in with a tray. She worked in the kitchen; I was Mrs. Moly's personal maid.
"Daphne, why won't you look at me?"
She said nothing, just set the tray down silently. A slice of bread, some peanut butter, and a cup of tea.
"Daphne!" I called again, grabbing her arm.
She quickly glanced at the hallway and turned back to me, her face tense. "Keep your voice down, Melissa. Mr. Castiel doesn't want any noise in the house. Try to stay quiet."
I let out a bitter laugh. The kind that bubbles out when you're on the edge of madness. "Why does everything have to change just because he showed up?"
Instead of arguing, I pleaded. "Please, help me get out. Call the police, do something."
"I can't," she whispered, looking away. "He took all our phones. He's determined to find out who's responsible for his wife's death. No one's allowed to leave the estate for three days—not even her family."
Furious, I jumped up and slapped the tray aside. The tea spilled across the floor.
"This is insane! Who does he think he is?!"
"I believe I already answered that," came a cold voice behind me.
I turned and saw him—Mr. Castiel. He nudged the fallen cup with his polished shoe. I instinctively stepped back. I was terrified of him, but I couldn't let him treat me like this.
"You can't keep me here like a prisoner!"
"And who are you to tell me what I can or can't do?" he stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "I am the owner of this house. I was Moly's husband. And you… who are you, Melissa? A mere university student? Or were you planning something else by getting so close to my wife?"
He pulled his hand from his pocket as he approached me. For the first time, I saw him up close. Tall, broad shoulders, a full lower lip, a chiseled, slightly arched nose. And beneath his threatening smirk… a small mole under his left eye, just beneath his lower lashes. I felt strange for noticing it.
I quickly turned away, staring at the window. "I'm suffocating in this room. You can't just keep me locked up—it's illegal!"
"I have enough power to bury such a trivial crime."
"I've had enough of this! I'm leaving!"
I headed for the door, determined not to let him touch me. But he didn't let me go. He grabbed my arm and threw me back into the room.
"What are you doing?! Let me go!" I shouted, my voice cracking.
"You're mine now, Melissa," he said darkly. "You'll leave when I say so. Someone has to teach you some manners. Didn't your parents warn you not to talk to dangerous men?"
That hit me like a knife.
Tears welled in my eyes as I stared at him.
"If they were alive… they would've."
"And did your parents ever teach you not to lock people in rooms?" I shot back, voice trembling.
He laughed.
"Shameless girl."
But I could sense his anger simmering beneath the surface. Then, with a harsh push, he threw me back into the room. Just before slamming the door shut, he said:
"I'll teach you myself. When you come out of here… you'll be a proper little lady."