I woke up to soft piano music.
Classical. Slow. Precise. Something rich people probably listen to while sipping wine and ruining people's lives.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep. The lights hadn't changed. The curtains still covered every window.
There were no clocks.
That was the first thing I noticed.
No clock. No phone. No sunlight. No time.
No way to mark how long I'd been gone.
My stomach twisted.
I sat up slowly, the cold metal chain around my ankles clinking as I moved. It had just enough length to let me walk to the edge of the room—maybe to the bathroom, maybe to the closet—but not to the door.
I tried again anyway. Pulled hard. Yanked. Tugged.
Nothing.
It was bolted deep into the floor beneath the bedpost.
I was still trapped.
Still his.
---
There was a tray on the table across from the bed. Eggs, toast, orange juice. Still warm. Someone had been here while I slept.
I didn't touch it.
If I ate, I'd be playing along. And I wasn't playing.
I sat there on the edge of the bed, legs pulled to my chest, eyes fixed on the door. Waiting.
He didn't come right away.
But when he did, he didn't knock.
The door clicked softly and then swung open. Damien stepped inside like this was his house and I was just… part of the furniture.
He was dressed the same way as before—black slacks, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He smelled like something expensive and faintly woodsy.
He smiled when he saw me awake.
"Good morning, pet."
I flinched.
"Don't call me that," I snapped.
"Why not?" He moved closer. "You are mine."
"I'm not yours," I said sharply. "You kidnapped me. You chained me to a bed. This isn't love. It's insanity."
He didn't flinch. Didn't argue. He just looked at me with calm eyes that somehow made everything worse.
"You're still fighting," he said, almost to himself. "Good. I didn't want you to give in too easily."
"I'll never give in."
"Oh, Aurora," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear before I could pull away. "You say that now."
I jerked away violently. "Don't. Touch. Me."
He smiled again, softer this time. "You're trembling."
"It's disgust," I spat.
His eyes darkened just slightly. "You'll learn. There's safety in obedience."
I couldn't stop my voice from shaking. "You're going to prison."
"No," he said simply. "Because no one's looking for you."
---
That part shattered something in me.
Of course they were. My professors. My friends. My roommate. My mom.
"They'll come," I whispered. "Someone will notice."
Damien walked to the vanity across the room and opened one of the drawers.
"They'll think you ran off," he said. "Your roommate already got a message from your phone. You told her you're going on a spontaneous trip. Needed to clear your head. You'll be back when you're ready."
"No I didn't," I breathed.
"You did." He held up my phone, unlocked. "Well. I did. But I know how you type. Your voice. Your patterns. It wasn't difficult."
My body went ice-cold.
He had my phone.
He had everything.
---
Damien turned and held something in his hand.
A black velvet box.
I didn't want it.
He walked over and sat it gently on the bed beside me.
"A gift," he said. "To make you feel more at home."
I stared at it like it might explode.
"Open it."
I didn't move.
His jaw tensed slightly. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "I can either open it for you, or you can do it yourself. But either way, you're putting it on."
I opened it.
Inside was a thin black collar. Leather. Soft. No spikes. Just a tiny silver tag that read "A."
I slammed the box shut and shoved it off the bed. It hit the floor with a muted thud.
His smile didn't falter. "That's alright. We have time."
---
I didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.
He came in and out. Sometimes he brought food. Sometimes he just sat across the room and watched me, silently, like I was a painting.
I ignored him. Or tried to.
But his presence was like static electricity in the air. I couldn't relax. Couldn't breathe.
That night, I lay awake for hours.
Eventually, I crawled into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
It wasn't much—just a pristine bathtub, sink, and toilet—but it was the only space I could shut him out of.
I curled up on the floor.
And I cried.
---
The next morning, Damien spoke first.
"You're going to school today."
I blinked. "What?"
"You have a psychology class at 10:15 a.m., don't you?"
I stared at him. "How do you—"
"I know everything," he said calmly. "You're not dropping out. You're not disappearing. You're going to maintain your routine so no one becomes suspicious. You'll go to class. You'll smile. And then you'll come back home."
"This isn't home," I snapped.
He ignored that. "I'll take you. I'll pick you up. You won't say a word to anyone. If you do... I'll make sure the next time you're taken, it won't be so gentle."
"You call this gentle?"
Damien walked toward me and crouched down in front of the bed. I backed away instantly, but the chain pulled tight.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I've been very gentle, Aurora."
Then he stood and walked away.
---
He let me shower. Gave me fresh clothes—nothing too revealing. A plain grey hoodie and jeans. No makeup. Hair tied up.
The collar was still on the vanity.
He didn't force me to wear it. Not yet. But he looked at it when I walked out of the bathroom, like a man admiring a future bride's wedding dress.
---
The car was sleek. Black. Tinted windows. I sat in the passenger seat, hands clenched in my lap, throat dry.
He drove in silence.
We pulled into the university's side parking lot. A different one than I usually used.
"Don't run," he said casually. "There's nowhere to go."
"What happens if I do?"
"I visit your mother."
My whole body went cold.
He leaned across the console and whispered, "I know where she lives. I know where she shops. I even know the name of the cat that sleeps in her garden. Do you understand me, Aurora?"
I nodded stiffly.
His fingers brushed my wrist before I pulled away. "Good girl."
I got out of the car with shaking hands and walked toward the building.
---
Campus looked the same.
That's what messed me up the most.
People laughed. Talked. Ate bagels on the steps. Ran to class. My professor waved when I entered the hall.
"Glad you're back, Aurora," she said. "Everything okay?"
I smiled. "Yeah. Just... needed a break."
I sat in the back row, near the wall. My skin still felt dirty from his touch.
Class blurred. I couldn't focus.
I kept glancing toward the window.
He was probably out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
I couldn't tell anyone. Not yet. Not while he had my mom. My phone. My life.
When class ended, I walked back outside.
He was already parked at the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping a slow rhythm on the console.
I got in.
He smiled like we were a couple out on a date.
---
That night, when I sat on the bed and didn't eat again, he sighed.
"Why are you starving yourself?"
"Because I hate you."
"No," he said, walking over. "You're afraid of me. That's different."
He stood close. Too close.
I didn't move.
His hand reached for my face, but I turned my head sharply.
"I hate your touch," I snapped.
He didn't get angry.
He just smiled.
"That'll make it more fun when you beg for it.
🖤 End of ChaC🖤 End of ChaC