The room was steeped in darkness, save for the faint silver wash of moonlight seeping through the curtains. Vincent's arm was draped firmly around Elena's waist, his body pressed close to hers in an iron hold even in sleep. His breathing was steady, warm against the back of her neck, while hers came shallow, as if every exhale was borrowed air.
She stared at the shadows on the wall, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but her mind unwilling to rest. The ache in her chest was sharp tonight — sharper than most nights — because she could not stop thinking of her mother.
Is she eating? Or skipping meals because she's too busy searching for me?
Is she sleeping at all, or spending every night wide-eyed and restless like I do?
Does she still believe I'm alive?
The thoughts hollowed her from the inside, making her chest feel too tight. A dull ache settled on her face, the kind that comes from missing someone so much it hurts to breathe.
Her gaze drifted down to Vincent's face. He was sleeping peacefully, the faintest crease between his brows smoothed away in rest. Her lips curved in a sad, bitter chuckle.
You've made my life hell… and yet you sleep like this, untouched by guilt.
Her eyes glinted with quiet defiance. So you won't release me? Not even a single chance? Then I'll make one. I'll escape… and I'll make you regret what you've done to me.
The memories of that day — her first day in college — flashed like a cruel film. She had been so careful, so focused on blending in… until she'd caught his eye. She hadn't known then what kind of man he truly was, the type who would force his will on her simply because of a slap.
Her jaw clenched. My biggest mistake… was underestimating you.
A small, deliberate knock sounded from the door.
She instantly closed her eyes and stilled her breathing, letting her body sink into the mattress. Vincent's arm tightened briefly as he stirred, then loosened. Within two more knocks, he was fully awake. His gaze lingered on her sleeping form for a heartbeat, unreadable, before he rose.
The lock clicked softly.
"Shipment's delayed," a deep voice said from the other side. "We've got a leak."
Vincent's tone sharpened. "Who?"
"Not sure. But…" The man leaned slightly, and his eyes slid past Vincent's shoulder toward the bed. His smirk was slow, deliberate. "Word is, you've been keeping something… precious."
Vincent's hand shot out, fisting the man's collar and dragging him half inside. "Watch your mouth, Damien."
Damien froze, his eyes darting to the bed where Elena still lay, her lashes trembling faintly. He caught her face for the briefest second before Vincent's glare snapped his attention back.
"You'll be dead," Vincent hissed, his voice low enough to burn.
Damien's smirk faltered into nervousness. "I… I was just asking."
Vincent's grip tightened once before shoving him back. They locked eyes, a silent battle neither was willing to lose.
Damien stepped into the hallway, but not before deliberately glancing at Elena again. This time, he memorized her face — the delicate features, the wariness in her stillness.
Wow… a pretty one again, Damien thought, a secret grin curling. I'm going to steal her from you, cousin. Why do all the pretty girls fall for you? But this time… you actually reacted. Just from seeing her face… you like her. That means I want her — at any cost.
His smirk lingered as he walked away.
Vincent closed the door with a quiet click, leaning against it for a moment before coming toward her. His eyes locked on her as though they could pierce through her closed lids.
"You heard nothing," he said, each word deliberate.
Elena sat up slowly, her gaze drifting to the mirror across the room. In the reflection, Vincent's dark silhouette approached, the weight of his presence filling the space.
"Do you think of running, Elena?"
Her heart jolted, but she kept her voice steady. "No."
Vincent's lips curved faintly. "No? So… you like it here. You like me now." There was a flicker of excitement in his voice, but she remained silent, her expression unreadable.
His smile faded, replaced by a slow, simmering anger.
In a sudden movement, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap. Her body stiffened in shock, her hands pushing against his chest, but his hold was unyielding.
His fingers caught her cheeks, tilting her face to his, a rare flicker of fear in his own eyes. "You have to answer me. You do like it here. And me. Then why stay silent?"
She struggled against his grip, her breath quickening. His demand came again, harder this time.
"Say yes. Say it, and I'll let you go."
Her resolve frayed under the pressure. Exhaustion, frustration, and the sting of his control boiled over.
"Yes," she whispered, tears slipping free.
The corner of his mouth lifted — not with joy, but with a dark, knowing triumph. He leaned close, his breath brushing her ear.
"Lies look pretty on you."
Her pulse hammered in her throat as his hand slid through her hair, combing it slowly, methodically. The bristles of the brush whispered against her scalp, almost gentle… almost.
He kissed her — a claiming, suffocating press — before lifting her effortlessly and laying her back on the bed.
"Sleep," he said. "We have an early morning."
He pulled her against him again, his arm heavy over her waist. His breathing steadied quickly, but her eyes remained open.
Carefully, she reached for the loose screw she'd spotted in the bedpost days before. Her fingers worked it free, the metal warm from her touch. She tucked it into the hem of her thin dress, hiding it close.
Vincent's arm tightened slightly in sleep, his face calm — but hers was set in quiet fury.
I will escape. I will make you regret this.
She turned her face away from him, eyes glistening in the dark, her mind already tracing the first steps of freedom.