Chapter 9: Breaking Point

Arabella

I buried my face in the pillow, my grunt of rage muffled against the soft fabric. This was insane—utterly maddening! I’d had enough.

Seven days. I’d counted each one, the hours crawling by like insects. When would *he* come? No one in this cursed villa seemed to know—or care.

I didn’t even know who he was, what he looked like, or, most terrifyingly, what he wanted from me. The staff moved through their routines with infuriating normalcy, as if my presence here was ordinary, as if I belonged.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The suspense was a blade, twisting deeper with every unanswered question. I needed to act, to do *something*—anything to break this suffocating limbo.

He hadn’t forgotten me. No one bids that kind of money—millions, for a prize they’d neglect. He was toying with me, letting my anxiety fester, knowing the wait would drive me to the edge. I glanced around the room, its bare and completely white furnishings mocking my captivity.

The locked steel windows,