Chapter Fourteen

A harsh laugh, devoid of humor, echoed in the confined space. “Where you belong, princess. For now.”

A hand, large and calloused, brushed against her cheek, a touch that made her skin crawl.

She flinched away, a desperate, futile movement.

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice, though still weak, held a surprising edge of defiance.

“Feisty, ain’t she?” the gruff voice mused. “James sure picked a spirited one.”

James. The name, a cold shard of ice, pierced through the fog of her disorientation. This wasn’t random. This was connected to him. Her affair, the dangerous game she played, had finally caught up to her. The realization settled in her gut, a heavy, sickening weight.

“What do you want?” She forced the words out, her breath catching.

“That’s for the boss to say,” the higher voice retorted. “You just sit tight.”

Days bled into each other, marked only by the shifting shadows beneath her blindfold and the sporadic appearances of her captors.

Food, bland and unappetizing, was shoved into her hands, water offered in a plastic cup. The air grew heavy with the scent of stale sweat and fear.

She tried to keep track of time, counting the hours, the meals, but the monotony blurred the edges of reality.

Her body ached, her mind a whirlwind of terror and despair. She thought of Aria, of her concerned eyes, of the life she’d left behind. Hope flickered, then died, extinguished by the vast, suffocating silence.

Aria’s phone rang, a shrill intrusion into the quiet hum of her apartment. It was James. Her stomach clenched.

She hadn’t heard from Ella in days, an unusual silence that gnawed at her. She’d tried calling, texting, even swinging by Ella’s place, but only silence answered.

“Aria, hello.” James’s voice, smooth and controlled, held an artificial lightness that set her teeth on edge.

“James. Have you heard from Ella?” Her voice, usually steady, wavered with unconcealed worry.

A slight pause. “Ella? Oh, yes. She’s fine.”

Aria’s brow furrowed. “Fine? What do you mean, ‘fine’? I haven’t been able to reach her for days. She’s not answering her phone.”

“She’s… away for a bit,” James explained, his tone a little too casual. “On a small trip. Needed to clear her head.”

“A trip? Where? She didn’t say anything to me. She wouldn’t just disappear without a word.” Aria’s voice rose, frustration and a creeping dread tightening her chest.

The memory of Ella’s bruised cheek flashed through her mind, vivid and unsettling.

“It was rather sudden,” James continued, unperturbed. “An opportunity arose. She asked me to let you know, but I must have forgotten. My apologies.”

“You forgot?” Aria scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “James, that’s not like Ella. She tells me everything. And after… after what I saw the other day, I’m worried.”

A beat of silence. “What did you see, Aria?” His voice, though still calm, had a new, steely undertone.

Aria hesitated. She knew James’s temper, his possessive streak. But her concern for Ella outweighed her fear.

“The bruise, James. On her face. She tried to cover it, but I saw it. And she said it was an accident, but I didn’t believe her.”

Another long pause, heavier this time. “Aria, you’re imagining things. Ella is a clumsy girl. And she’s perfectly safe. She’ll be back when she’s ready.”

“No.” Aria’s voice was firm, resolute. “I don’t believe you. Something is wrong. I’m going to the police.”

“Don’t be foolish, Aria.” The smoothness had vanished from James’s voice, replaced by a cold, hard edge.

“You don’t want to involve yourself in things you don’t understand. Ella is fine. Trust me.”

The line went dead. Aria stared at her phone, her heart pounding. His words, his dismissive tone, only solidified her suspicions.

James knew something. And he was lying. She wouldn't trust him. Not when Ella’s safety was on the line. She grabbed her keys, a fierce determination hardening her gaze.

The metallic tang of fear coated Ella’s tongue. Her body, a canvas of aches and tremors, felt alien to her.

The blindfold, a constant presence, had become an extension of her skin. She heard the familiar creak of the door, the shuffle of footsteps.

“Boss is coming.” The gruff voice, closer than usual.

A different set of footsteps, lighter, but with an unmistakable authority, approached. The air in the small, confined space seemed to thicken, charged with an unsettling energy

. A new scent, expensive cologne mixed with something vaguely antiseptic, filled her nostrils.

“So, this is the girl.” The voice was deep, resonant, with a cultured cadence that belied the brutality of her situation. It wasn't James.

A hand, gloved and firm, reached out and ripped the blindfold from her eyes. The sudden influx of light, though dim, seared her retinas. She blinked, tears streaming, trying to adjust.

The room was sparse, concrete walls, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. A cot, a bucket in the corner. Her prison.

The man standing over her was impeccably dressed, a dark suit tailored to perfection. His face, lean and angular, held an expression of detached curiosity. Cold, intelligent eyes, the color of slate, assessed her. A thin scar traced a path from his temple to his jawline.

“Ella, is it?” He spoke softly, almost kindly, but the lack of warmth in his eyes contradicted his tone.

She swallowed, her throat raw. “Who are you?”

He gave a slight, humorless smile. “A mutual acquaintance, you could say. Of James.” He paused, letting the name hang in the air, heavy with implication.

“He owes me a considerable sum. A debt he’s been rather… dilatory in repaying.”

“What does that have to do with me?” she demanded, her voice gaining a surprising strength.

“You, my dear, are collateral.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “A rather valuable piece of collateral, I must say. He cares for you, doesn’t he? More than he lets on, perhaps.”

The thought of James caring for her, after everything, after the bruises and the control, was a bitter pill to swallow. But she knew his possessiveness.

It wasn't love, not in the way Aria understood it, but a fierce, destructive ownership.

“He’ll pay you,” she said, trying to project confidence she didn’t feel. “He always does.”

“Oh it’s not money as you think Perhaps.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Or perhaps he won’t. Some debts are best settled in blood.”