Chapter 20

Liam

The days passed quickly, far too quickly, but nothing eased the growing tension inside me.

The phone vibrated for the fifth consecutive time. New photos had arrived, each more disturbing than the last. Kyra—or rather, Isabelle Bloond, as I had discovered from the anonymous sender, Marcos, that damned brother-in-law of my late wife—appeared tied up, in positions no one should ever be able to endure. Each image carried the pain, the humiliation, and the forced submission she had suffered for years. My stomach twisted. Rage, guilt, and obsession mixed inside me. Why didn’t I notice before? Why didn’t I protect her when I still could?

I had asked my in-laws to take care of Julie today, as a way to bring her closer to them. Julie, my little one, was safe at Zinna and Olavo’s house. For a few minutes, that gave me the freedom to think, to breathe, to act without distractions. But none of it calmed the hell burning inside me. I grabbed the photos with trembling hands and pored over every detail, every expression of fear, every tear that wasn’t meant for me. She would never know I was seeing this, never know she was being watched in any way other than paternal or protective. But deep down, I knew my obsession had no limits, and she wasn’t stupid enough not to notice.

Kyra left saying she was going to buy some supplies Julie needed. I just agreed.

I started the car. I needed to see her, needed to confront what was left of her, needed to feel if the Kyra I knew still existed. The engine roared, and I drove toward the address I had stored in memory from so many digital traces. Every sign of the empty road, every tree passing by the window, seemed to scream at my conscience.

When I finally found her, she was on the sidewalk outside a cheap bar—the same one I had told her so many times not to go to—disoriented and staggering, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat and the fine rain that was starting to fall. Her gaze was a whirlwind of fear, despair, and surprise. But I didn’t say a word. I just opened the car door, with the coldness and control that always defined me, and she got in without protest, clutching her bag against her chest.

“Why are you here? This isn’t a place for you, Liam.” She spoke as if she had the right to give me orders.

The drive to the main road was silent. The car cut through the darkness like a blade. I watched her from the corner of my eye, her small body pressed against the seat, tense, nervous. My hands tightened on the wheel. Every detail of her reminded me of what Marcos had done, of what she had endured, and of how I would never allow it to happen again. But the hatred, mixed with desire, was a force consuming me more than I wanted to admit.

“Isabelle…” My voice came out low, controlled, but heavy. The name exploded in the air, making her body tremble. “I need you to tell me the truth. Now. No lies.”

She shrank into the seat, wide-eyed, her lower lip trembling. I knew that was her deepest wound, and now I was confirming it.

“Liam… I… no…” Her voice broke, and the fear froze my blood. “Don’t do this to me, please.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not her. I know everything, Kyra. Every detail, every pain, every humiliation you lived through as Isabelle.” My hand slammed against the wheel. “And you’re going to tell me everything, Isabelle. Or I’ll find out anyway. And I swear, when I do, I’ll still want to hear it from your mouth.”

She swallowed hard. The car pushed forward on the deserted road, the trees dancing in shadow outside the window. The silence between us was suffocating, heavy with tension, guilt, and secrets that could no longer be contained. Why the hell was I doing this? Why was I intimidating her in such a depraved way?

“Liam… I…” she pleaded, trying to find the words, but her quickening breath betrayed the panic setting in. “I swear I was going to tell you everything. I was just trying to find a way to say the truth about me. I just couldn’t lose this job now.”

My gaze didn’t give her peace.

“You’re not going to hide from me anymore. Not from what you went through, not from what I feel for you. And you had fucking enough time to tell me, but no…” The engine roared, the tires cutting the road, and my voice, firm as it was, carried regret and possessiveness. “You preferred to deceive me, like the bitch you are.”

She didn’t resist. In a desperate impulse, she opened the door as I slowed down to speak, and before I could react, she threw herself onto the road. My heart raced, the air froze in my chest. “Kyra!” I shouted, but it was too late. The car skidded slightly as it braked, and the silence of the road closed in on me, cruel and absolute.

Regret was immediate. I gripped the wheel, turned the car around, every second weighing like an eternity, but there was no sign of her. Only the deserted road, the trees like silent sentinels, and the echo of a choice I might never be able to undo.

My mind raced to the photos, the newspapers, the messages. The exposure, the humiliation, the forced confinement, the endless abuses… all of it, and I couldn’t protect her. All of it, and I let her feel so alone, so vulnerable. Now my obsession had a new name: finding Isabelle Bloond, my Kyra, and making sure nothing and no one would ever destroy her again. And I wouldn’t rest until I found her. And this time, she wouldn’t escape.

Kyra

The fall was the shock, the impact against the cold, wet ground. Every drop of rain seemed to hammer my body, but I quickly stood, trembling, breathing heavily. The car disappeared around the bend, taking with it the only anchor of safety I had. But also, somehow, the only way to face the truth without more pressure. For now, it was the best thing to do.

Liam’s anger burned in my memory, but the terror of being confronted with my past was much greater. Marcos. His face appeared, cruel, mocking, manipulative. And those photos, those videos he had sent, were only a reminder of the hell that still hunted me. Because I know Liam had seen me in so many ways.

I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to. But I needed to think, to breathe, to plan. Every step had to be measured, every shadow could be an enemy. The cheap bar where I hid—something old and hidden—seemed the only possible refuge, but even there, I felt his presence, the cold touch of Liam’s memory and the expectation of his arrival.

The fear of being found, the shame of my own choices, the exposure of every part of me… it all blended together. The memories of abuse, of impositions, of exploitation without consent, of forced confinement—each one corroded my sanity, but also reminded me of the strength I still carried. I survived all that, survived the humiliation, and now I needed to survive Liam.

He called me Isabelle in the car, and that name, which had always been my silent armor, became a chain threatening to trap me again. He didn’t know the depth of the pain he caused, nor how close he was to losing me for good. My escape wasn’t just physical, but symbolic: I needed to take back control, show him that I wouldn’t be just another victim or toy of his obsession.

I walked along the deserted, wet road, watching the trees bend with the wind and the rain. Every step was measured, every shadow a possible danger. But somehow, there was freedom in solitude. Liam didn’t control me there, he couldn’t touch me, he couldn’t force me to face the past still bleeding inside me. I was finally my own owner.

Night fell completely, and the road stretched endlessly. I had no destination, only the need to get away, to disappear. The fear of Marcos still chased me, but the shock, the adrenaline, and the anger gave me strength to keep going. I was Isabelle Bloond, not Kyra Lystem, not a nanny, not a hostage. I was the survivor no luxury or male obsession could ever imprison again.

As I walked, I became aware that Liam could come back at any moment, that he could drive up to me, but the thought didn’t scare me. Now, I had only the road, the darkness, and the rain as my companions. And for the first time in a long time, I could breathe without feeling watched, controlled, or subdued.

But even so, deep inside me, one question remained: would he find me again? Would he realize that I wouldn’t be easily bent, manipulated, or loved under his dominance? I had no answers, only silent steps and a road that seemed infinite, a mute witness to my escape and the weight I carried.