Chapter 3

The morning light didn’t reach her room—because there were no windows.

But someone brought her a change of clothes.

A soft knock came first, then the creak of the door. A woman stepped in—a tall, pale-faced lady in her late forties with quiet eyes and a stiff uniform. She set down a tray of breakfast, neatly folded clothes, and a note on the nightstand without saying a word.

“Who are you?” Anna asked sharply.

The woman didn’t answer. She simply gave a respectful bow and left the room without a sound.

Anna stared after her, heart racing.

She walked toward the tray. Toast. Eggs. Fruit juice. All untouched.

Then her eyes fell on the note.

---

“Day 1. Welcome to your new life. You’ll be moved to the west wing. No restraints. No locked doors—unless you try something stupid.

Get dressed. I want to show you something. — T.”

---

Anna clenched the paper in her fist and nearly tore it apart, but then she remembered the camera in the top corner of the room—blinking faintly red.

He was watching.

She took a long, deep breath and made a decision.

You want a show? Fine. You’ll get one.

Anna changed into the simple beige dress left for her and brushed her fingers through her tangled hair. No makeup, no frills. She wanted him to see the fire he’d tried to cage.

Minutes later, the same silent woman returned. Anna followed her through a wide hallway—long, sunlit, luxurious. The smell of roses lingered in the air. Classical music drifted from somewhere above.

And then, they reached it.

A glass room. A greenhouse.

Inside stood Tyler.

Wearing a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, he was pruning a cluster of orchids with surgeon-like precision.

Anna stepped inside and let the door close behind her.

“Morning,” he said without looking at her.

“Cut the act,” she snapped. “I’m not your guest. I’m your hostage.”

Tyler turned to face her, lips quirking.

“You’re unchained. You slept in a real bed. Ate food. You’ve got better clothes. You’re not my hostage, Anna. You’re a woman under a proposal.”

“Don’t dress it up with flowery words,” she spat. “You kidnapped me.”

He leaned on the gardening table, inspecting his handiwork.

“And yet, here you are. Safe. Well-fed. Beautiful.”

Anna stepped closer, folding her arms.

“You think if you surround me with roses and wine and designer dresses, I’ll magically forget what you did?”

“No,” he said. “But I think given time, you’ll stop seeing me as your captor and start seeing me as a man.”

She laughed bitterly. “You’re a psychopath, Tyler.”

He shrugged, not offended. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just a man who doesn’t like unfinished business.”

“You mean rejection,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Because that’s what this is about, right? Your fragile ego.”

Tyler’s eyes darkened. The air shifted.

“You have a sharp tongue,” he said, walking toward her now. “But you’re not stupid, Anna. You wouldn’t be alive if you were.”

Anna refused to back away as he came closer.

“Tell me something,” she said. “What happens if I play along? Pretend to be your little pet project. What happens after sixty days? Do you release me with a bouquet and an apology?”

Tyler stopped just inches from her.

“I told you,” he murmured. “If you don’t fall in love with me in sixty days, I’ll let you go.”

“And what if I lie?” she challenged. “What if I fake it just to escape?”

He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll have to be very convincing.”

Anna met his gaze, the fury in her chest cooling into something far more dangerous—calculation.

“I will never love you,” she whispered, “but if pretending gets me out of here, I’ll play your sick little game.”

Tyler’s smile widened.

“Now that,” he said, “sounds like a challenge.”

He turned back toward the orchids.

“Come,” he said over his shoulder. “I want to show you the rest of the estate.”

—

The estate was a castle of glass, stone, and shadows. Acres of manicured gardens, infinity pools, art galleries, and security systems tighter than a bank vault.

As Tyler walked her through the halls, Anna studied everything—every door, every camera, every guard.

He spoke casually, like a tour guide. She barely listened.

But then she caught something — a hallway that led down into the basement.

“Where does that go?” she asked.

Tyler glanced at her. “That’s off-limits.”

Bingo.

She said nothing, only stored it in the back of her mind.

—

Back in her new suite — spacious, feminine, and clearly designed for long-term captivity — Anna sat by the window, looking out at the sea below. Tyler’s estate was perched on a cliff just outside the city.

Now she knew exactly how isolated she really was.

The door opened again.

Tyler entered with two glasses of red wine.

“I thought we could toast,” he said, handing her a glass.

Anna didn’t take it.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Your first day of freedom,” he said mockingly.

She scoffed. “This isn’t freedom. It’s a cage with prettier bars.”

“You could make it beautiful, you know,” he said, sipping his wine. “You could have anything. Clothes, books, art. Even music. All you have to do is try.”

Anna finally took the glass—but didn’t drink it.

“I’ll try,” she said, looking him dead in the eyes. “But not for the reason you think.”

He leaned in, intrigued. “Oh?”

She whispered slowly, “Because the more you let me in, the easier it will be for me to destroy you from the inside.”

Tyler stared at her. Something unreadable flickered across his face.

Then he smiled.

“I look forward to seeing you try.”

Anna turned away, her eyes fixed on the sea.

But in her mind?

She wasn’t counting the days of captivity.

She was counting down to leaving this prison.