All Chapters of The King’s Wrong Captive: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The basement was colder than I expected—damp air clinging to my skin, concrete walls sweating under flickering fluorescent lights. My wrists ached from the cuffs, pulled tight above my head, forcing me onto my knees like some helpless little lamb.Perfect.I lowered my chin, letting my hair fall forward in a dark curtain. Soft, trembling breaths. Wide, glassy eyes. The picture of fear.The two guards posted near the steel door actually looked uncomfortable watching me. Good. Men like them hated seeing weakness. It made them feel guilty. Or worse—responsible.I swallowed hard and let my voice tremble.“P-please… c-can I have some water? I—I won’t cause trouble.”The smaller one—Marco, if I remembered his file correctly—shifted his weight, glancing at his partner. “We’re not supposed to talk to you.”“I’m just… so thirsty,” I whispered, letting a tear slip down my cheek. Manufactured. Controlled. Nothing in me felt fear—only calculation. “Please… I don’t want to die.”Marco’s jaw twitch

I let my head droop, hair falling around my face like a tangled curtain, shoulders trembling just visibly enough. I knew how to cry without tears. How to breathe like I was breaking. How to make a man think he had already won.I tried again with the guards because a frightened girl would.“P-please,” I whimpered, voice scratchy. “Can one of you… just loosen the cuffs? They’re cutting into my wrists.”Marco shifted like he wanted to.Rocco shut that down with a glare.“No talking to her,” he snapped.Marco swallowed. “She’s freezing.”“I said no.”I added a tiny whimper — desperation mixed with defeat. “Please… please… it hurts…”Marco looked tortured.Rocco looked bored.Good.Emotion is leverage.Apathy is predictable.But neither moved.Fine. Let them ignore me.The real game wasn’t with them anyway.It was with their king.And right on cue, the sound of boots on stairs echoed down the basement hall.Finally.I straightened minutely — not enough to break character, just enough to se

I wasn’t supposed to lose control.Not this soon.Not ever.But the moment Dante said you came to kill me, something cold and sharp slid beneath my skin.Not fear.Not panic.Something worse.He had noticed me.Not the girl I pretended to be—me.The weapon.The ghost.The blade they shaped in the dark.I forced myself to keep breathing like a terrified little victim as he turned toward the table of interrogation tools he’d brought down with him. My stomach twisted when I saw them laid out.A pair of leather gloves.A thin metal rod.Restraints.And a small waterproof bag filled with ice.I knew exactly how each one was used.The ice was the worst.People feared fire, knives, guns.Ice broke people faster than all of them.It was used to shock the nerves, slow the blood, numb the pain just enough that torture lasted longer.You could hold it against ribs, under the jaw, between fingers—keep a person conscious while their body screamed.I had been trained to withstand it.But Dante did

The chains sang a soft, metallic protest as I shuddered, the aftershocks of my denied climax still rippling through me. A tear of pure frustration traced a path through the grime on my cheek. I hated him. I hated the slick heat between my thighs that betrayed me. Most of all, I hated the hollow, aching void he had carved inside me.He watched the tear fall, his expression unchanging. He pulled a small, black device from his pocket. It was sleek, unassuming, and hummed to life with a faint, almost inaudible buzz when his thumb pressed a button. The sound made me flinch.“Pain is a crude tool,” he said, his voice a low, calm contrast to the electric hum. “It only hardens resolve. But this… this is a scalpel.” He knelt before me again, the vibrator held between us like a promise and a threat. “It dismantles. It makes the strongest mind a slave to the weakest nerve.”“Go to hell,” I rasped, but my voice was thready, weak. My eyes were fixed on the device.“I’m sure I will,” he mused. “But

The door slammed upstairs, and the echo rolled through the basement like a taunt.He left me.Not just left — walked away after tearing me open and then denying me the one thing he knew my body was screaming for. I should’ve been grateful. I should’ve been relieved he believed me.Instead, humiliation and fury churned viciously in my chest.I hung there in the chains, breathing hard, trying to decide which emotion I hated more.The guards lingered near the stairs for a moment. I could hear them whispering — my name, Dante’s name, words like “crazy” and “what the hell was that.” Then a harsh bark from above sent them scattering.Good.Let them run.The moment their footsteps faded, the basement fell into a thick, humming silence.I forced myself to inhale, slow and steady, dragging my discipline back up from wherever Dante had shoved it.Focus, Aria. Reset.He wanted to break me. But he also left me alone… with everything he brought down here.I scanned the floor.The table.The tools.