All Chapters of The Captive Heart : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

CHIARA I stepped into Massimo's office, and a sense of foreboding washed over me. The room was dimly lit, with only a few faint rays of sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains that shrouded the windows. The room is dominated by a a massive ornate desk that seemed to The loom over me like a monolith. The surface was cluttered with papers, files and strange, arcane objects that seemed to defy explanation. A large, leather bound chair sat behind the desk, its surface embossed with strange symbols that seemed to shimmer in the faint light. But what really caught my attention was the wall that was lined with rows of sleek, modern screens that seemed to stretch up to the ceiling, their surfaces glowing with a soft, ethereal light.My heart sank as I scanned the screens, realizing that they were displaying feeds from various cameras, each one showing a different angle of the mansion's interior. I felt a chill run down my spine as I saw myself on one of the screens, lying on my bed, sta

CHIARAI wake up to the clattering of plates and I try to makes sense of why I'm hearing that in my captor's home. Did Massimo decide to serve me breakfast in bed? As if.I don't want to open my eyes. I'm in a blissful dream, a dream where I am home, watching my parents fawn over each other until I want to gouge out my eyes, a dream where I dress pretty and go to work, a dream where I'm designing and turning all my beautiful ideas into reality, a dream where I and Stefan are...I open my eyes in annoyance because the clattering of dishes kept getting on my nerves. I can't even lose myself into my subconscious.The maid is beside the bed and she is setting dishes on the bedside table. Why was she making so much noise then? And why am I not having breakfast with Massimo? Oh, I probably slept all through the morning.I watch the maid from the corner of my eyes. She is young, probably in her late teens, maybe 19? Her hair is short, in a pixie cut that frames her face and highlights her de

CHIARA I sat in stunned silence, trying to process the revelation. Massimo's words hung in the air like a challenge, daring me to confront the truth. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. My mind is reeling with questions and emotions. Why would my father do that? What memories were so bad he had to get them out of my head? I am guessing they are memories related to Massimo, but what really happened?My mind racing, I thought back to my childhood, trying to recall any memories of a psychologist or doctor. But my memories seemed hazy, unclear.Suddenly, a faint image flickered in my mind. A woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. I remembered sitting in her office, playing with toys while she talked to me in a soothing voice.But the memory was fragmented, incomplete. I couldn't grasp the details, no matter how hard I tried.Massimo's voice cut through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present. "You're getting close, Chiara," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But you'r

CHIARA Massimo's eyes flicker open and he regards me calmly, his gaze piercing as he takes in my expression. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us thick with tension. His eyes move to my head and he leans up to gently touch my cheek, " How do you feel now? Any headaches? Do you feel pain anywhere?", his gruff morning voice is laced with concern and I frown. I slap his hand away from my face and shoot him another glare."Aw, he cares about me now. Why the hell were you in bed with me?!""Ehm, there's nothing people do in bed overnight that we haven't done, Chiara ". His lips tilt up in a taunting smirk and my glare hardens. If I keep on glaring like this, I'll probably have permanent lines on my face, I should stop. But this man keeps making me glare."Do you remember falling down the stairs? You hit your head pretty hard."I paused, Yes I fell. My hand automatically moves to my head and I feel a bandage wrapped around it. Was my injury that bad? How am I still

MASSIMO I strode through the dimly lit corridors, my footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls with one aim, to instill fear in the one I came here for. A number of my favourite guards are following behind me, their presence almost unnoticeable. I trained them myself, and they are my best. They could be in the same room with a person and they would not be noticed until their knives are deep in the person's throat, draining them of life.I approached the door to my favourite room,the torture room, and I smile. My whole demeanor is calm and collected and not even the best psychologist would be able to read what's going through my head right now.A guard steps forward to open the door and I walk into the room. Tbe familiar scent of sweat, fear and piss wafted out, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. My eyes immediately find him in the center of the room, strapped to a metal chair that can barely hold his weight. He looks like shit. His face is a mess, a canvas of bruises, cuts,