Foolish Quotes

“Raise your head and look at me. Accept my offer—sell yourself to me. You’ll be my puppet, my toy, my obsession. In return, I’ll wipe out the debt your foolish boyfriend owes me. But if you refuse... you’ll face the consequences.” His voice was cold and blunt, his grip tightening around my jaw as he stared deep into my eyes, sending a chilling shiver of fear down my spine. ***** He was her pain, A monster ready to devour her. She was the prey he played with, the obsession he refused to release. She was his beauty. He was her beast. An addiction so fierce he could tear the world apart just to have her. In the blink of an eye, Clara’s life crumbled. Betrayed by the one she loved, left behind by a boyfriend who took a loan from a mafia boss and vanished. Now, she was the payment. Alone, abandoned, and with no family to rescue her, Clara was caged—trapped under the control of a ruthless man who demanded total submission. Every command, every look, every touch was a reminder of her nightmare. She prayed to wake up. But it wasn’t a dream. It was her reality.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.