Page 17 of Dangerous Beginnings

As her body goes limp, I carefully remove the cloth from her face, her features now slack and vulnerable. I hold her securely, the weight of her unconscious form pressing against me. I take a moment to ensure she’s completely subdued before lifting her from the ground with ease.

Her body, now a dead weight, is cradled in my arms. I turn, heading towards the darkened house with a measured pace. The night envelops us, and the shadows close in as I carry her inside. The forest’s silence is a constant reminder of the isolation and control that mark this place. As I cross the threshold, I’m aware of the weight of my decision.

Chapter 11

Under The Rose

Isabella

The light isn’t blinding when I open my eyes—it’s dim, oppressive, like the world itself is trying to disappear. My body feels heavy, every muscle groaning in protest as I push myself upright. I rub the sleep from my eyes, my movements sluggish and unnatural. Something’s wrong.

This isn’t my bed. My heart races as I glance down—thin, cold fabric beneath me. A mattress. My clothes feel foreign, wrong. An oversized shirt drapes over my frame, swallowing me. Definitely not mine. Panic begins to claw its way into my chest as I take in the room around me.

Bare walls. No windows. No sense of time.

I’m in a cell.

My breathing picks up, sharp and shallow, as the events of last night slam into me like a train. My stomach twists painfully, and I lurch toward the sink. Dry heaving wracks my body, but there’s nothing to bring up—only the sour taste of fear clinging to the back of my throat.

I force myself to stand, leaning heavily against the sink. My legs feel like jelly, trembling under my weight. I scan the room, my gaze jumping from corner to corner. A toilet, a sink, a mattress. That’s it. No escape.

He’s changed the rules. I’m no longer just his plaything—I’m his prisoner.

The thought ignites something in me. Anger surges hot and fast, pushing out the fear for just a moment. My hands ball into fists at my sides. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” My voice cracksthrough the silence like a gunshot.

I slam my foot into the heavy door, over and over again, each kick reverberating through the small room. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” I scream, my throat raw with frustration. My foot aches, but I don’t stop. My rage is the only thing keeping me upright, the only thing louder than the panic clawing at my chest.

After what feels like an eternity, I collapse back against the wall, sliding down until I’m sitting on the cold concrete floor. My head drops into my hands, and my fingers thread through my hair.

And that’s when I see it.

A black dot in the corner of the ceiling.

A camera.

My rage reignites, burning hotter than before. “You sick fuck!” I scream, grabbing the pillow and hurling it at the lens. It bounces off harmlessly, but I don’t stop. I grab anything within reach—blanket, shoes, even my bare fists—and throw them, pounding at the camera, cursing him with every breath.

Finally, spent and shaking, I collapse back onto the floor. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I am not an animal.

I didn’t do anything to deserve this.

But deep down, I know it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t care.

I should’ve never taken that stupid fucking job.

I wake with a start, my breath ragged. Sweat clings to my skin, chilling me in the stagnant air of the cell. The nightmare still lingers in my mind, dark and suffocating. But then, I see it.

A shadow.

He’s standing in the doorway.

The dim light barely illuminates him, but it’s enough to make out his tall frame. My heart plummets. Any sliver of hope I had evaporates as his silhouette moves closer.

The air in the cell feels colder with him in it, heavier somehow. My breath is shallow, and every sound—the faint hum of a distant ventilation system, the soft creak of his shoes against the floor—is amplified in the oppressive quiet. The dim, flickering fluorescent bulb overhead casts erratic shadows on the concrete walls, turning the space into a fractured nightmare.

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