Page 47 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
The research materials sit on the desk just as his note promised—academic journals open to articles on cardiac regeneration, a laptop with access to research databases my university could never afford. In any other context, these resources would be a dream come true. Now they're just another part of his elaborate trap.
I force myself to sit at the desk, to open one of the journals with hands that won't stop trembling. I need to appear engaged, normal, when Victor comes looking for me. Need to hide the fact that I now know exactly what he's done, what he's planning.
The journal blurs before my eyes as I try to make sense of what I've learned. Victor has been watching me for three years—since I was twenty, since I first started dating Aaron. He's orchestrated the systematic dismantling of my life to bring me to this exact moment, this exact place. And I played right into his hands, accepting his invitation, coming to this isolated cabin, surrendering to him completely.
I called himDaddy.
The memory sends a wave of nausea through me. I let him touch me, pleasure me, control me—all while believing I was making a choice when in reality, he'd eliminated every other option.
I hear his study door open, footsteps moving down the hallway. I quickly compose my expression, pull a notepad toward me, jot down what appear to be research notes while my mind races with the implications of what I've discovered.
"Ah, there you are." Victor's voice is warm, affectionate—the voice of the man who held me yesterday, who praised me as I came apart under his touch. Not the man who's been orchestrating my downfall for three years. Not the man who threatened his own son to isolate me. "I see you found the research materials."
I force myself to turn, to smile, to meet his eyes as if I haven't just discovered the monster beneath the sophisticated exterior. "Yes, thank you. The access to these journals is incredible."
He leans against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled up, revealing those tattoos I now understand are not fashion statements but markers of a violent past. "Find anything useful for your project?"
"Potentially," I manage, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "There's a new approach to cardiac regeneration using modified stem cells that might align with my research."
"Excellent." He moves behind me, hands coming to rest on my shoulders. Every instinct screams to pull away, to run, but I remain still as his thumbs trace circles at the base of my neck. "I have more materials coming. Journals, data sets, resources your university could never provide."
Because he made sure of it. Because he systematically cut me off from every academic resource I might have accessed.
"That's very generous," I say, the words tasting like ash.
"I take care of what's mine," he replies, and the possessive statement that sent thrills through me yesterday now makes my skin crawl. His hands slide from my shoulders down my arms, enveloping me in an embrace that feels like a trap. "And you are mine now, aren't you, Kyra?"
I force myself to lean back against him, to play the role of willing captive while my mind races through options. We're miles from civilization in the middle of winter. My phone has no signal thanks to his deliberate signal blocking. The Range Rover keys are undoubtedly secured. I have no way to call for help, no way to escape.
"Yes," I whisper, hating myself for the lie but knowing it's my only option. "I'm yours."
His satisfaction is palpable as he presses his lips to the top of my head. "Good girl. I have a few more calls to make, then I thought we might continue our Christmas preparations. There are gifts to wrap, dinner to plan."
As if we're a normal couple preparing for a normal holiday. As if he hasn't orchestrated every aspect of my downfall to bring me to this point.
"That sounds perfect," I say, the performance taking everything I have.
"Perfect," he echoes, his fingers tracing my collarbone in a possessive caress. "I'll be in my study for another hour. Feel free to continue your research."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak again. When he finally leaves, closing the door behind him, I let out the breath I've been holding. My hands are shaking as I stare at the research materials he's provided—another element in his elaborate manipulation.
How many other women has he done this to? Is this a pattern, or am I special in some twisted way?
Focus, Kyra.I need a plan. Need to pretend everything is normal while I figure out how to get away from this mountain, away from Victor's carefully constructed trap.
I force myself to breathe deeply, to think like the scientist I am. Observation: I'm trapped in an isolated cabin with a dangerous man who has systematically manipulated my life for years. Hypothesis: If I can find a way to contact Aaron, to warn him, he might be able to get help. Experiment: Test for weaknesses in Victor's system, find a way to get a message out.
I pull out my phone, unsurprised to find there's still no signal. But I remember that first night, how I'd noticed a brief flicker of reception near the window in my bedroom. If Victor has signal jammers installed, they can't be perfect—no technology is. There must be weak spots, places where a signal might get through.
Tonight, I'll test each window, each corner of the cabin, methodically searching for any place where I might get even one bar of reception. Just enough to send a text, to alert someone to my situation.
In the meantime, I need to continue the performance. Need to play the role of willing captive, of woman falling under Victor's spell. He expects me to be researching, so that's what I'll appear to be doing—taking notes, reading articles, maintaining the fiction that nothing has changed.
But everything has changed. I now know exactly what kind of man Victor Strickland is. I know what he's capable of. I know the lengths he's gone to in order to possess me.
And I will not be possessed.
I pull the notepad closer, begin formulating an escape plan disguised as research notes. In between legitimate observations about cardiac regeneration, I map out the cabin's layout, note potential escape routes, list the supplies I'd need if I were to attempt to walk out through the snow.
