Page 13 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

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The bow weigheda ton as I held it in my hand. I was scared. Cold. Even my thoughts were frozen. With the cello leaning against my chest, I stared out in front of me. It felt surreal being caught in this nightmare. It was something you’d only hear about on the news or read about in the papers. Girls being kidnapped. Girls who vanished, never to be seen or heard of again. Their families would plead with the public to come forward with any information about their disappearances. Mine wouldn’t, though. I didn’t have anyone who would search for me. No one would miss me or look for my face in a crowd. I would just stop existing.

I didn’t know which was worse—being kidnapped, or having no one to search for me. No one to rescue me. It was such a hollow feeling, being without hope. So, I did the only thing I knew to fill the emptiness. I played.

I allowed my fear, my sadness, everything I felt inside to pour out of me and onto the strings as I effortlessly guided the bow. Whenever I played, my endless search for perfection replaced the terror I felt weighing heavily in every bone. Music had always been my escape. I allowed every note, every sound to infiltrate my thoughts and possess me. It transported me far away from everything. Far away from a life I hated ever since my mother died. Being here, kidnapped and held against my will, was no different than the life I lived out there in that shitty apartment with two jobs that required me to clean other people’s messes. What was the worst that could happen to me here? What was the worst he could do?

Torture me?

Kill me?

I knew pain. I lived with it almost every single day. And death—if I were honest with myself—would be a welcome reprieve from a sad fucking existence. So, why fear him? Why fear a fate that had seemingly already been decided for me?

The low tenor slowly resounded. Angered and sad. Strong yet lost. The more I played, the more my dark thoughts subsided. This was why the world needed music. This was why God had created an angel dedicated solely to music in the heavens because He knew its importance. He knew music was food for the soul, a light when everything else felt dark.

As the final note resounded around the unfamiliar room, the music slowly fading—so did the peace that came with it. It took mere seconds for my resolve of not fearing the unknown to return with a vengeance, clawing at my insides and poisoning my blood.

I finally opened my eyes, only to find him standing in front of me, his gaze fixed on mine. But there was something different about him, his irises not as dark as they were before. He seemed…calm. Serene. Nothing like the wild beast who almost slammed my head into a concrete wall.

Although my heart pounded erratically inside my chest, I managed to lower my arm, holding the bow steadily in hand.

For the longest time, he didn’t take his eyes off me, and I didn’t dare speak. Somewhere in the distance I heard a clock, seconds ticking by—seconds that felt like hours while his presence filled the room little by little until it became increasingly difficult to breathe. But still, I refused to move. Refused to look away.

Not knowing whether I’d get the chance again, I observed every inch of him. If this weren’t a case of kidnapping and abduction, I would have considered him a handsome man. He had the type of face that could stop you in your tracks to have another look. Dark, mysterious, beautiful. Curls of midnight hair touched his thick, dark eyebrows, and his strong jaw was perfectly accentuated with a well-manicured beard that was slightly longer than your average five-day stubble.

It was difficult to decide which color his irises were since they had been a dark chestnut earlier, yet now a more cognac gold. The lighter color made his stare more intense, as if it could reach out and caress my skin as he looked at me so brashly—as if he had every right now. As if I belonged to him.

The white dress shirt he wore was pulled taut as he held his arms crossed in front of his chest, the collar unbuttoned. The longer our gazes remained, the more difficult it became not to look away. He had an unyielding presence, the kind of self-assurance that made him difficult to ignore. The kind that held you captive, whether you wanted it to or not.

Unable to handle the intensity any longer, I looked down at my bare feet, the pin of the cello placed between them.

“When you—” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “You said there’s not much you don’t know about me. What did you mean by that?”

My question was met with deafening silence, but I wanted him to talk. Earlier, his voice had sounded so familiar, and I simply had to place it. Place him. Figure out if I knew him.

I glanced up but couldn’t look directly at him. “Am I supposed to know you?”

Still, he remained silent, and I diverted my gaze toward the window. At least I knew we were still in New York. I’d lived here long enough to recognize its majestic skyline.

The sound of his heavy footsteps filled the silence, and fear squeezed at my chest, forcing me to close my eyes so I could just focus on breathing.

God, I needed so much more air.

I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he was close. I felt it—felt him as he leaned in, the warmth of his breath touching my cheek. My instinct to pull away was almost too strong to control, but my determination to not cower again proved more vital this time.

He gently brushed the hair back behind my ear, and my throat closed up, my skin ice-cold, yet I could feel perspiration bead at the back of my neck.

His hand lingered on the loose strands of my hair, and the fear he ignited had me clenching my fists, pushing my nails into the flesh of my palm.

“Charlotte,” he whispered, and my heart stopped. It fucking stopped, the ground ripped from underneath me as his voice tore through the barrier of my memory, allowing me to remember.

My eyes shot open, and I looked at him, his face inches from mine. “It was you.”

A threatening grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“It was you, wasn’t it? That night at the theatre.”

He straightened and somehow made himself seem larger as he towered over me with a threatening stance. There was no need for him to answer or confirm. It was written on his face as he stared down at me, his expression stone.

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