Chapter 4 Trapped

I woke to silence.

Not the peaceful kind.

The too quiet kind. The kind that made you feel like someone had taken the world and muted it, pressed a finger to its lips and whispered shhh, right before something broke.

The room was soaked in early light. Pale, watery sun filtered through the sheer curtains, painting the walls in soft gray. For a second, I didn't remember where I was. For a second, I could almost pretend this wasn't real.

But then the scent hit me again.

Leather. Smoke. Winter spice.

Him.

And it all came crashing back.

The auction. The jacket. The ride. His voice saying my name like it belonged to him. The room, too quiet and too perfect. The closet full of clothes in my size. The pajamas that hadn't been there before I showered.

You belong to me now, Isla.

I sat up slowly, the sheets sliding off my skin. My body felt heavy, but not sore. Not yet. Just... full. Like everything inside me had shifted.

The fireplace was still cold.

The television was still silent.

But the closet door was closed again.

Had I closed it?

No.

A knot of unease twisted low in my belly.

I slid out of bed, my bare feet pressing into the cream rug. The floor was cool beneath the soft pile, grounding. I crossed the room slowly, warily, as if I expected the walls to move. I reached for the closet door.

Opened it.

Still full.

Still perfect.

Nothing disturbed.

Still... it felt wrong. Like someone had been in here while I slept.

I turned away quickly, heart hammering against my ribs.

On the dresser, a tray had appeared.

Food.

Toast. Eggs. Fruit. A cup of something steaming.

No note. No tray when I fell asleep. And yet here it was, placed carefully like everything else.

I didn't touch it.

I didn't trust it.

Instead, I walked to the windows, parted the curtains slightly, and peered out.

A high stone wall circled the property, hidden by rows of trees. Past that-nothing. Just mist. Forest. Isolation.

A fortress.

A cage.

The sound of a door opening made me jump.

Not mine.

Somewhere down the hall.

I backed away from the window, pulse spiking, breath quickening.

Then-

A soft knock.

Three quick raps against the wood.

I froze.

Didn't answer.

Another knock. Slower this time.

Then a voice, low and dry, with just the slightest edge of warning.

"Miss Isla?"

It wasn't Vince.

It was a woman. Calm. Clipped. Older, maybe. Sharp, like polished glass.

"I've been instructed to help you dress," she said. "Your presence is requested downstairs."

I didn't move for a second. I just stared at the door.

Then I answered, quietly. "Okay."

A pause.

"I'll wait outside."

Her footsteps moved away.

I looked back at the tray. The steam from the cup had stopped rising. The food had gone cold.

Downstairs.

Requested.

No part of me believed this was a request.

I padded to the closet and selected something simple-a soft cream blouse, loose and long, and dark leggings. Modest. Safe. The kind of outfit I used to wear when my father had guests over, when I needed to seem presentable but invisible.

There were underthings in a drawer. Still folded, untouched. I put them on with hands that shook. I didn't know if I was more afraid of being seen or not being seen at all.

I brushed my hair at the vanity. No makeup. Just my face, pale and bare, eyes too wide, mouth too tight.

Then I opened the door.

She was waiting-just as she said. A tall, severe woman in a dark skirt suit, her hair pulled into a sharp chignon. No smile. No welcome.

Just a nod.

"This way."

I followed her.

The hallway was long, lined with shadowed sconces and expensive art. The floors muffled our footsteps. The silence stretched again, oppressive and deep.

Down the stairs. Past the grand chandelier. Through another corridor with dark paneling and heavy doors.

Then-

We stopped outside one of them.

She turned to me. "He's waiting."

Then she knocked once, opened the door, and stepped aside.

I hesitated.

And then I stepped through.

The room inside was not what I expected.

It wasn't a dungeon. Or a bedroom. Or a throne room for the king of shadows.

It was a study.

Dark wood. Tall shelves. Books lining the walls like soldiers. A fireplace crackling low. A long, heavy desk at the far end.

And behind it-

Vince.

Seated. Waiting. Watching me.

He wore black today. A tailored shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. No tie. No jacket. Just calm, coiled power and the unreadable quiet in his eyes.

His fingers tapped once on the desk, then stopped.

His eyes swept over me, slow and deliberate.

Not cruel. Not lustful.

Just... watching.

Measuring.

Like I was a puzzle he hadn't quite solved.

Then his voice, smooth and absolute.

"Come here, Isla."

I didn't move right away.

His words were sharp, but his tone was smooth-like a promise wrapped in a threat.

Come here, Isla.

I could hear the weight of it in his voice. He wasn't asking. He was telling me. And something in the way he said my name-so sure, so definitive-made my skin crawl.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, my body tense and tight, fighting against the urge to turn around and run. There was no escape, though. Not here. Not with him.

Vince didn't move, but his eyes stayed locked on me, unwavering. There was no softness, no warmth. Just cold calculation, like a predator waiting for its prey to take one step too many.

His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, a rhythmic sound that reverberated in the silence between us. The fire crackled faintly in the background, but that only added to the eerie stillness of the room.

"Don't keep me waiting," he said, his voice barely a whisper but somehow loud enough to fill the space between us.

I blinked, my breath quickening, and finally, I moved-slow, hesitant, every step feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

I approached the desk, my legs unsteady beneath me, my stomach a twisted knot of nerves. I was acutely aware of his gaze, still fixed on me, measuring every motion, every breath.

When I was finally standing before him, I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. Instead, I focused on the desk, the smooth wood, the untouched papers-anything to avoid the weight of his presence.

Vince didn't acknowledge my hesitation. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned forward just enough that I could feel the gravity of his attention settle over me.

"Sit," he instructed, the word coming out cold, like a command carved in stone.

I sat, my legs stiff as I lowered myself into the chair across from him, the air between us thickening.

He watched me for a long moment, not saying a word, just studying me like I was some foreign object in his world. I couldn't breathe.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate, every word laced with an unmistakable edge of control.

"You're not allowed to leave this house . Understand that now," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're mine, Isla. Not just in the physical sense. In every sense."

His words hit me like a cold slap to the face. A part of me wanted to scream, to fight, to reject everything he was saying. But another part of me-an instinct I couldn't control-felt the weight of those words sink deep inside me.

"I know you don't understand all of this yet," he continued, his voice softer but still as commanding as before, "but you will. And you will obey. In time, you will learn what it means to be mine."

I couldn't speak. My throat felt tight, suffocated by the words he was forcing into my mind, into my very being.

His fingers moved across the desk, brushing over a stack of papers, his eyes flicking to them briefly before returning to me.

"There are rules. Rules that you will follow, whether you like it or not." He paused, his gaze sharpening, like a predator zeroing in on its prey. "You will never question me. You will never leave this house without permission. You will never disobey."

The finality in his tone made my chest tighten. I could feel the weight of those rules pressing down on me, as if every word he spoke was a chain locking me in place.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, my chest tight with the overwhelming pressure of being trapped in his world.

He leaned back in his chair, the movement slow, controlled. He steepled his fingers together in front of his face, watching me like I was some intricate puzzle he was still trying to figure out.

"I expect complete obedience from you, Isla. No mistakes. Do you understand?"

I nodded, unable to speak, too afraid of what would happen if I didn't. The fear-the fear-was almost suffocating.

Vince studied me for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, before he gave a small, satisfied nod.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." His voice was softer now, but there was no mistaking the underlying command in every syllable. "The terms are simple. You stay here. You obey me. And I'll make sure you're provided for. I'll make sure you're comfortable."

Comfortable. The word sounded so foreign coming from his mouth. As if it was something I could ever feel in this place.

He stood abruptly, the movement cutting through the silence like a knife. I flinched, my pulse spiking again as he walked around the desk, his presence looming over me.

"I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Isla," he said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper, but the warning in it made my blood run cold. "You'll have your little freedoms-within this house. You'll have everything you need, as long as you remember who you belong to."

He leaned down, his face just inches from mine, his breath warm against my cheek.

You belong to me now, Isla.

The words echoed in my mind, a haunting whisper that refused to fade.

I swallowed, too terrified to speak, too terrified to even look at him.

He straightened, stepping back just enough that I could breathe again. The space between us felt like a chasm, but I knew I was still trapped in it, bound by his rules, his expectations.

"And don't forget," Vince continued, his voice still low and deadly calm. "I'll always know where you are. I'll always know what you're doing. I'm not someone you want to disappoint."

His gaze never left me as he walked toward the door, his footsteps so quiet against the floor that they seemed to disappear into the silence that filled the room.

I sat there for a long time after he left, unable to move, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

The weight of his words hung in the air like a fog, suffocating me.

I didn't know what I had gotten myself into.

But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

There was no escaping now