Captive of the Billionaire

A detonation. Dry, brutal, tearing the air like a cleaver. My breath is strangling in my throat. A hand closes on my arm, pulling me back with an implacable force. I vacillate, but the embrace does not weaken. A car. Open door. The smell of leather and gasoline. A blow against my temple. Darkness.

I wake up with a start. The back of my skull pulses violently, as if someone had fun driving burning nails in my skull. I try to move, but my wrists are hampered. Rigid plastic encloses my flesh. My ankles too. I'm sitting on hard, cold soil. A window without window. Only the artificial glow of a sigen neon lights up the cramped space.

A noise. Light, imperceptible, but threatening enough to make my heart jump. A key turns in a lock. A door opens, projecting a massive shadow in the embrasure. He enters. Large, silhouette carved in an almost unreal precision. He does not wear mask or hood. His face is discovered, assumed. A quiet arrogance, a contained power. Pleasing eyes, with a steel gray, analyze me with an intensity that makes me shiver.

- You are awake.

His voice is serious, perfectly controlled. No nervousness. No impatience. Just a fact stated as obvious.

- Where am I?

He does not answer. He crouches himself in front of me, agreeing for a second to detail as we evaluate an object which we have just acquired. His gaze touches my linked wrists, goes back to my neck, lingers on my face. He does not smile, but something, in the corner of his jaw, suggests a contained satisfaction.

- Why did you remove me?

- You ask too many questions.

He gets up, impassive. My muscles are stretched, ready to jump, but it is faster. A fluid movement, barely a thrill, and his hand closes on my jaw, now my motionless face.

- Listen to me, Émilie. You are here for a specific reason. You will understand soon.

I refuse to look away. He wants to dominate me, establish a dynamic of fear. I will not give him this power.

- Damn you.

A silence. A heartbeat suspended in the air. Then a laugh, discreet but vibrating with a deaf threat.

- I'm already there.

He releases my chin and steps in a step. His shadow blends into the darkness of the corridor when the door closes on him. A slap.

I am alone. For the moment.

The hours are stretched, heavy. I refuse to give in to panic, but my body betrays my mind. My breath is too fast, my fingers tremble. I always thought I was strong. Independent. But how do you hold on when everything escapes?

I close my eyes. Think. Every detail counts. The metallic smell of air. The intermittent sizzle of neon. The soil frozen under my fingers. My brain records, class, analysis. The key is to understand where I am, with whom I am dealing.

Maxim. He did not give his name, but I heard one of his men calling him as well. His attitude leaves no room for doubt: he is in control. Not a simple performer, but the chief. Which means he has a plan.

And I have to find a way to destroy it before it destroys me.

The door opens again. Two men enter, framing Maxime as silent shadows.

- Detach it.

A click. My wrists are released. I could try something, but the two gorillas by his side dissuade me from any impulsive movement.

Maxime observe me, gauge my reaction. He awaits an explosion, an insult, an attack. I don't give him anything.

- Silence changes, he comments with a smirk.

I support his gaze.

- What are you waiting for, exactly? That I thank you for this hospitality?

His smile is erased.

- Follow me.

He pivots and leaves the room. I have no choice. Either I stay here, locked in this cage, or I take the risk of facing the outside world alongside him.

I am.

We cross a weakly lit corridor. Each step resonates on the concrete floor. Closed doors, no window. An underground labyrinth.

Maxime stops in front of a larger room. An office. Minimalist. A large black leather chair sits behind a glass desk. He settles there and designates the chair in front of him.

- Sit.

I meet my arms.

- No.

A thrill of annoyance crosses his gaze.

- You will quickly understand, Émilie, that I am not a patient man.

- And I am not a docile woman.

Electric silence is installed.

He ends up getting up, slowly bypassing his office. Its presence is overwhelming, each step calculated to impose its control.

- Very well, he whispers. Let's play.

And in his eyes, a new glow. A dangerous spark.

The game has just started. I still stand in front of him, refusing to submit to his silent authority. His gaze fixes mine, an invisible tension floating between us. He waits for me to give in, that I take place in this chair which he designated as if I were a pawn on a chessboard.

I don't move.

- You like challenges, he whispers, slightly leaning your head.

- No. I just like not to obey the orders of a man who kidnapped me.

A smile, barely sketched. He has fun. Worse, it seems to appreciate this game of power.

- Do you want freedom, Émilie? It's simple. Respect my rules.

I clench my fists.

- Your rules do not concern me.

He advances, slowly, measuring each step as a predator who gauges his prey. He is not in a hurry. He already knows that he will win.

- You are here because I decided, he said calmly. This means that your existence, in this place, depends entirely on my will. You eat when I order it. You sleep when I allow it. You speak if I give you permission.

An ice wave spreads along my spine, but I refuse to show the slightest weakness.

- What if I refuse?

He stops right in front of me. A brutal heat emanates from him, contrasting with the thrill that crosses me.

- So you will learn to obey.

His insurance destabilizes me. He does not threaten. He states a fact, as if he already knew the outcome of our confrontation.

- I will not obey.

His gaze slides on me, calculator.

- We will see.

With a sign of head, he orders his men to leave the room. They compared without a word, closing the door behind them. I find myself alone with him, the tension doubling of intensity.

- Sit, he repeats.

I remain motionless.

He does not repeat a third time. Instead, he reaches out and, with frightening speed, grabs me with the wrist. His embrace is firm without being painful, a demonstration of absolute control. He trains me towards the chair and made me sit on guaranteed pressure.

I straightened up immediately, the burning eyes of challenge.

- You cannot force me to submit to me.

He does not respond immediately. His gaze explores my face, lingers on my mouth, on the tension in my jaw.

- I don't need to force you, Émilie. You will end up understanding that everything is simpler when you do not fight against the inevitable.

His tone is freezing, devoid of all emotion. However, a shadow runs through its gaze fleetingly. A tiny, almost imperceptible hesitation, as if it were not as unshakeable as it wanted to appear.

He walks away and settled behind his desk.

- Do you want to know why you are here?

- Obviously.

He crosses his fingers, taking the time to observe my reaction.

- You represent a value.

My heart tightens.

- What value?

- It depends. You can be a problem or an opportunity.

I can't stand his enigmatic tone.

- Speak clearly.

His smile disappears.

- You crossed the road to people you shouldn't have approached.

I frowns.

- I don't know what you're talking about.

He leans slightly forward, placing his forearms on his desk.

- You will know it soon.

My belly contracts. He plays with me, distills the drop-down information to destabilize me.

- And in the meantime, I'm supposed to follow your orders blindly?

- Not blindly. Just intelligently.

I shake my head.

- You are sick.

A silence. He doesn't cille.

- And you are too daring for your own good.

He gets up, going around the office to come and plant himself in front of me. This time, he looks, bringing his face closer to mine.

- You have two choices, Émilie. Fight you against me and make your captivity unbearable ...

His hand borders on my chair, locking me in his shadow.

- ... Or learn to play intelligently.

I remember my breath.

- I am not a pawn.

His gaze plunges into mine.

- So prove it.

Heavy silence sets in. I don't give in. He does not move.

Finally, he straightens up and walks away.

- You will be escorted to your room. Clothes are waiting for you. Once changed, we will dine together.

I'm about to protest, but he raises his hand.

- It's not an invitation. It's a rule.

He fixed me one last time before ordering one of his men to renew me.

The room is spacious, far beyond what I imagined. Not a cell, nor a dismal place. Sober furniture, an adjoining bathroom, a wardrobe filled with carefully arranged clothes.

I should feel relieved. I am not.

All this is part of a plan. A way to like me, to make me believe that this captivity is not one.

I will not fall into the trap.

However, looking in the mirror, I see the fatigue digging my face. My mind wants to fight, but my body accuses the blow.

I take a quick shower, refusing to appreciate the hot water that relaxes my tense muscles. I choose a simple outfit from those made available to me, avoiding those that seem too elegant to me, as if Maxime tried to transform myself into a well -dressed trophy.

When I go out, a guard is waiting for me in front of the door.

- Follow me.

No hesitation. No possibility of refusal.

I am driven in a luxurious dining room where Maxime is already installed.

He looks up at me, a calculating shine in the gaze.

- Sit.

This time, I run. But not because he ordered it. Because I have to get to know him. Find a flaw.

And escape. I sit in front of him, my gaze anchored in his. He said nothing at the start, contenting himself with detailing me as if he were trying to guess what I was going to do afterwards. This silence, far from trivial, is a tactic. A way to test my patience, to make me understand that everything here works at his own pace, according to his own rules.

I straighten up slightly, refusing to be the one who looks away the first.

- Do you think that a dinner will be enough to make me accept my captivity?

A smile touches his mouth, fleeting.

- I think hunger is a more formidable enemy than me.

I tighten my jaws. He is not mistaken. My stomach has been screaming famine for hours, and the smell of dishes arranged on the table to tortures. But I refuse to give in.

- Eat, he said simply, serving wine in his glass.

- Not before you have answers.

He rests the bottle quietly, then cross his fingers in front of him.

- What if I told you that certain truths are more dangerous than your ignorance?

I meet my arms.

- I like the danger.

His gaze darkens imperceptibly.

- I have no doubt.

He carries his glass to his lips and drinks a sip before fixing me again.

- Do you want to understand why you are here?

- Yes.

He slowly nods, as if he weighed his words.

- Alright. So let's start with a simple question. What do you know about me, Émilie?

A shiver slides on my skin. He pronounced my first name with disturbing familiarity, as if he already owned it.

- Not much, I said, straightening up. Just that you are a rich man with a serious problem of morality.

Her smile widens slightly.

- Rich and immoral ... an interesting description, although simplistic.

- Do you want me to add "kidnapper"?

- Oh, but it would be inaccurate. You are not here by chance.

I frowns.

- Do you find that I looked for it?

He rests his glass and relies against the file of his chair.

- I say that your existence is linked to events that go beyond you.

My throat tightens.

- Explain.

He marks a time of stopping, then his dark eyes hang on mine.

- Do you know the name Devereaux?

The name resonates in my mind, familiar without my can immediately replace it.

- No.

He observes my reaction, perhaps seeking a sign of lie.

- So let me enlighten you. Devereaux was an influential, powerful ... and dangerous man.

- Was ?

- He died. Brutally.

A tension climbs in my chest.

- And what does this have to do with me?

He rests his glass with a measured slowness.

- You were in a bad place, at the wrong time.

An icy wave spreads in my veins.

- I don't understand.

- Devereaux had enemies. People ready to do anything to get what he was hiding.

- And were you one of these people?

His gaze becomes more sharp.

- I was ... involved, let's say.

An incomplete truth. I feel it.

- Why did you remove me?

He leans slightly towards me.

- Because you have something that these enemies want.

My breath blocks.

- It's absurd. I do not know this man, I have nothing that belongs to him.

- Not directly. But you crossed paths.

- So what?

A silence. He seems to hesitate, then ends up letting go, in a more serious voice:

- He was not human.

The room seems to be contracting around me.

- Pardon ?

- Devereaux was... different. Like me.

My heart is missing a beat. A strange glow passes in his eyes, and suddenly, the air becomes heavier, as responsible for invisible energy.

- Is that a joke?

- No way.

He gets up slowly, moving away from the table to post near the window.

- You were born in a world where you were made to believe that humanity was the only form of intelligent existence. It's wrong.

I shake my head.

- What are you waiting for? That I believe you?

He turns to me, and this time, something in his gaze changes. A raw intensity, something more animal than rational.

- You have no other choice.

A thrill travels my spine.

- You are telling me that you are ...

He does not respond immediately.

- Let's say that werewolf would be an approximate term.

My brain refuses to assemble the parts. It's absurd. Totally insane.

- No.

- Yes.

An oppressive silence settles between us.

- Why me?

He approaches again, slowly.

- Because you have seen something, without being aware of it. Something others want to erase.

The beats of my heart resonate in my temples.

- I don't remember anything.

- Not yet.

An implicit threat floats in the air. A feeling of dizziness takes me.

- And you ? What are you exactly?

He fixes me, his black and unfathomable gaze.

- I am what you fear the most, Émilie.

I get up, taken from an absurd flight instinct.

- I want to leave.

- It's impossible.

- I don't believe in your stories.

- You will eventually believe.

Her voice is calm, but each word resonates like a sentence.

A beating of silence. Then he adds:

- Eat now. You will need strength.

I don't move.

- For what ?

His smile disappears.

- Because the night will be long.

The air is too pure, too motionless. As if the whole world held his breath.

I stand in front of the locked door, my hand tense on the handle. I turn it slowly, once, twice. Nothing. Obviously. Maxime has left nothing to chance.

I step back a step, my gaze sweeping the room with surgical precision. The smallest detail, the most tiny abnormality could be a key. However, everything seems perfect. Too perfect.

Silence stretches, oppressive. I refuse to be a puppet in this dream setting. My gaze clings to the high windows, the heavy curtains that partially mask the outside. I approach, slightly pull the fabric of velvet and my heart misses a beat.

A dark, dark forest extends as far as the eye can see. No road. No neighbor. Just this golden prison lost in the middle of nowhere.

I squeeze my teeth. He didn't just locked me. He cut me off from the world.

A light noise sounds behind me.

I turn around suddenly, ready to face. Person. Just the discreet breath of the wind infiltrating the door.

My heart beats too quickly. I have to get out of here.

I start with the most obvious: the window. My fingers slide against the handle, but it does not move a millimeter. Locked. I strike against the glass, more by frustration than by real hope. No sound crosses the thickness of the glass.

I step back, deeply inspiring to calm the panic that threatens to overwhelm me. Think. Each prison has a flaw.

I open the cupboards, search the drawers, turn the cushions of the sofa, pass my hands under the furniture. Nothing. Not even a sharp object, not the slightest exploitable weakness.

I take a look towards the door. Impossible that he has forgotten a detail. But ... maybe I can force him to make a mistake.

I take inspiration and give a big kick in the coffee table. The noise resonates violently in the room, breaking the silence as a detonation. My breath is short. I'm waiting.

A few seconds later, a click sounds.

The lock.

I rush to the door, tackling the wall right next door.

It opens slowly. A shadow slides inside.

I don't expect. I hit, with all my might.

A groan, a movement of hindsight.

I rush towards the opening.

One hand closes on my arm, stopping me.

- Not so fast.

Maxime's voice is laid, but the spark in his gaze betrays a dangerous amusement.

I am struggling, but he tightens his embrace effortlessly.

- What did you think, exactly? That I had neglected the only possible outcome?

His tone is almost mocking, and that makes me want to scream.

- Let me let go.

He tilt his head, scrutinizing me like a predator playing with his prey.

- If I refuse?

The rage burns in me.

- So I will use all possible means to escape.

He smiles slowly.

- I hope.

His answer cuts me off.

He closes the door with a fluid gesture, and this time I hear the metallic noise of several locks.

- You can explore as long as you want, Émilie. But this house is a cage.

I fix his back as he walks away.

A cage can always be broken.

And I will find how. I stand in front of him, his breath short, the body stretched like a rope ready to break. Maxime fixes me with disturbing intensity, his gaze anchored in mine as if he sought to decipher each of my movements before I even do them.

- You like to test your limits, he whispers.

I straighten myself, clench my fists.

- And you like to impose yours.

A fleeting smile tackles her lips.

- I impose what is necessary.

Her voice is calm, measured, but there is something else under this apparent mastery. An underlying tension, a contained force that I cannot ignore.

- Locking up a woman against her will, is it "necessary"?

He looks slightly his head, observing my reaction.

- In your case, yes.

A thrill crosses me, not for fear, but of a more complex, more disturbing emotion. He stands too close, his body projecting a shadow that holds me almost trapped as much as the walls of this house.

I refuse to retreat.

- You can watch me as much as you want. It won't change anything.

- Really ?

He is advancing a step. I tense myself, but I hold on.

- This little game amuses you?

- It's not a game, Émilie.

His voice is more serious, and a shadow passes in his eyes.

- So what? A punishment?

He inspires slowly, as if he weighed his words.

- Protection.

I let out a joyless laugh.

- You have a twisted design of protection.

His gaze darkens.

- You have no idea what threatens you.

I support his gaze, refusing to let myself be impressed.

- What exactly are you? My jailer or my Savior?

A tense silence sets in.

Then, gently, he raises a hand towards my face. I do not back down, but my heart gets carried away. He doesn't touch me. He simply lets his fingers touch the air between us, like a silent threat, an unused promise.

- Maybe a bit of both, he breathes.

My belly contracts. It's insane. I should hate him. I should be terrified. However, something in his gaze troubles me in a way that I cannot explain.

I look away, breaking this invisible link between us.

I have to get out of here.

***

The hour is running. I haven't moved since our confrontation, but my mind is working at full speed.

Each prison has a flaw.

I memorize every detail of the house. Each door, each window, each possible outlet. The only question is: how to get out without him realizing it?

A soundtrack in the corridor makes me start.

I don't have time to wait.

I go to the bathroom door, open it without noise and slip inside. A thin net of air infiltrates by a small opening at the top of the wall.

My only hope.

I get on the edge of the bathtub, stretch my arms until ventilation. It is locked, but the latch seems fragile.

I search the drawer under the sink and find a hair pliers.

With specific gestures, I work on the latch, holding my breath with each movement.

A click.

My heart gets carried away.

I slowly push the grid, just enough to see the outside. A roof slope, then ... the void.

I squeeze my teeth. No choice.

I rose slowly, my muscles stretched under effort. My feet leave the safety of the soil, and an adrenaline thrust crosses my body.

I sneak through the opening, my fingers gripping the edge of the roof. A burst of wind strikes me, and I tense myself, trying not to lose my balance.

A noise sounds behind me.

A door that opens suddenly.

- Émilie.

His voice is sharp, imperative.

I don't hesitate. I drop.

The moment of suspension is terrifying. Then my feet violently touch the ground. I ride to amortize the impact, my breath cut by pain.

I don't have time to recover.

I straighten up and run.

The trees parade around me, their oppressive, almost unreal presence. I don't know where I am going, but I run as if my life depended on it.

Behind me, a noise.

A groan.

I don't dare to turn around.

But I feel his presence.

A shadow passes at an inhuman speed.

Then, even before I can react, a violent shock projects me to the ground.

I fight, struggling with all my might.

Powerful arms Immobilize.

- You really don't understand, whispers Maxime against my ear.

His breath is hot against my skin, contrasting violently with the cold that bites the limbs.

- Let me let go!

He does not move.

- Do you think you can flee?

His tone is harder, his grip.

- I will get there.

- No.

A silence.

Then, in a lower voice:

- It's not me that you should fear.

My whole body freezes.

His grip is released slightly, but I always feel his contained strength, like a predator mastering his instinct.

- What does that mean?

He straightens me slowly, forcing me to support his gaze.

- There is worse than me outside.

I shake my head, refusing to accept what it insinuates.

- This is just an excuse to keep me here.

He does not respond immediately.

Then he whispers:

- Do you think I lie?

His gaze captures mine, and a strange glow shines there.

My heart tightens.

- So look.

And, before my eyes, his body changes.

Slowly.

Too slowly to be a simple shadow effect.

His jaw seems to stretch imperceptibly, his eyes take on a supernatural shade, and a short chill on my skin.

I no longer breathe.

- You have no idea of the world in which you just set foot, Émilie.

My body refuses to move.

Its grip softens slightly, but the warning is clear.

- And if you still try to flee ...

His gaze is darker, more intense.

- ... You might not like what is waiting for you on the other side.

An uncontrollable shiver travels my spine.

This time, I believe it.

A chair flies through the room and crashes against the wall. My breath is short, my fists tight, and I have never felt so much rage in my life.

- You are a monster.

My voice trembles, no fear, but of fury contained. He is there, impassive, leaning against the office as if none of this has of any importance. As if my explosion of anger did not reach him.

- A monster? He repeats in an almost amused tone.

His gaze captures mine, of unbearable calm.

- This is how you see me?

- How do you want me to see you? You removed me. You kept me a prisoner. You speak to me as if I had no rights, as if I were a damn object that belongs to you!

I am progressing, defying the space between us.

- So yes, Maxime. You are a monster.

Silence is set up, heavy, stretched like a thread ready to break.

Then he finally moves. Slowly.

He straightens up, approaches with this calculated approach which exasperates me as much as it troubles me.

- I could be, he whispers.

His gaze does not leave mine.

- But not for the reasons you believe.

I shake my head, furious.

- Don't play this game with me. What do you think? That if you speak with enough mystery, I will forget what you have done?

He doesn't answer right away.

He scrutinizes me, as if he weighed each word before freeing them.

- What I did ...

He stops a few centimeters from me.

- It was necessary.

A bitter laugh escapes me.

- You have a good definition of this word.

- You don't understand.

- So explain to me.

I challenge him.

- Go ahead, Maxime. Tell me why. Tell me what, in your disturbed head, made you think that it was the only option.

He inspires slowly, and I see him hesitate. Just a fraction of a second.

Then, finally, he speaks.

- Because if I didn't do it, you would be dead.

My throat tightens.

- Nice excuse.

He nods.

- I suspected it. You are not ready to hear the truth.

I look up to the sky.

- Because there is a "truth" behind it?

His expression hardens.

- Yes.

- So tell her.

- No.

I step back.

- You are a coward.

- No.

He meets his arms, his gaze anchored in mine.

- I protect you.

I laugh again, without joy.

- Who are you protecting, exactly? Or your secret?

He does not answer.

And that's where I understand.

My heart misses a beat.

- That's it, right?

I scrutinize him, looking for the slightest flaw.

- I am not in danger. It's you.

I see his jaw contracting, a new tension on his face however so controlled.

- You hide something.

A silence.

Then, in an almost inaudible whisper:

- Yes.

I freeze.

He did not try to deny.

My heart gets carried away.

- What is this ?

- Something you are not ready to hear.

- Try me.

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he weighed the extent of his answer.

- Do you believe in monsters, Émilie?

A thrill crosses me.

- What is this question?

- Answer me.

His gaze is more intense, almost hypnotic.

- No, of course not.

- So this is your mistake.

He is still advancing, and this time, I instinctively back down.

- Because they exist.

A silence.

I shake my head, trying to chase the thrill that goes up along my spine.

- You are delirious.

- Really ?

His voice is low, threatening.

- Look me in the eye and tell me I lie.

I open my mouth, ready to reply.

But his eyes.

They change.

It's not an illusion.

It's not a play of light.

It's ... real.

My throat is tied.

- What are you?

He does not answer.

But he doesn't need to do it.

Because, for the first time since my abduction, a real fear infiltrates my skin.

And this time, it's not him that I fear.

That's what it is.

I remain frozen, unable to look away. What I just saw defy everything I think possible. His wardrobe pupils have taken on a supernatural shade, an almost bestial shine. The illusion lasts only a second. A fraction of a second, but it is enough for my whole body to freeze under the icy wave of fear.

- You have seen, he whispers.

This is not a question.

My breathing is erratic. I want to deny, rationalize, find an explanation. But none comes to me.

- What are you?

My voice is weak. This is not an accusation. It's a supplication.

His expression closes. His impassiveness mask returns, but it's too late. I saw him tremble. I saw him hesitate.

- I'm just a man, Émilie.

I laugh, a nervous, uncontrollable laugh.

- A man does not do ... that.

He does not respond immediately. His gaze slides on me, calculating, but there is something different this time. A crack in his armor.

- You would not understand.

- Try me.

He approaches, and this time, I do not back down. He reaches his hand slowly, as if he feared my reaction, then stopped him a few centimeters from my arm. I have a short breath.

- You are terrified.

It is not a provocation. It's not even a reproach.

This is an observation.

I swallow with difficulty.

- I don't even know what I should fear.

He sketches a smile, a smile that has nothing amused.

- It may be better as well.

His hand finally borders on my arm. I wander. His contact is... different. Not cold, not hot. Just intense.

I want to repel him, scream, tell him that none of that makes sense.

But I don't move.

- You have removed the bad person, I said in a more fragile voice than I would have liked.

His thumb tackles my skin.

- I'm not sure of that.

My heart gets carried away.

- Why me?

He does not respond immediately. His gaze lingers on my features, looking for something that I cannot identify.

- Because you saw something you shouldn't have seen.

- I don't understand.

- You will understand.

He backs up slightly, but his gaze is always anchored to mine.

- You tried to flee.

I squeeze my teeth.

- And I will start again.

His smile is stealthy.

- This is what I thought.

A silence.

Then, against all odds, he reaches out to me.

- Come.

I frowns.

- Where?

- Do you want answers?

I nod in despite myself.

- So follow me.

I don't know why I do it. Maybe because I have no choice. Maybe because a part of me wants to understand.

I take his hand.

And this time, I can't ignore the thrill that runs through my spine.