𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐀 ✔︎ (ongoing)

|27| fake confession

Richard steps into the room, his dark eyes piercing through me, an unsettling smirk creeping across his face.

"Well, well, look who decided to make a run for it," he says. "You think you can just escape my grasp? How naive."

"Let me leave," I say, my voice firm. "This is insane."

He chuckles, the sound dripping with condescension. "Insane? No, my dear boy, this is merely a lesson in obedience and understanding your place in the world. You think your choices matter? That you can run free? You have something I want– something that could change everything for me and I have no intention of letting you slip away again."

I take a step back, feeling the heavy wall pressing against my back. "You won't find what you're looking for," I say defiantly.

Richard raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because I don't know where the herbs are," I say, trying to summon courage.

Well, it's the truth isn't it? I genuinely don't know where in the mountains of Morocco the herbs are. I know it's in Marrakesh, though... but I'm not going to tell him that.

He steps closer, narrowing the space between us. "Let's see how long you can keep that charade going. Charles!" he calls out, and the heavy footsteps echo back.

Charles enters, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ready to have some fun?" he asks, his face beaming with glee.

"Let's take him to the main dining room," Richard says, his voice dripping with malice. "We're going to give him a little luxury treatment. If we make him feel comfortable, perhaps he'll open up."

I shudder at their cruel intentions but can't help but wonder what they mean by 'luxury treatment.' As they guide me through the dimly lit hallways, a mix of fear and curiosity crests within me.

When we enter the dining room, I'm struck by the stark contrast to my dreary cell. This isn't the same as the dining hall we were in when we were first kidnapped. This one's enormous. The room is lavishly decorated, with an ornate chandelier hanging overhead, casting an inviting light across the rich wooden table covered in a spread of delicious-looking food: nutty cookies; fancy chicken burgers; pizza topped with oregano; steaming hot potato wedges; crisply cooked salmon with streaks of saffron; Philadelphia rolled sushi; dark steak drenched in sauce; chocolate souffle; macrons; almond and honey pastries... there are so much.

My stomach growls, betraying my desire even as I fight to maintain my composure.

"Welcome to your new dining quarters," Richard proclaims grandly, gesturing to the feast laid out before me. "We believe in treating our guests well, don't we, Charles?"

"Absolutely," Charles replies, practically drooling over the spread. "You see all this, Francisco? This is what you'll be missing out on if you find yourself struggling to give us every detail of your information."

"Why would I want any of this?" I shoot back. "This is all just misdirection to make me talk. I won't fall for it."

Richard's face hardens, but the amusement doesn't completely leave his features. "Oh, I think you will. You see, the more comfortable you are, the more likely you are to inform us about the herbs' location."

He sets a plate before me, overflowing with potato wedges, two steaks and a slice of pizza. "Go on, have a taste. You'll find our hospitality exceeds the little cell you were in before."

I glance at the food, then back at him. "I'm not hungry. I'm not going to help you."

"Suit yourself," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "But remember, we won't let you leave until you do."