COURTNEY ||18+||

~Chapter 7~

EDITED🤍

I truly believe that one can experience hell on earth, for that's precisely what I am enduring now. Confusion and torment intertwine as I struggle to comprehend how this cruel man can simultaneously inflict both pleasure and pain upon me. The initial pain was excruciating—his thickness tearing through me, feeling like I was being split open. Yet, paradoxically, it soon transformed into blinding pleasure with every thrust against my walls.

I am sore, deeply sore, as if his presence lingers inside me. The bathroom scene was the worst; it felt like a wound being scraped open repeatedly. Silent tears track down my face as I recall Natasha's absence—she was the closest thing I had to a friend.

I hate him.

I hate him with a fierce intensity, not just him, but everyone in this world and the world itself.

I curl up tighter, drawing the blanket up to my nose, which is likely red from the tears of today. The door creaks open, and someone enters the room—Freya, carrying a tray of food. She dumps it beside me before smirking and walking out.

I stare at the food, then bury my face in the covers, inhaling his scent—a peculiar comfort amidst the chaos.

"Planning on starving?" His voice startles me, and I sit up abruptly. He's leaning against the door, his gaze fixed on me with an unsettling calmness.

I look down, fiddling with my fingers, deliberately ignoring him.

"Courtney," he says, his tone stern. I reluctantly crawl over to the food, eating while avoiding his gaze. He stands there until I finish. A surge of defiance rises within me, despite my fear. I move to leave the room, but he grabs my neck, pressing me against the wall. The playful demeanor vanishes, replaced by a cold menace.

"Don't fucking test me. Answer me when I speak to you," he growls through gritted teeth, his grip tightening. My bravery crumbles instantly.

Before I can respond, muffled sounds of groans and cries seep through a nearby door. Panic surges through me—are they killing more people? My heart races at the thought of him following through on his threats.

"What's happening, Xavier?" I ask, my voice trembling. He smirks, observing my fear with unsettling satisfaction. He loosens his grip slightly, leaning in to murmur in my ear.

"I like the sound of my name on your lips, umree," he whispers, sending a flush to my cheeks. I avert my eyes, focusing instead on the ground, my bare feet dwarfed by his imposing presence.

The noise from before has ceased, replaced by an eerie silence. It's not the swift execution I had feared but something resembling the sounds I made yesterday during our tortured union.

"Can I get shoes, please?" I ask, hoping to escape his presence.

Without warning, he picks me up in a princess carry, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Our gazes lock, and I try to look away, but he surprises me by demanding, "Kiss me, umree."

Reluctantly, I bridge the gap between our lips, recalling the kiss from yesterday. He allows me a moment before he takes control, his kiss fervent and possessive. His lips work hungrily against mine, his hands roaming beneath his shirt to grasp my buttocks.

His hands explore me until someone clears their throat behind us.

"Sorry, boss. It's time," Arthur's voice breaks the moment. I hide my face in Xavier's chest, gripping his shirt. He exhales sharply, irritation evident in his voice.

"Get the fuck out," he snaps. I hear Arthur's footsteps retreating before I pull away from Xavier's chest, meeting his gaze. His expression is a mixture of hazy desire and irritation.

"Go put on that dress," he orders, gesturing to a black dress I hadn't noticed. It's elegant, with long sleeves and a turtleneck, stopping at my knees—thankfully covering my scars.

I change quickly, noting his impatient stance by the door. He picks me up again, carrying me to where the other passengers are gathered.

The passengers are seated, their faces grim, while his minions stand with their guns. Xavier takes his seat at the forefront with me on his lap. His fingers twist my hair, a peculiar fixation of his. My gaze meets his before I quickly look away, his face burrowed in my neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make me squirm.

A door opens, drawing my attention. Five men in black enter, along with a man in casual clothes who looks terrified. Daniel, the man from yesterday, pushes the terrified man forward, and Arthur immediately seizes him.

Xavier's grip tightens around my waist, his eyes fixed on me with a chilling resolve. I glance at Daniel, then at the passengers being herded towards a waiting helicopter.

Panic surges as I realize he might not be letting me go. His eyes meet mine, a hardening anger flickering within them.

"The fuck are you still doing here?" he demands of Daniel, his tone cold and terrifying.

"She's a hostage. Deal's a deal," Daniel replies, his fear palpable. Xavier's gaze shifts back to me, and I see the cold determination in his eyes.

"You want to go, huh?" he says dryly, leaning close to whisper in my ear, "You're mine. You belong to me, Courtney."

***

"You're mine. You belong to me." That was the last thing he said before I was taken off the train, and that was eight months ago. The thought of him still terrifies me, but I've convinced myself that he's forgotten about me.

Life has been better, almost too good to be true. I bought a house in downtown Seattle and moved in six months ago. The decade of confinement left me feeling lost, but the inheritance I received has cushioned me, although I'm still searching for a purpose.

Balancing a vanilla milkshake, I sink into my couch, scrolling through Netflix. I've become hooked on the series "Never Have I Ever," perhaps because it shows a teen life I never had. Watching Devi struggle to lose her virginity breaks my heart, a stark reminder of the trauma I endured, trauma that still haunts me.

I shake off the painful thoughts and check social media, losing myself in TikTok videos. Cooking has become a newfound passion, and I spend my days trying new recipes, scrolling through social media, and watching Netflix. I rarely venture outside.

By 5 PM, I grab my keys and head to the driveway. After obtaining my license six weeks ago, I drive to a distant mall. Thanks to GPS, I navigate without getting lost. The shopping spree is overwhelming; I spend nearly $50,000 on clothes, shoes, bags, and perfumes. Despite my ample funds, the idea of finding a job looms large.

Returning home, I stop at the grocery store for essentials before unloading the bags.

"Need some help?" A feminine voice startles me. I turn to see a woman in her mid-twenties from the house opposite mine. I smile weakly, and she steps in to assist, her presence a welcome change from my solitary existence.

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