Tortured Love [TK]

EIGHT

After some time, he stands up from the bathtub, humming a tune while I sit quietly, plotting my escape. The water splashes around us as he rises, droplets glistening on his bare skin. His eyes, dark and calculating, lock onto mine.

"Stand up, darling," he commands, his voice dripping with a sinister sweetness. He grips my hand, his touch both firm and inescapable, pulling me to my feet. He hands me a peach-colored bathrobe, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the harsh reality of my situation.

"Dry yourself and come down for dinner, okay?" he says, a smile spreading across his face. It's not a comforting smile; it's the smile of a predator, one who knows his prey has no way out.

I take the bathrobe, my hands trembling, and wrap it around myself. He watches me, his gaze never wavering, a silent warning that he's always in control. I feel his eyes on me even as he turns to leave the bathroom, his presence lingering like a dark cloud.

Left alone, I frantically dry myself, my mind racing. There's no way I can stay here. I need to find a way out, a way to escape his grasp. My body aches, my skin feels raw from his rough handling, but the fear coursing through me is a greater pain.

I put on the robe and, as I exit the bathroom, I see a pair of clothes laid out on the bed. They're simple but elegant, clearly chosen with care. With no other choice, I dress quickly, the fabric feeling foreign against my skin. Just as I try to open the door, a maid appears, her face a mask of obedience.

"I'll bring you to the master," she says in a monotone voice, bowing slightly.

I follow her down the opulent hallways, my mind racing with thoughts of escape. The grand decor does nothing to distract me from the dread pooling in my stomach. The walls seem to close in on me with every step, the heavy silence only broken by the soft sound of our footsteps.

When we reach the dining area, I see him sitting at the table in the same bathrobe, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as we enter, a predatory smile spreading across his face. He motions for me to sit, and I do so reluctantly. As soon as I settle into the chair, he speaks, his voice deceptively soft.

"Darling, I don't like to repeat myself. When I say I'll answer your questions after dinner, it means after dinner. Now eat."

In front of me is a plate of the most delicious-looking food. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten in two days. I gulp hard, feeling a mix of hunger and dread. He smirks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Eat," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I haven't poisoned it."

Hesitating at first, I eventually start eating. The food is rich and flavorful, but it feels like sawdust in my mouth. Despite my revulsion, I can't help but eat ravenously, my hunger overriding my fear for the moment.

He watches me intently, his eyes never leaving my face. The silence between us is oppressive, broken only by the sound of my chewing and the occasional clink of cutlery. After a few minutes, he leans back in his chair, his expression one of satisfaction.

"Good," he murmurs. "You need to keep your strength up. We have a long night ahead of us."

I look up at him, my fork freezing mid-air. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, a chilling glint in his eyes. "You'll see," he says cryptically. "Just finish your dinner."

The rest of the meal passes in tense silence. I force myself to eat, each bite a struggle. When I'm finally done, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate.

After dinner, he stands up and heads to the same bedroom. I realize with a sinking feeling that it's his bedroom, meaning I've been sleeping in his bed. Wtf. As I stand up and try to walk in a different direction, the maids block my way, their eyes still lowered. "You have to go behind the master," they say. I take a deep breath and follow, feeling like a condemned man being led to his execution.