"You look beautiful," he said, fastening his cufflink as his eyes followed me while I rolled out of the walk-in closet in the new wheelchair he'd bought. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable. He had shown it off earlier like a kid on Christmas morning, right after we got out of the bath. It had been wrapped in shiny paper with a big bow, my name spelled out in bold letters across the front. He practically bounced as he explained how it worked, going over all the features as if he was the one who was going to use it. I appreciated the gesture, though I couldn't quite match his enthusiasm. Still, it was a relief. Depending on others to push me around had started to make my skin crawl.
"You're leaving?" I asked, watching him slip into his suit jacket. Every moment I spent with him was twisted—my hatred for him had not softened. If I could move my hands freely, I wouldn't hesitate to take a knife and end his life. He was a monster, someone who relished in destruction and had shattered my world beyond repair. But despite everything, I had become strangely used to his presence. As much as I despised him, a small, twisted part of me didn't mind him hovering around.
He smirked, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Aww, is the little girl missing me already?" His voice dripped with amusement as his eyes darkened, giving me that unnerving grin. "Who would've thought I'd become your favorite person?" He chuckled as he came closer. "So, this is what husbands feel like when their wives don't want them to leave? I like it." His hand brushed my cheek, his touch lingering as his gaze turned distant, like he was lost in his thoughts. "This marriage is going to be something special; don't you think?"
My heart stuttered as I saw that look in his eyes, the same blank stare he had the first time we met. It was like he wasn't all there, his mind slipping into something darker. His lips tightened as if he was holding back something awful. Was he thinking about hurting me again? Torturing me? Was he still angry that I refused him in the bathroom? I swallowed hard and whispered, "Mister?"
"Yes," he replied, still stroking my cheek, his voice soft but distant.
"How are my parents?" I blurted out, the question burning in my mind for days. Ever since he took me, I hadn't heard a word about them.
He hummed, barely paying attention as he gazed up at the ceiling. "I don't know. I never thought about it after I took you. They're probably fine... or not."
His indifference hit me like a punch to the gut. How could he not know? He had ordered the attack, sent his men to crash into us. Surely, he had to know something. My anger flared, my chest tightening. I had stupidly believed that being with him meant my parents would be safe, that he would spare them once he had me. How could I have been so naive?
"Please," I begged, my voice cracking as tears welled up in my eyes. "Can you just check on them? Send someone—anyone—to find out if they're okay. I'll do anything... just please."
He stared at me for a long moment, his hand finally dropping to his side. He clicked his tongue, as if annoyed. "Try getting on my mother's good side," he muttered, flashing me a cold smile before walking out of the room.
My heart sank. That was his way of saying no. He didn't care about my parents—he never did.
I rolled out of the room, my thoughts racing. Panic bubbled up inside me as I tried to imagine what had happened to them. Were they still alive? Had they managed to escape? Were they suffering somewhere, hurt and alone? All the questions I had buried inside for so long came flooding back with a vengeance, and I had no idea how to get answers. Worse, I had to find a way to deal with his family—people who were probably just as twisted as he was. I didn't want to face any of them, but maybe, just maybe, one of them could help me escape and find my parents.
"Well, well, look who we have here," a voice called out, sweet but sharp like honey laced with poison. His mother.
"Hello," I mumbled, forcing an awkward smile as I wheeled into the living room. "Mister had to leave for something."
She smiled, a smile that felt as fake as her kindness. "Yes, I know, dear," she said, stepping closer to grab the handles of my wheelchair. Without asking, she pushed me over to the chair she had been sitting in. Her grip was firm as she guided me into place beside her. "I've heard so much about you. Your parents were well-known around here. They ran a shop, didn't they?"
Accountants," I corrected softly, my voice strained. It felt like an insult, like she was trying to reduce them to something small, something less than they were.
She let out a light laugh, brushing it off as though it didn't matter. "Ah yes, accountants. It's easy to get mixed up. People do tend to look the same sometimes, don't they?"
There was something dark in her eyes, a casual cruelty beneath her words. She sat down next to me, her smile fading as her voice dropped to a more serious tone. "My son is... very special to me. Yes, he can be difficult, but he has a great heart. He doesn't need much from you, just your loyalty and love."
"But I don't want to give him either," I snapped, unable to hold back any longer. "How can I love someone who is as twisted as he is? He made me like this. I was fine before I met him. I was happy and everything was perfect. He came to me and ruined everything. He made us get us into an accident, my mother might be dead and-" I paused when I felt the cool metal gun at the bottom of my shin. I shivered as I looked into her eyes- they were so empty, scary and angry.
"You will love him," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous.
My heart pounded in my chest. In that moment, I realized I had misjudged her. She wasn't the rational one I could reason with. She was every bit as deadly as her son, maybe even more so.
"I understand," I whispered, my voice trembling as she lowered the gun and tucked it back into the holster at her side. I hadn't even seen it before—she must've become an expert at hiding weapons.
"My son is my world," she continued, her tone softening but still deadly serious. "I don't like that he chose someone so weak, but I will support him no matter what. If I hear any talk of escape, or of harming him, I will make sure that everyone you care about is dead before you can blink. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," I whispered, barely able to breathe.
