Oh to be loved

10

The mansion loomed large and foreboding as Amara was forced through its heavy front doors. The place that had once held her captive now felt even more suffocating, knowing the extent of Cillian's obsession with her. The walls seemed to close in as Cillian's men led her and Malik inside.

Malik, pale and limping from the bullet wound, was barely able to keep his footing as they dragged him forward. Amara's heart clenched at the sight of him-he needed medical attention, but Cillian, in his twisted mind, wouldn't care. Her brother's life was now just another piece of leverage.

They moved through the mansion with deliberate speed, the dark wood floors creaking under their footsteps. Amara's mind raced with thoughts of escape, but she knew it was futile for now. She was outnumbered, and Malik was in no condition to fight.

When they reached a set of tall doors, Cillian's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Take him to the cellar."

Amara's eyes widened in panic. "No!" she shouted, her voice breaking with desperation. She pulled against the man holding her arm, but he didn't budge. "Please! He needs a doctor. He'll die if you leave him down there!"

Cillian turned, his cold gaze meeting hers. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes-something like consideration-but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He nodded at one of his men.

"Take care of his wound," he ordered, his tone devoid of emotion. "But make sure he knows his place."

Amara exhaled in relief, but the reprieve was short-lived. Two of Cillian's men dragged Malik toward the cellar, his feet barely shuffling along the floor. He didn't look back at her, though she could see the tension in his body, the way he tried to stay strong even as his pain took its toll.

"Malik..." she whispered, helpless as the doors to the cellar slammed shut behind him. She was alone now-with Cillian.

Amara's pulse quickened, her mind spinning with fear and anger. Cillian dismissed his remaining men with a flick of his hand, and suddenly, they were alone in the vast hallway, the air thick with tension.

"I've made a lot of concessions for you, Amara," Cillian said, his voice quiet but laced with a cold undercurrent. "But running? That's something I don't tolerate."

Amara swallowed hard, her throat dry. "You can't keep me here forever. This isn't a life. It's a prison."

Cillian tilted his head, studying her with those piercing blue eyes. "I keep telling you, Amara. You're not a prisoner. You're mine." He took a step closer, and she could feel his presence like a shadow creeping over her. "I won't let anything happen to you. But if you insist on fighting me, you'll only make things worse for yourself-and for your brother."

The implication was clear. Every act of defiance she made would be paid for in Malik's blood. It was a threat disguised as concern, and it chilled her to the bone.

"Take me to him," Amara demanded, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. "Let me see him, please."

Cillian raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Not tonight. You need rest, Amara. You've been through quite an ordeal."

Before she could protest, he gestured toward the stairwell, his demeanor calm, almost patient. "Come with me."

Amara hesitated, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn't want to go anywhere with him. But she had no choice. For now, she had to bide her time. If she could just keep Cillian from hurting Malik further, she might find a way out of this nightmare.

Reluctantly, she followed Cillian up the stairs, the grand staircase winding toward the upper floors of the mansion. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of their footsteps echoing in the vastness of the house. Every step felt like walking deeper into a trap.

They reached a room at the end of the hall, and Cillian opened the door, stepping aside to let her in. Amara hesitated before entering, her instincts screaming at her to run, but she steeled herself and stepped inside.

The room was lavish, with deep mahogany furniture, a king-sized bed draped in expensive linens, and tall windows that looked out over the dark forest. It was beautiful, but to her, it felt more like a gilded cage.

Amara turned to Cillian, her voice firm. "Where are you sleeping?"

Cillian's lips curled into a slight smirk. "Here."

Her stomach dropped. "No. I'm not-"

"You'll sleep here," he interrupted, his voice quiet but commanding, as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "With me."

Amara's heart raced, and her mind spun in a thousand directions. The thought of sharing a room-no, a bed-with Cillian sent a surge of panic through her. She backed up, her hands trembling. "I won't."

"You don't have a choice," Cillian said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing something as trivial as the weather. He moved closer, his eyes locking onto hers with unsettling intensity. "I'm not going to hurt you, Amara. Not unless you make me."

Her back hit the edge of the bed, and she stopped, trapped between Cillian's towering presence and the luxurious prison around her. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to do anything that would make him see she wasn't a possession. But the exhaustion from the escape, the overwhelming fear, and Malik's life hanging in the balance weighed her down like an anchor.

Cillian reached out and brushed a stray curl away from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle but no less threatening. "You'll get used to this," he murmured, his voice soft. "You'll learn to accept your place."

Amara's body stiffened under his touch, every fiber of her being screaming in defiance, but she was trapped. She was too tired, too terrified, and Malik was bleeding in a cellar because of her. She couldn't afford another misstep.

Swallowing her pride and her fear, she forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the plush comforter. She wouldn't fight tonight. But she wasn't defeated. Not yet.

Cillian, satisfied with her compliance, began unbuttoning his shirt, moving with the same calm deliberation he always carried. Amara turned away, refusing to watch, focusing on the wall across from her. Her mind spun with a million escape plans, none of which seemed feasible. She had to find a way out-but for now, she needed to survive.

Cillian walked over to the other side of the bed, his movements smooth and unhurried. He slipped under the covers, the bed shifting slightly under his weight. Amara remained rigid, sitting on the edge of the mattress, as far away from him as she could manage.

"You'll be more comfortable if you lie down," Cillian remarked, his voice low, almost soothing. But to her, it sounded like a warning.

She didn't respond, didn't move. She stared at the floor, her jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the last shreds of her composure. Every second in this room with him felt like a violation.

But she couldn't let him break her. Not yet.

Minutes passed, the silence stretching out like a heavy blanket, suffocating her. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her body, and she reluctantly lay down, keeping her back to Cillian, her body tense. She stayed as close to the edge of the bed as possible, her mind racing even as her eyelids grew heavy.

She would survive this night. She would survive Cillian. But she would never be his.

As the room sank into darkness, Amara vowed silently to herself: **This isn't the end.**