His Ruthless Temptation

Chapter Four

When I opened my eyes, it felt like I'd woken up in a life that didn't belong to me. My mind was foggy, still heavy with exhaustion, and slowly, reality started to slip through. Beneath my fingers, I felt satin—a sleek nightdress instead of my own clothes. My heart pounded with the realization that someone had changed me, a violation so unsettling it froze me in place.

Everything was vast, intimidating—polished wood floors, heavy velvet drapes casting shadows across the space, gold accents glinting in the dim light. This wasn't just a room; it was a fortress, every detail opulent and oppressive.

Then, like a flood crashing down, memories surged back: the kidnapping, the harsh tone of Acero's words, the blood on the café floor, and Caleb's lifeless eyes staring into nothing. A chill gripped my spine, and I fought to keep my breathing steady.

A soft creak broke through my thoughts as two women entered, moving carefully, carrying a tray set with delicate pastries, coffee, and neatly sliced fruit. I swallowed, struggling to find my voice. "Where... am I?"

One of them looked at me directly, her voice calm. "You're in El Patrón's home, just outside Medellín."

The name hit me like a blast of cold. Medellín. Colombia. My hands shook as I tried to take it all in.

Then, on the tray, I noticed a small note. With a trembling hand, I picked it up, unfolding it slowly, and read the bold script: "Welcome to Colombia, Mariposa. Tonight, we dine."

Mariposa. He'd marked me with this name—something delicate, like a butterfly meant to be trapped and controlled. Ha, what a joke.

As I forced myself out of bed, the cold realization of my situation weighed heavily. I glanced around, absorbing the lavish details of the unfamiliar room before noticing the lack of my belongings—my suitcase, laptop, and phone were nowhere in sight. I hadn't seen them since the café, and was pretty sure they were left there.

A door nearby caught my attention. I moved cautiously toward it, hoping it would lead somewhere useful, and found myself in an expansive, intricately designed bathroom. White marble floors reflected the soft glow of golden fixtures, each one polished to perfection. The room held an almost dreamlike quality, with ornate mirrors, an oversized bathtub, and a rainfall shower bordered by hand-painted tiles depicting scenes of tropical birds and dense foliage. It was beautiful, intimidatingly so, and distinctly Latin American in style, with an air of opulence that hinted at a life far removed from my own.

I quickly turned on the shower, stepping under the warm water and letting it wash away the remnants of the nightmare from the night before. Though brief, it provided a momentary sense of grounding, a fragile reminder of normalcy in a world that now felt anything but. As I dried off and returned to the bedroom, I noticed fresh clothes arranged neatly on the bed—a simple pair of jeans, a fitted t-shirt, and sandals, all in my size. Next to them was a long gown. A silent message: I was expected to stay.

Dressing quickly in the casual outfit, I took one last glance at the gown, feeling a mix of dread and defiance. The implied command was clear—there would be a dinner tonight, one I had no intention of attending if I could help it.

Bracing myself, I quietly opened the bedroom door. To my surprise, it wasn't locked. I peered down the hallway, grand and almost eerily empty, and decided to take my chances. Moving carefully, I made my way through the villa, noting the spaciousness, the luxurious decor—a mix of rich woods, grand chandeliers, and walls adorned with lush tapestries and framed landscapes. It was beautiful, designed with taste and elegance, but every detail reminded me that I was trapped in a place designed to impress and intimidate.

My hopes of finding an exit faded quickly. Every door I approached had a guard stationed nearby, each man stone-faced and alert. Even the windows, tall and arched, seemed to be guarded, with figures visible outside, their silhouettes watching and unmoving. This was not a house; it was a fortress, and every possible path was blocked.