The One Night Stand Turns Out To Be My Professor

128

128

Sophia’s POV

My head throbbed as I slowly came to consciousness, the world around me spinning in a haze of confusion. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming in pain. I tried to move, but my arms were bound tightly behind my back, my wrists raw from the rough rope. A sharp metallic taste lingered in my mouth—blood, my blood.

Where am I?

The room around me was dark, cold, and smelled of damp earth. I struggled to focus, but my mind was clouded, drifting in and out of consciousness like a bad dream. Every time I tried to concentrate, the fog pulled me back under. I didn’t know how long I’d been here or how many times they had moved me. I only knew one thing: I was in deep trouble.

A sudden movement snapped me back to awareness. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. I tensed, my heartbeat quickening. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were close. My captors. Whoever they were, they’d been keeping me in this state for what felt like days—dosing me with some kind of drug that made everything blur together, leaving me too weak to fight, too foggy to think clearly.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. My body recoiled instinctively, trying to press itself against the wall as if I could somehow disappear into it. I had no energy left to struggle, but my mind screamed at me to run, to escape.

“You’re awake again,” a voice said, low and mocking. It was one of them. I couldn’t remember if I had seen him before or if my mind was just playing tricks on me. Everything felt distorted, like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

“What…what do you want?” I tried to speak, but my voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. My throat was raw from screaming—screaming for Ian, for Jacob, for anyone. No one had come. Not yet.

My mind began to race with the possibilities. What if they never found me? What if I died? What if these bastards killed me before Ian had the chance to find me? My heart began pounding harder in my chest.

The man crouched down beside me, his face coming into focus for just a second before the haze took over again. “We’re just keeping you safe,” he sneered. “Can’t let the others find you too soon.”

Safe? I almost laughed, but it came out as a broken cough. My body was shaking uncontrollably now, either from the cold or the drugs or the fear. Maybe all three.

They didn’t want to be found. They were moving me—constantly, I realized, as another wave of dizziness hit me. Every time I came to consciousness, I was in a different place, a different room. Sometimes it was a forest, sometimes a basement, sometimes a dingy cellar like this one. They were making sure no one could trace them. No one could find me. God. How long have they been at this?

“You’re not going to win,” I whispered, though my words felt meaningless even to me. “Ian will find me.”

The man’s face twisted into a cruel smile. “Let him try. By the time he does, there won’t be much of you left to find.”

He stood up and kicked me hard in the ribs, the sudden pain ripping through me like fire. I gasped, curling into myself as much as I could, but the ropes kept me in place. The world spun again, and I could feel myself slipping, falling back into the darkness where the pain dulled, where I didn’t have to think or feel.

But then there was light again, and I was awake, or maybe I was dreaming—I couldn’t tell anymore. The pain was there, sharper now, like they had been torturing me while I was unconscious. My skin burned, and I could feel bruises covering my body, but I didn’t know how many. I had stopped counting the punches, the kicks, the bites.

I was slipping. They knew it. They wanted me broken, helpless, easy to control.

I wouldn’t let them win.

I fought to stay awake, to keep my mind sharp, but the drug—whatever it was—was relentless, pulling me under again, making everything heavy and distant. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Hours? Days? Time had lost all meaning. My thoughts were muddled, half-formed, and every attempt to focus made my head spin with nausea.

Suddenly, hands were on me, rough and unforgiving, dragging me across the floor. I groaned as my body screamed in protest, the pain flaring up like a wild fire in my veins. My eyes fluttered open, but I could only make out shadows, figures moving around me.

“Move her,” someone barked, their voice harsh and impatient. “We’re leaving before they track us.”

They lifted me onto something hard—wooden, maybe a cart? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that they were taking me somewhere else. Again. My body ached from the constant movement, my skin scraped raw from the rough treatment. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but I could barely hold my head up.

In the back of my mind, a part of me was still fighting, still clinging to hope. Ian would come. He had to. But how much longer could I hold on? How long before they broke me completely?

I lost track of time again as the cart moved, the jostling making my already battered body feel worse. They were transporting me further away, deeper into whatever nightmare they had planned. I could feel the darkness closing in, the drugs pulling me down, but I fought it with everything I had left.

I had to hold on. I had to survive.

“Ian…” I whispered, though I knew no one could hear me. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I was too weak to cry. “Please…find me.”

But the darkness swallowed me again, and I fell into it, hoping that when I woke up, it wouldn’t be too late.