Chapter Three

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A slice of cake, A small bottle of water. That was his daily ration.

By the end of the week, the last remnants of Wonwoo's optimism were extinguished by the hunger gnawing at his insides. He felt fatigued and weak, almost dizzy at times. In all his life he had never known true hunger, not until now. His stomach contracted in painful spasms and all he could think about was food. He needed glucose-rich food. Wonwoo knew if he didn't have low blood sugar, it probably would have been nowhere as bad, but it was a small comfort when hunger kept him awake at night, curling up on the narrow bed, the only piece of furniture in the room.

Sometimes, if the guards were drunk or bored, or both, they used him as a punching bag.

Their employer hadn't made an appearance. From what Wonwoo had overheard, he wasn't even in the house. Now Wonwoo felt silly for expecting a visit from the main bad guy. It wasn't a cheesy Hollywood movie where the villain always came to gloat and share his evil plans with the victim. In all likelihood, Wonwoo and his well-being were completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things to the person behind all of this. This kidnapping clearly was nothing personal, and the bad guy didn't have to explain anything to him. The thought smarted. He'd never felt so powerless in his life.

One evening, Wonwoo lay curled up in bed, shivering from cold and holding his stomach, when he heard the sound of the locks turning. He tensed. They had already fed him that morning. Were the guards bored again? His ribs still hurt from the last time they had been bored.

Wonwoo tried to stand, but it probably wasn't a good idea considering how fatigued he was, so he settled for sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Even that drained him of what little energy he had left, and he had to breathe deeply to fight the sudden bout of dizziness that washed over him. He wasn't going to faint, dammit. Not now.

The door opened and closed, but his vision was still swimming and he could only make out the blurry tall figure that had entered the room.

Finally, his vision sharpened, the world came into focus, and Wonwoo found himself gasping as he met the cold blue eyes of Kim Mingyu.

Fuck.

In the past week, he had thought of Kim a few times, wondering if he had anything to do with the kidnapping, but he had dismissed the idea. Mingyu was a condescending dick, and his eyes totally creeped Wonwoo out, but it didn't mean the guy was a criminal. He had told himself "filthy-rich Russian tycoons" didn't equal "Russian mafia." Well, clearly he'd been wrong in this case.

For a long moment, there was only silence as they looked at each other.

Wonwoo fidgeted, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He probably looked pathetic. His curls were no longer tamed by gel, his fringe falling over his eyes. Wonwoo was wearing the same blue dress shirt from a week ago, but now it was crumpled, dirty, and stained with blood. At least he had been allowed a shower yesterday.

All in all, if Kim Mingyu had been unimpressed with him a week ago, when Wonwoo had looked his best, he was unlikely to take him seriously now that he looked like a beaten-up, half-starved kid.

"What do you want with me?" Wonwoo said calmly—or at least he tried to, but his voice was weak, the words shaping up oddly in his mouth.

Mingyu's inscrutable expression didn't change. He continued looking at him in silence, his gaze sharp. It was a hundred times more unnerving than any words.

Wonwoo fought the urge to squirm. "Look, whatever issue you have with my father, I know nothing of it. Just let me go, okay?"

The man stepped closer and grabbed his chin in an iron-like grip, so hard it hurt. "What are you playing at?"

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