It is true that love cannot be forced, but it certainly can bloom in the most unlikely places.
Even in the mansion of the mysterious businessman, Hugh, who blackmails Zuri into staying with him.
The crying ceased after what felt like ages had passed. Zuri pulled more tissues out of the box she'd found in the bathroom and used them to mop up the tears. She'd surrendered to the dark thoughts in her mind, and despair had taken advantage of it.
The questions still begged for answers, but now she had a handle on them. She decided she wouldn't let them control her. Never had her emotions controlled her before. They wouldn't start now.
I may never see Grandma again. Or my parents. Will Mom and Dad even know what happened? Will Grandma even tell them? It doesn't matter. Let them go. For now, at least.
She sighed and stood up from the tile floor. Her reflection showed a tired, weak girl with blotchy skin and a broken spirit. In a matter of hours, her vibrant light had been snuffed out by this man, this nightmare who sought to do whatever torture he had in mind.
Zuri splashed her face with cool water and dried her face off. This time when she stared back into those hazel eyes, she made a decision. She was going to be okay. It didn't matter what this man threw her way. With God's help, she could take it. She wouldn't let this man have the privilege of breaking her. He didn't deserve that.
Everything will be okay, she reminded herself with a deep breath. The world doesn't end because of this. You will survive.
A knock at the bedroom door startled her. Zuri padded out of the marble bathroom, slipping her sandals back on as she did so. Mr. Benson stood on the other side of the open door. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of his black slacks while the other dangled by his side. The top two buttons of his blue and white striped shirt were unfastened, allowing for a sprout of curly, black chest hair to poke out.
Now that time had slowed back down, Zuri did a thorough scan of her captor. His skin was olive-toned and disheveled, dark hair covered his head. Those umber eyes were more relaxed than they had been before, studying her back with just as much scrutiny. He was more on the muscular rather than lean side. If it weren't for his broad nose and long, sharp jaw, Zuri could have found him handsome.
"Ready for dinner?" he asked. His voice was softer and deeper now that the hints of impatience and anger had worn off.
She nodded, reminding herself to be strong. Disliking Mr. Benson was acceptable. It was only in letting him see her distaste and sorrow that he would win. So Zuri held her chin high and followed behind her captor down the hall.
"Do you like your room?" He casted a glance over his shoulder at her.
"I do," she answered politely.
"Good."
She swallowed slowly, afraid. "Your house is so...quiet."
"Yes, I prefer it that way."
"Okay...is it just you here?"
This time he looked down at her, brows knitted. "And now you. Sometimes my men will come as well, but they aren't allowed to stay. Is that an issue?"
"So you have no family here?"
"No one else lives here, Zuri," he answered, sounding short.
Getting the idea, she kept her mouth shut and stared around them at the blank cream white walls.
"I'm not close with my family, that's all," he said. His response rang with finality. Zuri understood not to ask about his family again. It must have been a touchy subject.
They descended the staircase by the front door and strode down the hall in silence. Each door they passed piqued Zuri's curiosity. Maybe she could explore later. That would help keep her mind off things.
The dining room was at the end of the hall, where it was connected to the kitchen. The two rooms flowed nicely, feeling open and spacious. Mr. Benson led Zuri to the black cherry wood table and motioned for her to sit beside the head of the table, presumably his seat. She obliged.
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"I cooked dinner tonight," he told her while he crossed into the kitchen, "but from now on, meals will be your duty."
Zuri swallowed. "Not to disappoint, but I'm not a good chef. There aren't many recipes I'm familiar with."
Pointing to an enormous cookbook displayed by the window over the sink, he said, "Then you can teach yourself."
Another moment passed quietly. Mr. Benson served two plates of lasagna and brought them to the table. When he went back to retrieve their silverware and glasses, Zuri took a deep breath and voiced the question on her mind.
"So, is that why you brought me here, Mr. Benson? To be your personal chef?"
His sinister chuckle made her bones quiver. He placed a water glass in front of her plate and a wine glass in front of his as he sat down. "No, dear Zuri. I brought you here to be my wife."
