Gabriel's Obsession

Unbearable Agony

Amelia's POV

When I finally woke, the room was bathed in the soft glow of midday light.

Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

Relief unfurled in my chest, small but significant. I didn't have to face him yet.

My stomach, however, had no such patience. It growled loudly, a painful reminder of how little control I had over even my most basic needs. With hunger gnawing at me, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I reached for the phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dialed room service.

"Hello, how may I help you?" The voice on the other end was polite, professional.

I swallowed hard. "Um, I—I'm in room 378, I think? I wanted to order some food." Even something as simple as placing an order felt daunting, my voice shaky from too many days of fear.

"Ah, Mr. Hamilton's Presidential Suite," the man responded, his French accent curling smoothly over the words. "You may place your order with me, and we will have it delivered shortly."

I proceeded quickly, keeping my request simple but filling. After hanging up, I waited, a mix of hunger and anticipation making my hands jittery.

Fifteen minutes later, a series of polite knocks echoed through the suite. My pulse spiked.

I hesitated, then slowly opened the door.

A young man stood outside, pushing a trolley laden with steaming dishes. He maneuvered it inside with practiced ease while I lingered awkwardly, watching.

My fingers twitched with an old instinct—to reach for a tip. But, of course, I had nothing. Not a single coin to my name. I don't even have my own money anymore. The thought sent another pang through me, deepening my sense of helplessness.

Then, a spark of an idea.

An escape.

I turned to him, heart hammering. "Um, excuse me... Jack?" I read his name off his badge, hoping—praying—that he would hear the desperation in my voice.

He paused, glancing up. "Yes, Mrs. Hamilton? Is there something else you need?"

My stomach twisted. Mrs. Hamilton. That name wasn't mine. It would never be mine.

I shook my head quickly. "I'm not his wife." My voice wavered, but I pushed through. "Jack, listen to me—I'm not Mrs. Hamilton. That man kidnapped me three days ago. Please... you might be my only chance to escape."

I searched his eyes, hoping—begging—for a glimmer of compassion.

He stiffened. His expression faltered, something flickering behind his gaze—concern? Uncertainty?

But then, his hands clenched, and he took a step back. "I—I'm sorry, miss." His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "If Mr. Hamilton finds out, he could—he will—hurt me. I can't risk it. I... I'm sorry."

His eyes darted toward the door, fear clouding his features. And before I could say another word, he turned and left.

The lock clicked behind him.

And just like that, my hope crumbled.

I stood there, frozen, the weight of my reality crushing down on me. No one will help me. Gabriel's influence ran deeper than I had imagined, his shadow stretching over everything—even the people who might have saved me.