Chapter 1 (Part 2): The Prisoner in the Dark

Liora woke up again, her body aching but more alert than before. It had been hours, and the grogginess of her previous unconsciousness was now replaced with a strange clarity. She tried to move, but the ropes binding her arms and legs held her firm, leaving her no room to act. For a moment, the frustration grew inside her. Now that she was somewhat rested, she had hoped she could make a move, but it seemed hopeless. The ropes were too tight, and she was too weak.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, trying to focus her mind. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning her surroundings, but there wasn't much to see. The only light came from the small window at the side, a narrow slit in the wall. The moon hung in the sky outside, casting a soft, eerie glow into the room. The sight of it made her stomach churn. The moon looked closer than it should—unnaturally close, like it was hanging just above her head. The thought made her pulse quicken, and a knot of dread formed in her chest.

The sound, too, was starting to make sense. The low, steady hum had been in the background for a while now, but it was only when she focused on it that she realized the truth. The sound was unmistakable. The drone of an engine, constant and powerful. She wasn't just in some dark room; she was on a plane. A chill washed over her as her thoughts raced, trying to piece together what had happened.

She strained to remember the last thing she had done, the events that had led her here. She had been so focused on her job, so determined to prove herself, that she hadn't even noticed the strange turn her day had taken.

She had been in a rush that morning, arguing with her parents again. The fight had started over something small but escalated quickly. They had been insistent that she go on a blind date with the son of her father's old friend. She had refused, her frustration building with every word they spoke. Her father had called her stubborn, and her mother had said she'd end up alone. She stormed out of the house, the air outside cool against her heated face.

But she couldn't let the argument distract her for long. She had a big day ahead. A meeting with a potential client at one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, owned by Blackthorne Inc. The restaurant was fully booked for the day, but her reservation had been special. She was escorted to a private VIP table, where she sat waiting.

The wait was long, and the irritation from earlier returned. She checked the time again. Thirty minutes late. The client hadn't shown up. Her mind kept racing, and she tried to distract herself with a drink. The glass was placed in front of her by the server, and she accepted it absentmindedly. The first sip was fine, nothing unusual. But as the minutes passed, the drink went down easily, and before she knew it, she had consumed too much.

Something was wrong. The weight in her head became unbearable, her eyelids heavy. She glanced at the clock again. Still no client. Her frustration grew. She stood up to leave, but the room tilted. Everything became blurry, like a film reel that was spinning too fast. She couldn't focus. Her body felt heavy, and then—nothing.

The last thing she remembered was the door opening. A man entered the room. His voice was deep and smooth, the words unsettling. "You're finally where you belong, Baby Girl."

And then, everything had gone dark.

Now, lying in this unknown place, bound and helpless, Liora couldn't help but wonder what had happened in that moment. How had she ended up here? Who was that man? And why did she feel so… powerless?

She pulled against the ropes again, but the pain in her wrists and ankles made her stop. The skin was raw, bruised. She was too weak, too tired, and her body screamed for rest.

Minutes—or hours—seemed to pass, and Liora lay there, her thoughts drifting. Her mind went back to the last conversation with her parents, to the harsh words she had spoken, telling them she hated them. The regret gnawed at her. She had never meant it, but the argument had stung too much. Now, it seemed like the weight of everything—the distance between her and them—was a shadow hanging over her.

Her head jerked up when she heard footsteps approaching. Someone was coming. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Liora's vision blurred again, but she could see the shape clearly enough.

The man spoke, his voice cold, yet oddly affectionate in the dark rom. "How are you feeling, Baby Girl?"

Liora tried to speak, to curse at him, to demand answers, but her mouth betrayed her. The words came out as nothing more than incoherent sounds, a jumble of useless syllables. Panic rose inside her as the frustration of being unable to communicate properly took hold.

The man chuckled softly, almost as if he found her distress amusing. He pulled out a syringe and set it on the nightstand by the bed. Liora's heart hammered in her chest as she tried to make sense of the situation.

He moved closer, his eyes cold and calculating as he examined her hands and feet. "You're in a lot of pain," he murmured. "But I'll take care of you."

The man disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and Liora quickly took a deep breath, her heart hammering in her chest. She had to act now. Time was slipping away, and she could feel the weight of her decision pressing on her.

When he returned, he was holding a small tube of cream. He sat beside her, his fingers gentle as he took her sore hands in his, massaging the ointment into her raw skin. His touch was almost tender, and it sent a shiver through her—not from comfort, but from the feeling of being trapped. It was a careful, calculated kindness, and it only made her feel more ensnared.

His hands moved to the ropes around her wrists, and she felt the sharp, painful tension ease as he unlocked them. Though Liora was still in agony, a spark of hope flickered inside her. This was her moment, the one she had been waiting for. But just as she thought she could make a move, he pulled on a rope, and the bed beneath her shifted. The shift wasn't enough to free her entirely, but she was no longer confined to the mattress. Her hands and legs were still bound.

He retrieved a small key from his pocket and unlocked the ropes, one by one. First, he released her hands, and the pain in her wrists flared briefly as he massaged the cream into them. The tenderness of his touch, though seemingly kind, only heightened the dread that coiled in her stomach.

After her hands were free, he moved to her legs, loosening the ropes around her ankles. He massaged the cream into her sore legs with the same deliberate, almost soothing care. Every stroke of his hands deepened her helplessness. She was at his mercy—yet still, she couldn't wait any longer. The moment was fleeting, and she had to act now.

She felt the sharp ache of exhaustion in her muscles, the weight of the ordeal settling deep into her bones. But her body screamed for freedom, and she gathered every last bit of strength she had left. With a sudden, desperate motion, she kicked him, her legs propelling him backward with surprising force. He staggered back; eyes wide with shock.

Liora seized the opportunity. With every ounce of energy she could muster, she pushed herself into a sitting position, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She was weak, her body screaming for rest, but she couldn't stop. This was her chance. It had to be.

She tried to steady her breath, feeling her body fight against her, but she couldn't stop now. The pain in her limbs was excruciating, but she pushed it down, focusing on the one thing that mattered—escaping.

Her gaze flickered to the syringe on the bedside table. It was still there. Her chance. Her pulse quickened as she moved toward it, hoping for the smallest spark of hope.

With a swift motion, and as quickly as she could, she grabbed the syringe and started to approach the mysterious man in the dark room. She moved closer, her legs spreading on either side of him, and tried to punch him with one hand, hoping to overpower him.

she swung the hand holding the syringe, aiming to stab him with whatever was inside. But just before the needle could reach him, he caught her wrist, he was faster than she expected. He grabbed her hand, causing her to lose her balance for a moment. Frustrated and Desperate, she quickly tried to punch him with her other hand, hoping to break free, but he seized that one too. Despite her desperate struggles, the man remained unfazed, lying beneath her, holding both of her hands with unnerving ease.

She fought and tried to break free, but before she knew it, he had flipped them. Now he was on top of her, between her legs, and had locked both her hands above her head. She couldn't move. Her legs were heavy and weak, and she knew she had no more fight left to give, looking up at the man hiding in the dark.

He suddenly laughed, a low, unsettling sound, "You're full of surprises." He had said.

Liora tried to jerk her body away from his, but he pulled her closer in an unexpected movement. Before she knew it, she felt his head against her neck. lightly kissing her, from her throat to her mouth. She shook her head, trying to turn her face away, but he was too strong. He slowly stood up, almost as if he enjoyed it, and bent down to her ear. His voice was low almost a whisper and threatening.

"Soon, Baby Girl. Soon."

With one swift movement, he injected the syringe into her neck. She felt the sharp sting of the needle before a cold liquid spread through her veins. A wave of numbness washed over her, and her eyelids grew heavy. She fought to stay awake, but it was futile.

"What... what did you give me?" she managed, her voice weak, barely above a whisper. "And... what do you... mean, soon?"

Her words trailed off as her body grew limp. Before she could speak another word, the darkness began to close in, thick and inescapable. Her head grew heavy, her vision blurring into fog. She could barely keep her eyes open, her breath shallow and slow. The last thing she saw and felt was someone lift her up. A soft mattress was placed beneath her body, and a blanket was laid over her as if he was trying to keep her comfortable, but why? or perhaps ensure that she remained unconscious. Whatever his intentions were, it felt as though she was trapped in a world where she no longer had control. He placed his forehead to hers, as she looked into his eyes, his cold, gray-blue eyes—an unsettling mixture of superiority and something darker—as they bore into her, watching her slip into unconsciousness agan.