Chapter 3: Her Captor

Sofia stood in front of Dr. Christopher's office door, took a deep breath, and knocked softly.

"Come in," his voice called.

She stepped inside, carefully placing the files on his desk. "The reports you requested."

Dr. Christopher glanced up and gave a familiar smile—the kind that made her skin crawl lately.

"Sofia, how many times do I have to tell you? When it's just the two of us, call me Chris."

She offered a tight smile, avoiding his gaze. "Right... Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

He stood up slowly, eyes scanning her too deliberately. "Go ahead."

She hesitated. "I need some help. Financially. It's my mom—she's hospitalized and the bills have gotten out of hand. I've cleared most of the debt, but there's still about 2.5 million left."

"2.5 million?" He nodded casually. "Consider it done."

Her heart leapt. "Wait—seriously? You'd cover it?"

"Of course. Anything for you." He smiled again—but this time, there was a smirk behind it. "There's just one thing I'd like in return."

Her joy faltered. "What would that be?"

"It's simple." He stepped closer. "I want you to spend the night with me."

Sofia blinked, caught between shock and disgust. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He didn't flinch. "I've always found you attractive, Sofia. You're smart, beautiful... and way sexier than my wife."

"You're married," she said flatly. "And this is completely inappropriate. I'm your employee."

"No one has to know," he murmured, now mere inches away. "We could have a good time. I could even upgrade your apartment."

"You're disgusting," she spat. "I'm not that desperate."

She turned to leave, but he moved swiftly, locking the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" she backed against the wall.

"No need to panic. You'll enjoy it... I promise," he whispered, his eyes burning with predatory lust. His hand slid toward his pants.

"You're insane," she muttered, reaching for her phone. "I'm calling the police."

He grabbed her wrist. "Think carefully. Who do you think they'll believe? A desperate nurse drowning in debt—or a respected, married doctor?"

His hand moved toward her thigh.

Fury ignited in her chest.

"You're a goddamn psychopath!"

She shoved him back with both arms, then landed a swift, brutal kick between his legs. He collapsed with a howl of pain.

"You son of a bitch, you will regret this! kiss your Job goodbye!," He hissed.

Grabbing a stack of folders and hurling them at him as he writhed. "Keep your money. And your job."

She stormed out, heart pounding, tears burning her eyes as she grabbed her things from her office in a rage. Her world had collapsed in one disgusting moment.

She didn't look back.

Earlier that day...

"Boss, the file you requested," Luca said, handing over the folder.

Vincenzo leaned back in his chair, flipping through the documents.

"Sofia Fiore. Twenty-six. Degree holder. Full-time nurse. Waitress on the side." He raised a brow. "Father died in prison for embezzlement. Mother hospitalized after a stroke. No living relatives. Debt of over 3.5 million."

He closed the file and stared at her photo.

"I figured she was struggling, the way she ranted... Look at where she lives."

He tossed the file aside and rubbed his chin. "Maybe I should forget about her. But there's something about her..."

His voice softened.

"The color of her hair... reminds me of her."

He stood up, the photo still in his hand.

"I want to know her. Not through paper. I want to see who she really is."

He turned to Luca.

"Bring her to me."

Luca nodded. "Understood."

"And Luca?" Vincenzo's voice turned sharp.

"Don't harm a hair on her head."

"Yes, boss."

As Luca left, Vincenzo flipped through the file again, reading the smaller details.

"Allergic to cheese, loves reading, hates black coffee..." He scoffed under his breath. "Who the hell hates black coffee?"

Still, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

☆☆☆☆☆

Sofia collapsed face-first onto her bed, still in her scrubs. The events of the night weighed down on her like a mountain. Her job—gone. Her source of income—gone. Her dignity, after what that bastard tried—fractured.

"Shit," she muttered into her pillow, the hopelessness crashing in. Rent, her mom's treatment, food—how the hell was she supposed to survive now?

Then came a knock.

She froze.

Who the hell knocks at midnight?

She dragged herself off the bed, heart suddenly on alert. She crept toward the door and called out, "Who is it?"

"Maintenance," came a muffled male voice.

She looked through the peephole. A man in a plumber's uniform stood there, toolbox in hand. He even scratched his head like he was confused. Looked legit.

Finally. About time the landlord sent someone.

She opened the door slightly. The man smiled. But before she could say anything, he shoved past her, and in one swift move, a cloth was pressed hard against her nose.

Chloroform.

Panic surged through her. She clawed at his arms, tried to scream, but her limbs went weak—fast. Her knees buckled as darkness took her.

"Prendile le gambe," the man—Luca—said coldly.

Two others stepped in and lifted her unconscious body. Without a word, they carried her down and into the back of a black car, speeding off into the night.

---

The Next Morning

Sofia stirred.

For a brief second, she thought it had all been a nightmare.

Until her eyes opened.

The bed was too soft. The sheets too smooth. The scent too expensive.

She bolted upright.

This wasn't her apartment.

"Shit."

She scanned the lavish room. Cream walls. Gold accents. . Everything screamed money. But also prison. She rushed to the door. Locked.

She tried the windows. One was open—but she was on the second floor. Below was a garden with trimmed hedges and guards pacing the grounds.

Curtains. She yanked them off, tied them together into a makeshift rope. It didn't reach the ground—but it would get her close enough.

She climbed out and started to descend. Her feet scraped the wall, her hands burning as she slid.

She landed with a thud, rolled, and kept low. Move. Move. Don't stop.

She made it past the hedges, into what looked like private woods surrounding the mansion.

Then she heard it.

"È scappata! Trovatela!"

Her heart jumped.

They noticed she was gone. They're Italian? What the hell do Italians want with me?

She ducked behind a tree, breathing hard.

"Spread out! Look for her!" one of them shouted in English.

Shit.

She spotted a lake up ahead. Maybe a boat. Maybe someone fishing. Maybe hope. She darted toward it—but just as she reached the clearing—

A man stepped out in front of her.

"Please don't think about it," he said calmly.

She spun—another man was behind her.

"Who are you?! What do you want from me?" she shouted, panic bubbling to the surface.

"Please, just come back to the house," one of them said, as if they were inviting her to brunch.

"Hell no!"

She lunged sideways to escape—but one grabbed her wrist. She twisted free, but the motion sent all three of them stumbling. They tumbled down a slope, rolling violently. A tree root struck her temple.

Everything went black.

°°°°°

Sofia stirred with a groan, the pounding in her head like a hammer striking steel. Her eyelids felt like lead, but she forced them open, blinking against the soft light pouring into the elegant room. Panic crept back into her chest like smoke filling a sealed room.

She tried to sit up, but the sharp throb in her skull made her wince. Her hand flew instinctively to the side of her head where the pain radiated—dried blood crusted in her hair, evidence of the fall from earlier. Her eyes darted around. The window—once slightly open—was now firmly shut and bolted from the inside. Her first escape route: gone.

She swung her legs off the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold marble floor, grounding her in reality. This wasn't a dream. She had been kidnapped. This was real.

In front of her, on a small silver tray laid neatly on a coffee table, sat a plate of food—scrambled eggs, toast, fruit slices, and a glass of water. It looked warm, fresh… and completely suspicious. Her stomach growled angrily, but instinct screamed caution. She wasn't foolish. She wouldn't touch anything that might sedate her again. Instead, she picked up the fork, her fingers trembling slightly, and slipped it into the waistband of her pants. It wasn't much, but it was good enough. If she couldn't fight her way out, she would outsmart them. She hadn't survived this long in life by being weak.

She crept quietly to the door and tested the handle. It was locked, of course. But after a few moments of desperately jiggling and picking at the mechanism with the fork, there was a soft click. Her heart leapt. The door creaked open a sliver. She poked her head out and glanced around. The corridor outside was lined with more expensive furnishings, grand paintings, and polished wood floors. It looked like a palace.

But her moment of hope was short-lived.

A tall man dressed immaculately in a black suit stood just outside, clearly stationed as a guard. His posture was rigid, hands clasped in front of him like a soldier, his face unreadable. He turned his head the moment he saw the door crack open.

"Where am I, and who the hell are you?" Sofia asked, voice low but filled with fire.

The man didn't flinch. "Ma'am, please," he said with a gentle firmness, "you need to return to the room and have your meal. It's been hours and you haven't eaten. You need to regain your strength." He spoke English but he heard an Italian accent.

"Don't act like this is some luxury spa," she snapped, stepping out fully now, the fork still hidden in her waistband. "You people drugged me. You kidnapped me from my home in the middle of the night. That's not care—it's a crime. This is kidnapping! Let me out of here!" Sofia screamed, her voice echoing through the towering marble hallway of the mansion. Her once-pristine clothes were torn and dirt-streaked, a testament to her desperate attempts to escape the gilded prison that held her.

Standing like a silent sentinel, the butler—Alessandro —offered only a courteous bow.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Miss, you must remain in your room until the boss says otherwise" he said, his tone calm, yet unyielding.

Sofia's voice cracked as it rose again, thick with fear.

"Fuck whoever is the boss, my mother is sick. She needs me—who's going to take care of her?"

From the far end of the hallway, cloaked in shadows, came a low, deliberate voice.

"And here I thought you'd be more... fire than fear."

A figure emerged slowly from the dark—sharp suit, sharper eyes, and a presence that pulled the very air from the room. As sunlight hit his face, Sofia's breath caught. She knew him. The arrogant man from the diner. The man she'd spoken to like he was just another rich brat.

"You?" she spat. "What the hell is this? Revenge?"

He stopped a few paces away, lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"For someone trapped in my home, you speak with remarkable boldness. But let me make something clear—you're under my roof now. And here, you speak with respect."

There was something in his voice—cold, smooth, and dangerous. A predator circling its prey. But Sofia didn't flinch. She stood taller, meeting his gaze with defiance. For the first time in a long while, someone wasn't trembling before him... and that intrigued him. But he would break her. Slowly. Thoroughly.

"Spare me the rich-man theatrics," she snapped. "I don't care who you are. I just want to go home."

His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, the air between them tightening like a noose.

"You're not going anywhere until your debt is paid."

She blinked. "What debt? I don't owe you anything."

He leaned in, his voice a whisper laced with venom.

"No... but your mother does. Two-point-five million dollars, if I'm not mistaken." A pause. A cruel smirk. "I own the hospital now. So guess who holds the strings?"

Sofia's bravado faltered. Her mind raced.

"What do you want? An apology?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He chuckled.

"An apology?" He stepped even closer, his breath grazing her skin.

"I'm going to need much more than that... Fiore."

The way he said her last name froze her blood. That was when she realized—she wasn't just in trouble. She was in his world now. And he never played fair.