The Unraveling

Jane's heart pounded as Luke's grip tightened around her wrist, his fingers like iron shackles around her delicate skin. She tried to resist, to pull away, but he was stronger, his determination unwavering. The drive was long, silent, and suffocating. When they finally arrived at his penthouse on the outskirts, her breath hitched. The place was grand yet eerily secluded.

The moment they stepped inside, she realized she wasn't just a guest—she was a prisoner. Her room was lavish, yet everything in it felt foreign. Dresses filled the wardrobe, each one more revealing than the next. Silky, backless gowns and high-slit skirts lined the racks—clothing that made her skin crawl. They were not hers. They were not her choice.

She refused to wear them. Instead, she curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped around herself for comfort. Before drifting off to an uneasy sleep, she double-checked the locks, ensuring that at least this small act of defiance remained hers.

The next morning, a soft knock startled her awake. The door creaked open, revealing Paul

She instinctively took a step back, her body pressing against the wall. "I... I do not prefer to wear exposing clothes," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paul's brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. Something flickered in his eyes—regret? Guilt? She wasn't sure. But his sigh was heavy, filled with something she couldn't understand.

"Come downstairs," he said, motioning toward the door.

She hesitated. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to stay put, to not trust him, but hunger gnawed at her. Cautiously, she followed, her steps slow and hesitant.

The dining area was just as extravagant as the rest of the house, but Jane barely noticed. She eyed the food warily, the memory of being drugged still fresh in her mind.

Paul watched her, reading her hesitation. With another sigh, he reached over and took a bite from her plate. "Satisfied?" he asked, his tone softer now.

Jane swallowed hard, waiting for a reaction. When nothing happened, she hesitantly picked up her fork and began eating.

"I'll be going out for a while," Paul said once they finished. "To get you clothes."

Her head snapped up, eyes widening slightly.

"Behave," he warned, his tone firm but not unkind. "And don't try to escape. We're not inside the town, do you see that?"

He gestured toward the large glass walls surrounding the home. Jane turned her head, her breath catching in her throat. The wilderness stretched endlessly before her—beautiful yet ominous. Tall trees loomed, their shadows dancing against the glass. The realization settled like a stone in her stomach. She was trapped. Even if she ran, where would she go?

Seeing her obedience, Paul smiled in satisfaction. He reached for the car keys, but before leaving, he did something that made her blood freeze—he leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

Jane flinched, her body recoiling instinctively.

His jaw tensed, his eyes darkening for a split second. But he said nothing. Instead, he exhaled sharply, turned on his heel, and locked the door behind him.

Jane waited, heart hammering in her chest. She listened intently for any sign of Paul returning, her ears straining against the silence. Minutes passed. Then half an hour.

She moved cautiously, scanning the room with wary eyes. Her fingers trailed over the cold glass walls, taking in the vast wilderness outside. There was no one out there. No sign of help. But she wasn't going to let that deter her.

As she turned, her gaze caught something small but crucial—surveillance cameras mounted discreetly in the hallway. Her stomach clenched. He was watching her.

Swallowing her panic, Jane forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't let him know she'd noticed. If he suspected anything, he'd only tighten his control.

With feigned curiosity, she strolled through the house, running her fingers along furniture, peering at the artwork, acting as though she was simply exploring.

Miles away, Paul had pulled his car over and unlocked his phone. His thumb tapped an app, and instantly, the live feed of his home flickered onto the screen. His lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he watched Jane meander through the house without urgency.

"Good girl," he murmured. "You're learning."

Tossing his phone onto the passenger seat, Paul continued his drive. He stopped at an upscale boutique, selecting clothes that were more suited to Jane's modest taste. He even picked up comfortable shoes and undergarments, as if the simple act of catering to her needs would bring her closer to him.

His mind wandered as he reached for his phone again, eager to check on her. But before he could see the screen, a sharp pain exploded across his jaw.

Paul staggered back, a curse slipping past his lips. His vision blurred for a split second before he met the furious glare of the man standing over him.

Nick.

Another punch landed—this one harder, angrier. Paul hit the pavement with a grunt, his reflexes kicking in as he swung back, connecting his fist with Nick's ribs.

Nick barely flinched. Instead, he grabbed Paul by the collar, his breathing ragged. "Where is Jane?" he growled.

Paul wiped the blood from his lip and let out a dry chuckle. "Why are you asking me about your girlfriend?" His voice dripped with mockery.

Nick's patience snapped. "Don't test me, Paul. I know you took her." His tone was lethal, eyes burning with rage.

A calm but firm voice interrupted them.

"Enough," Adam stepped in, placing himself between them. "Paul, we have proof. We saw the surveillance from last night. Just tell us where she is before this gets worse."

Paul's expression remained unreadable. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said smoothly. "I did meet Jane last night, but only to apologize. She had a little too much to drink, so I booked a cab for her. That's all."

Paul smirked. "I hope you find her soon, Nick." He stepped back, turning away just as a crowd began to gather.

Adam placed a firm hand on Nick's chest, holding him back. "Not here," he warned. "People are watching. We'll find her, but we need to be smart about it."

Nick exhaled sharply, rage burning beneath his skin. But he nodded. "Then we follow him."

They climbed into Adam's car, their focus locked on Paul's vehicle.

Paul noticed them in his rearview mirror and smirked. He pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal. The chase was on.

Adam kept up, weaving through traffic. But Paul, growing impatient, took a reckless risk—he sped through a red light.

Nick shouted as their car skidded to a stop, forced to avoid a collision. By the time they recovered, Paul was gone.

Nick slammed his fist against the dashboard. "Damn it!"

Adam's grip tightened on the wheel. "We'll get him. And when we do, he'll tell us where Jane is."

Nick's jaw clenched. "He'd better. Or I swear, I'll make him talk."

Jane felt utterly helpless. No matter where she went in the house, cameras followed her every move—except in her room. That was the only place she had privacy.

As soon as she noticed the surveillance, she quickly retreated to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Her heart pounded as she scanned the space, searching for a way out. But there was none. No window, no hidden exit. Just a tall glass panel stretching to the ceiling, offering her nothing but a view of the endless wilderness.

She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, her eyes scanning outside in desperate hope. Maybe someone would pass by. Maybe she could scream for help.

But after nearly an hour of waiting, nothing. No one.

Then, the sound of a car engine broke the silence. Jane's breath caught in her throat as she saw Paul's car pull into the driveway. Panic surged through her, and she quickly moved away from the window, not wanting him to see her.

A few minutes later, a knock echoed on her door.

"Jane." Paul's voice was calm, but she could hear the underlying authority.

She hesitated before unlocking the door. Keeping her eyes down, she opened it slightly.

Paul exhaled in irritation. "How long are you going to keep avoiding me?"

She said nothing.

Instead, he handed her a shopping bag. "See what I got for you," he said, his tone softer this time.

Jane took it from his hand, barely managing a quiet, "Thank you."

"Join me for dinner," he said simply before walking away.

She closed the door and locked it again. Her hands trembled as she looked through the bag. Inside were simple clothes—a t-shirt and shorts. She let out a relieved sigh until she reached deeper into the bag.

Lingerie.

Her stomach twisted in anger. She clenched her teeth, her fingers tightening around the delicate fabric. She wanted to throw it out, to set it on fire—but she had no choice. She couldn't wear the same clothes forever. Grinding her teeth, she forced herself to change.

When she was done, she dragged her feet downstairs.

Paul stood in the open kitchen, silently preparing dinner. He didn't speak. Neither did she. This had become their routine—every day, he would go to work, return home, and cook for her. And every day, she would sit there, cut off from the outside world, feeling like a robot trapped in an endless cycle.

Days turned into weeks. Then a month passed.

Nothing changed.

That night, like always, Paul asked her to join him for dinner. But this time, something was different.

For the first time, Jane really looked at him.

He was handsome—almost unfairly so. Chiseled jawline, sharp features, and eyes that held an unreadable depth. He could have any woman he wanted.

So why her?

Why was he doing this to her?

Her gaze lingered on him longer than usual.

Paul must have noticed because when he looked up, he smiled—an easy, confident smile that made something stir inside her. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat and quickly looked away.

But Paul saw it. And it made his heart swell.

Maybe winning her over wouldn't be as impossible as he thought.

When dinner was ready, she quietly took her seat. Paul sat beside her, closer than usual.

She stole glances at him without realizing it.

And every time she did, his smile grew.

"Jane," he said gently. "You can talk to me."

His voice was warm, inviting.

But Jane wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to the man who held her captive.

Jane hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just have a question."

Paul looked up from the table, setting the dish in front of her. "Tell me."

She swallowed, gathering her courage. "Why me?"

The question made him freeze. His hands paused mid-motion, and his gaze locked onto hers. Jane quickly dropped her eyes to the plate, afraid of what she might see in his expression.

A few moments passed before he finally spoke. "You'll understand if I show you."

Before she could respond, he reached for her hand. Instinct told her to pull away, but she didn't. Instead, she let him lead her upstairs to a room directly opposite hers.

Paul punched in a number code, and the lock beeped softly before the door swung open.

Jane stepped inside cautiously. The room was dim at first, but as Paul switched on the light, her breath caught in her throat.

Paintings.

The walls were covered in them.

And they were all of her.

She stared, wide-eyed, taking slow steps forward. The first painting she saw was of a woman with her back turned, standing by a window. The silhouette was unmistakable—her.

She moved to the next painting. It was a familiar scene—a construction site. The day she helped him. He had captured every detail perfectly, from the dirt on her clothes to the determination in her eyes.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, barely touching the canvas.

Another painting showed Paul looking at her, his expression soft, almost longing. Another depicted her laughing, her hand held by someone just out of frame.

Her chest tightened. It was as if he had lived in a world of his own imagination, painting a version of them that had never existed.

Paul's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"I was always an obedient son," he began, his voice low, almost distant. "I never questioned my parents' decisions. I never lacked talent or wealth. But my dream… my only dream was to be a painter."

Jane turned to look at him.

His eyes held something deep, something broken.

"My father didn't approve," he continued. "He forced me into business, so I did what he wanted. I built my empire, became the director of BTF, all on my own. I never asked for anything in my life."

He paused, looking directly at her.

"Except for one thing."

The air between them grew heavy.

"I wanted to marry a woman I truly loved."

Jane's breath hitched.

"I never had time for dating, and no woman ever interested me," Paul admitted. "Until the day you walked into my life. You saved me, Jane. Not once, but twice. At first, I was just curious about you… the same way Nick was. But curiosity turned into something else. Something I couldn't ignore."

His voice grew softer.

"I searched for you everywhere. For months. And just when I was about to give up… there you were. Standing in my office."

Jane's stomach twisted. She remembered that day clearly.

She never imagined that, all this time, he had been looking for her.

Paul exhaled sharply. "I lost control when I found out you were with Nick. The only thing I ever wanted in my life… taken by my own friend."

He shook his head, his jaw tightening.

"I know what I did after that was wrong. I know I hurt you." His voice broke slightly, and Jane's chest ached at the vulnerability in his eyes. "But all I'm asking for is a chance. Just one chance to prove myself to you."

A single tear escaped his eye.

Jane almost reached out to him. Almost.

But she stopped herself.

This was not the time to be kind.

She took a slow breath. "What if I don't like you, even after getting to know you?" she asked softly. "Will you let me go?"

Paul's expression hardened. He wiped his tear away, letting out a small, humorless scoff.

He stepped closer.

Too close.

Jane tensed as his hands came up to cup her cheeks, his touch firm but gentle. She tried to step back, but he held her in place.

"So that's all you care about?" he whispered. "Escaping from me?"

Her breath hitched.

"You're not even willing to give me a chance," he murmured.

She struggled to free herself, but he only pulled her closer.

And then he kissed her.

Jane's eyes widened in shock. She fought against him, pushing at his chest, but he was stronger. Desperation flared inside her, and without thinking, she bit down on his lower lip.

Paul groaned in pain, jerking back.

Before he could react, she raised her leg and kicked him—hard.

He stumbled, gripping his jaw. Blood trickled from his lip as he looked at her with a mixture of shock and something unreadable.

Jane was gasping for breath, her body trembling.

When he stepped toward her again, she slapped him. Hard.

Tears streamed down her face.

"You say you love me," she choked out. "Is this love? Am I just something for you to own?"

Paul's expression darkened.

"Is this how you show love?" she cried. "By drugging me? Keeping me locked up? You talk about wanting me, but all you've done is hurt me!"

Paul stood there, taking in her words.

Guilt flickered in his eyes.

"Jane…" His voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know any other way to keep you with me."

He sounded so lost.

Jane wiped her tears, forcing herself to breathe.

"Paul."

His entire body froze.

His heart pounded. It was the first time she had ever said his name.

"Do not be aggressive," she said firmly. "And listen to me."

Paul swallowed hard and nodded.

Jane's voice softened. "I understand your love after seeing all of this. I understand what it's like to love someone before even getting to know them."

She met his eyes, and for the first time, there was no anger.

Only sadness.

"But love is not force," she whispered.

Silence stretched between them.

For the first time since taking her, Paul felt… unsure.

And for the first time, Jane saw a glimpse of hope.

Jane took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking.

"There was a guy I once liked," she began, her voice distant, as if recalling a dream from another life.

Paul's jaw tensed. His grip on the chair tightened, but he stayed silent, letting her continue.

"My parents wanted to arrange a marriage for me," she said. "They showed me his picture, and I… I was drawn to him. I was young, impulsive. You could say I was obsessed with him."

She let out a humorless chuckle. "I dreamt of meeting him, marrying him. I was desperate to know him. But before I even got the chance, his family rejected me."

Paul's fists clenched.

"I even thought about flying to meet him, but fate had other plans. I had responsibilities. And in the end, my family arranged my marriage with someone else."

She exhaled slowly. "I accepted it as life and moved on. But it didn't last. We parted ways, and when I came to California, I had long forgotten about that guy."

Paul's voice was cold. "Did you meet him?"

Jane flinched slightly at the sharpness in his tone, but she held her ground.

"Yes," she admitted. "Through a friend, I met him… and we became friends."

Paul's frustration bubbled over. "Where is he now?"

Jane narrowed her eyes. "Why? Are you planning to go after him?"

His jaw tightened. "I will kill him."

The raw jealousy in his eyes made her smile.

Paul frowned, confused by her reaction.

"You shouldn't jump to conclusions, Paul," she said calmly, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

His heart pounded.

It wasn't just her words—it was the way she said his name.

His anger melted.

"He was married," she continued. "On his birthday, he told me about his wife."

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable.

"I was jealous at first," she admitted. "But I knew… he was never mine to begin with. And I could see how much he loved his wife."

Paul stayed silent, his emotions unreadable.

Jane's eyes softened. "I confessed to him—not because I wanted to take him away—but because I wanted him to know who I was. Who I could have been to him."

She sighed. "He regretted it."

Paul's fists remained clenched, but his gaze never left her.

"If I had thought like you," she said, her voice calm but firm, "it wouldn't have taken me a second to make him mine. I could have separated him from his wife. I could have gone to great lengths, just like you did with me."

She met Paul's eyes.

"But I didn't."

Silence hung between them.

"Because love should be mutual," she said softly. "Not just one-sided."

Paul's chest rose and fell heavily.

"So, I let him go," she whispered. "I helped him find his love again."

Her words lingered in the air.

"This is the difference between you and me," she continued. "I knew he didn't belong to me… and I let him go. You should do the same."

She searched his face, hoping—praying—that he would understand.

Paul exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a small smile. "You've earned my respect, Jane."

But then his expression darkened. "But I am selfish."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"If I had met you before Nick," Paul asked, his voice low, "would you have seen me differently?"

Jane stiffened.

"For just one second, forget how we met," he said. "Forget the past. Imagine that I was in Nick's place instead."

Jane's breath caught.

She looked away.

Paul took a step closer.

This time, he didn't grab her. Didn't force her.

He simply reached out and took her hand—gently.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me," he whispered. "I just want an honest answer."

Jane closed her eyes.

She forced herself to push Nick away from her thoughts.

For the first time, she let herself imagine a different reality.

A world where she had met Paul first.

She saw it—the scenes from his paintings.

She saw herself in them.

Saw the way he had painted her, not just with his hands but with his heart.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

She opened her eyes.

And Paul understood.

She didn't need to say anything.

He saw the answer written in her eyes.

A small, bittersweet smile formed on his lips. His own eyes glistened, but he didn't stop the tears from falling.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

For the first time, he didn't try to hold onto her.

Because for the first time…

He had finally seen what he longed to see.