Chapter 9

1109 Words
Christine’s POV I had woken up to the dull ache that had spread through every inch of my body, each sore spot a testament to Luca’s unyielding demands from the night before. He had already disappeared, but his presence lingered, filling every corner of the luxurious but confining house. The clothes draped over the armchair—chosen by him, tailored to his tastes—felt like shackles, physical reminders of his control. Even the sheets held his scent, an oppressive reminder of how he saw me, of what he thought I was here for. Weakness from my recent fever still weighed on me, and when I’d tried to stand, dizziness had washed over me, forcing me to grip the bedpost to steady myself. Despite feeling drained, some inner frustration had propelled me to find him. I hadn’t been sure what I would say, but the bitterness that had simmered inside me for weeks now demanded release. I had stumbled down the quiet hallways, feeling like an unwelcome guest in my own skin. Finally, I’d found him in his study, his back to me, his voice low as he spoke to someone in rapid Italian. I’d caught fragments, his words sharp and demanding. The impatience in his tone had pricked at something deep inside me. When he’d hung up and turned to face me, his expression had shifted to one of faint irritation, as if even seeing me was an inconvenience. “You’re up,” he’d noted flatly, barely glancing my way. I had bristled at his casual disregard, the lack of acknowledgment for anything I’d been through these past days. “You left without saying anything,” I’d replied, my voice a mixture of anger and exhaustion. He’d shrugged, his expression indifferent. “I had business to handle. You’re still here, aren’t you?” The casual dismissal in his words had struck me like a blow, reigniting the rage I’d tried so hard to swallow. I’d taken a steadying breath, pushing down the sting of hurt. “I’ve had enough,” I’d managed to say, my voice wavering despite my best effort. “I want out of this... whatever this is.” Luca’s eyebrows had lifted in mild amusement, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “You think I’m a charity case, Christine?” His voice had held a hint of mockery, as if he’d been entertained by the very idea. “No,” I’d shot back, fists clenching. “I just don’t want to be here anymore.” He’d leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression cold. “And how do you plan on repaying me?” “Repaying you?” I’d echoed, the word twisting painfully in my chest. “What exactly do you think I owe you?” Luca had looked at me with a mix of disbelief and disdain, as if he’d found my question absurd. “Everything,” he’d answered, his voice low and deadly serious. “The house, the clothes, the doctors... even the food you’ve eaten. I don’t run a free service, Christine.” The fury bubbling up inside me had been overwhelming, but I’d held it down, just barely. “Fine. Tell me the cost.” He’d listed it without a hint of hesitation, his voice cold and clinical. “The expenses come to just under one million euros. Do you have that lying around somewhere?” My mouth had gone dry, my stomach knotting painfully as he’d continued, every word twisting the knife deeper. “If you want to leave, you’ll have to settle the debt,” he’d said, his smirk widening as he leaned closer. “Unless, of course, you’re content with fulfilling your end of the contract.” I’d forced myself to hold his gaze, my hands trembling with suppressed rage. “How could you... how could you put a price on every second I’ve been trapped here?” He’d shrugged, a dismissive gesture that only deepened the wound. “Every service comes with a price, Christine. Nothing is free.” As the words settled between us, a dark, bitter realization had begun to unfurl in my mind. This had been his plan all along—to make me dependent, to keep me under his thumb until I had no choice but to stay. Silence had stretched out, thick and oppressive, and I’d fought the prickling behind my eyes, unwilling to let him see me break. His gaze had softened slightly, or maybe it was just a flicker of curiosity, as if he’d found my reaction somewhat puzzling. “You should eat,” he’d said finally, his voice dropping to a tone that might have been mistaken for concern. “And take your medication. I can’t have you falling ill again.” A bitter laugh had bubbled up, but I’d swallowed it, feeling my chest tighten painfully. For a brief, foolish moment, I’d almost let myself believe he’d cared. But as he’d stepped forward and scooped me up, cradling me against him with that maddening strength, I’d felt my hopes wither. He’d carried me to the bed, his touch commanding, unyielding. I’d tried to resist, pushing weakly at his chest, but he’d only given me that look, the one that sent a shiver of both fear and resentment down my spine. “Stop pretending you’re not mine,” he’d whispered, his fingers working to remove my clothes with a terrifying patience. In that moment, as he’d moved over me, pressing me down, I’d realized that he would never see me as anything more than a possession. No matter how much I’d wanted to believe otherwise, he’d shattered that illusion with every movement, every degrading word. He’d taken what he wanted, his need consuming every ounce of resistance I’d had left. And with each thrust, each quiet, mocking whisper, I’d felt my anger solidify into something darker. I’d hated him. Hated the way he’d made me depend on him, hated the way he’d disregarded my pain, hated the way he’d bound me to him in a web of debt and control. As he’d finally fallen asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even, I’d lain there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind spiraling with thoughts I could barely grasp. The silence was deafening, the darkness pressing in around me, and I’d wondered how much longer I could endure this before I broke entirely. I’d promised myself I’d hold on. Just until I could find a way out, until I could escape this twisted arrangement. But as the hours passed and my hatred festered, I’d realized that with every day, every encounter, that promise became harder to keep.
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