Chapter 7 – Ellie
Five days. That’s how long it’s been since I was trapped in this gilded cage. I still didn’t understand why I wasn’t thrown into a cell in the basement. These people kidnapped me because I knew too much and was probably a threat to someone they were protecting.
So why wasn’t I being treated like a kidnapped person? Why was I fed three times a day with rich delicacies I’d never tasted in my life? Why was I treated like a guest rather than a prisoner?
I’d injured a couple of men on the night of my abduction, and I thought that would trigger some vile reaction from the boss. But there was nothing like that. The man was calm as still water, quiet and composed.
Every day, I woke up to the same boring routine: freshen up, eat, pace around, think, and sleep. That’s all I’d been doing for the past five days. I hadn’t left this room since my arrival at wherever this place was.
My food was always served by a maid who barely looked me in the eyes or even said a word. Because of her prompt delivery, I never went hungry; she always brought my food on time. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
The first time she walked into my room with a tray of mouthwatering dishes, I refused to eat. I had no idea what was in the food, so I thought it was best to avoid it. But after she left, the aroma teased my nostrils, making my stomach growl.
For almost three hours, I starved myself, clutching a soft pillow to my chest. From where I lay on the comfy bed, I stared at the food tray, swallowing hard. Hunger pangs bit at my stomach, reminding me I needed food to survive.
I could’ve gone the whole day without even a drop of water. But then I thought it through. I wondered why I was torturing myself by refusing to eat. If my skepticism stemmed from the possibility that the food might be poisoned, then my logic was flawed.
Why poison me when my jailer could easily snuff out my life with his bare hands without changing a shade? It didn’t make sense at all.
So, I damned the consequences, got out of bed, and rushed over to the table. Besides, the aroma from that tray made it impossible to resist.
Just five days in here, and I was already losing my mind. No phones. No internet access. No books to read. I was trapped in every way possible, and all I wanted was some freedom and some fresh air.
The only person I’d seen in five days was the maid; tall, beautiful with long dark hair and grey eyes. I had no idea where I was because I was blinded on the night of my kidnapping. All I saw every day was this room.
The place was wide, almost twice as large as my living room. The walls were decorated with expensive-looking artworks and a couple of flower vases in strategic corners. The bed was bigger and softer than the one in my apartment.
A large flat-screen TV was mounted on a wall a few feet from a small living area. A couple of plush couches were arranged around a low coffee table.
The room was almost perfect, but it had no windows. No view of the outside to hint at where I was. The door was always locked from the outside, keeping me trapped in this box.
My jailer hadn’t come around since our last encounter when he walked out on me mid-conversation. No one had visited me regarding the case or what they planned to do to me.
I was left alone for reasons known only to my kidnappers. The silence was killing me, and the boredom was messing with my mind. I couldn’t help thinking maybe it’s all part of their plan—maybe I was feeling exactly what they wanted me to feel. Frustration.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with my hands under my pillow. My mind was reeling with the possible outcomes of this situation. Was I going to survive this? How long were they going to keep me here? How long until someone in the outside world noticed I was missing?
Maybe I should just drop the case and save my own skin. Clearly, that’s all this wicked man wanted: for me to drop the case. Was it wise to jeopardize my safety over this?
I was still deep in thought when the maid’s rhythmic knock snapped me back to the present. Seconds later, the door opened, and she walked in. My brows knitted together as I glanced at the wall clock in confusion.
I’d already had breakfast and lunch; dinner was what was left. Based on her routine, I wasn’t expecting her until seven in the evening. This was just four p.m. Strange. She was never here at this time of day.
“Good evening, Miss Hendy,” she greeted me, her polite voice laced with a Russian accent.
Usually, these were the only words she ever spoke when serving my meals. Nothing more. Nothing less.
However, this time everything was different. Instead of a tray of food, she was holding a red dress on a hanger. Her expression was softer, with a hidden grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
I sat up, watching her approach me, her flats soundless against the polished marble floor.
“I thought you only served me food,” I said, my first words to her. “It’s not dinner time yet.”
“I’m here on a separate errand.” She draped the dress over the mattress beside me.
“What’s this?” I asked, shifting my gaze between her and the dress.
“It’s what the boss wants you to wear tonight,” she answered, her head slightly bowed.
My brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”
“You’ll be leaving the estate with him by eight p.m. And he wants you to wear that.” She nodded at the dress.
I stared at her, still bewildered. “What if I don’t wanna go anywhere with him?”
“It’s not a request, ma’am,” she replied.
Ma’am?
The underlying threat was crystal clear. Cooperate, or face the consequences. I hated how much control he had over my life and how I had to dance to his tune. But I didn’t have a choice. My life was in this man’s hands, whether I liked it or not.
“Where’s he taking me?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “But he said to make you look your best, so I’m guessing it’s an important gala.”
I paused, wondering what this man was up to. He left me to rot in here for five days. And now, suddenly, he’s taking me with him to a function? Something wasn’t right.
“Would you like anything else?” she asked, glancing up at me.
I would like to not go anywhere with my kidnapper, thank you very much.
“No,” I said simply.
She gave a curt nod. “I’ll be back by seven to get you ready.”
I watched her turn around and head toward the door. “What’s your name?”
She stopped in her tracks and faced me again. “Agata.”
“I’m Ellie.”
Her response was a faint grin, and with that, she stepped out of my room.
My gaze shifted to the dress lying beside me, neat and properly pressed. I picked it up and headed to the full-length mirror across my bed. I placed the spaghetti-strapped gown in front of me, admiring the design.
From the quality of the fabric, I could tell that it must’ve cost a fortune. Money was never a problem for men like my jailer.
What’re you up to? I wondered, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
The next few hours sped by in a blur, and soon it was time to get me ready. Agata arrived at exactly seven in the evening, and this time she came with another lady.
She said she was the makeup artist hired to take care of my appearance. Together, the two women worked on my face and hair until I was completely transformed.
“Gorgeous.” Agata beamed, tilting the swivel chair to face the mirror in front of me.
I almost didn’t recognize my own reflection. The makeup, the hairstyle, and the dress made me like a different person—a high-class, sophisticated woman.
“Wow.” The soft exclamation fell off my lips before I could stop myself.
The professional really outdid herself on this one. The makeup was perfect. It matched my skin tone: light and natural. My light brown hair fell in effortless waves down my shoulders, and my lips were painted a bold shade of red.
“You look amazing,” the makeup artist said to me, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Thank you,” I replied, unable to suppress my grin.
Why did my jailer go the extra mile to transform me into this powerful woman? Where exactly was he taking me?
Did he forget I was his prisoner? What the hell was going on here? Should I be worried?
He fed me well for five days, and now he had me dressed up like a goddess. Why? Was this some sort of ritual? Because I was starting to feel a lot like a sacrificial lamb.
You heard Agata. He’s probably taking you to a gala, a place that’s gonna be filled with very rich and powerful people. Of course he wants you to blend in just fine. He wants you to look the part, a quiet voice whispered in my head.
That made sense.
But it didn’t answer the question: Why?
What was his reason?
Why me?
Maybe I’d ask him once I saw him. Maybe. Maybe not.
“And now, some finishing touches,” the makeup artist said, clasping a pearly necklace around my neck. It matched my dangling earrings, adding a touch of sophistication to my overall look.
“There. Perfect.” She gazed at my reflection in the mirror.
My lips curled into a small smile, pleased by the woman looking back at me.
Once ready, Agata led me out of the room and into a lit hallway, brightened by crystal chandeliers. Portraits were mounted on the walls on both sides, and the air smelled faintly of something rich and expensive.
I followed behind Agata, my heels clicking against the fine marble floor. The more corners we turned, the more certain I was that this was his mansion. The place was enormous, and everything screamed luxury.
She reached the head of a curved staircase and stopped. “He’s waiting in the living room downstairs,” she said, looking back at me.
It was a subtle way of saying this was where her journey ended. I must continue on my own from here.
She beamed an encouraging smile at me and stepped away, gesturing at the stairs. I heaved a quiet sigh, grabbed the polished railing, and began descending the stairs.
He looked up from the living room, a hand in his pocket, his expression blank as usual. He wore a black suit that fit him perfectly. His dark brown hair was neatly combed, contrasting with the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
Those cold steel-blue eyes were fixed on me as I walked down the stairs, nice and easy. A flutter rose in my chest when I met his gaze, and the closer I drew to him, the faster my heart raced.
His eyes swept over my body, head to toe, as if drinking in the sight of me. His expression remained unchanged, and so there was no telling whether he liked what he saw or not.
But none of that mattered. I didn’t care what he liked or didn’t like anyway. Besides, it’s not like I wanted to impress him or anything.
He watched me reach the base of the stairs, but still didn’t say a word. Yet his eyes never left my face. I stared back at him, refusing to admit how insanely attractive I thought he was.
“What’s this, a staring contest?” I broke the awkward silence, my eyes boring into his.
He blinked once. “You’re late.”
“You said to be ready at eight.” I glanced at the silver watch around my wrist. “This is just…ten minutes past eight.”
“Time is money, Miss Hendy,” he said, his voice a bit huskier than it should be. “I do not appreciate wasting it.” He brushed an invisible dust off his coat and began heading toward the door.
Jerk.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, trying to keep up with his pace.
“Somewhere.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s all you get.”
“Why? Because I’m your prisoner?”
“Last time I checked, prisoners don’t wear designer clothes or thousand-dollar earrings.” He pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool evening.
A thousand dollars for earrings? Jeez.
I followed behind him, descending the long steps at the entrance. “If you’re not going to tell me where you’re taking me, at least tell me who you are. Gimme a name.”
His polished shoes scuffed against the pavement as he walked toward the convoy waiting by the fountain at the center of the courtyard.
“Knowing my name doesn’t change anything.”
My face twisted into a faint scowl. “Has anyone ever told you you suck at holding a conversation?”
One of his men opened the backseat door of a black SUV.
He paused, glancing back at me. “Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?”
I stared at him in silence, surrounded by armed men in black.
“Get in.” He unbuttoned his coat and slid into the backseat.
Another man in black held the other door open, waiting for me to hop in.
After a moment of hesitation, I did.
Once I settled in beside him, he signaled his driver to start the engine. Soon, the convoy pulled out of the courtyard in single file.
I sat near the window, my head pressed against the glass as I observed the vast expanse of land unfolding outside.
There was a helipad in the distance, sitting like a coin in the soil. A manicured garden with trimmed hedgerows dominated one side of the courtyard. And a serpentine driveway lined with towering trees on both sides slithered toward the gates.
The drive was quiet, and that was because the man beside me was in no mood for conversation. At least that’s the attitude he gave off. I had a lot of questions that needed answering, but obviously, now wasn’t the time to bring them up.
I watched the city blur past outside my window: skyscrapers, flashy billboards, neon lights, and pedestrians on the sidewalks. Deep down, I was tempted to wind down and scream for help.
But that would be stupid, and I’d only end up making things worse for myself.
About thirty minutes later, the convoy pulled into a large compound filled with exotic cars. Our driver pulled over in front of the magnificent building looming before us and shut off the engine.
That’s when my jailer turned to me, that neutral expression perched on his face. “Do not embarrass me in there,” he said gently. “Stay close and don’t do anything stupid.”
I frowned. “Like what? Try to run away?”
He looked me straight in the eye. “You’re not that stupid.”
My scowl deepened as I watched him get out of the vehicle.
What a jerk! Who the hell does he think he is?
I opened the door and stepped out into the night, the cool breeze brushing against my skin. He stood on the other side, as if waiting for me to join him. I did, sashaying like a pageant queen on a runway.
We hadn’t even gotten into the building yet, and I could already feel people’s eyes on me. When I got close enough to him, his hand found my lower back. The contact was minimal but deliberate, grounding and possessive at the same time.
From the look of things, Agata was right. It was a gala.
That’s when it hit me.
I was his plus-one.