Vegarro “Vega” Moretti
I sat in the security office downstairs, watching Sonnet through the cameras as she dragged the small writing desk as far as the chain would let her move it.
She had tested the length of the chain enough times to know exactly where the metal stopped her. Now, she worked within those limits, pushing the desk from beneath the window and against the opposite wall. She stepped back, then tilted her head, studying the space.
She looked weaker than she had four days ago.
Her cheekbones were sharper, her movements were slower, and the oversized shirt I had brought her hung on her body like she was shrinking inside it.
She slept more now, but not peacefully. Half the time, she woke up crying. The other half, she stared at nothing.
She had already removed the vent cover, examined the duct, and put everything back exactly as she found it. She tested the window every hour, pulling the bars as though she expected the lock to develop a sudden weakness.
She had also started timing me. She was calculating how long I stayed away, how much time passed between meals, and whether my pattern remained consistent.
She was a smart girl.
The eggs, turkey sausage, toast, and fruit I had brought that morning remained on the breakfast tray.
I was trying to protect her, and she was making that harder than it needed to be. If she would cooperate, eat, stop trying to escape, and accept that Roman was the real threat, I could loosen the control. But I didn’t trust her.
If I unchained her, she would run the first chance she got, without understanding that Roman’s people were waiting for exactly that. I hated the chain. I hated the way it turned me into another man she feared.
I had handled men twice her size who accepted defeat faster. But Sonnet hadn’t accepted anything. I should’ve been annoyed by her disobedience. Instead, I watched her lift the mattress and inspect the bed frame, and an unwilling smile touched my mouth.
I had never been this enamored with a woman. Attraction had always been simple for me. I saw a woman I wanted, made my interest clear, and decided whether whatever followed was worth repeating. I didn’t obsess.
Sonnet had changed that without kissing me, without touching me unless she was trying to cause injury. Every moment with her already felt intimate.
She had seen the violent part of me first. She didn’t know the version of me that laughed with my cousins, sat through family dinners, or let my mother send me home with food I hadn’t asked for.
Keeping her alive meant keeping her trapped. Giving her freedom meant allowing Roman’s people another chance to get to her. Every day she remained inside that room, I became another reason for her to fear men.
I hated that she was afraid of me. Fear had always been useful. It made people listen. But I didn’t want Sonnet to fear me. It didn’t satisfy the lethal part of me. I wanted her to understand that the worst thing I had done to her was also the reason she was still breathing.
I knew that sounded like the kind of lie captors told themselves.
But it didn’t stop the possessiveness I was starting to feel.
I had taken her and locked her inside my property.
Those things gave me control over her circumstances, not ownership of the woman.
But she felt like mine. The feeling came from somewhere in my body that wasn’t being reasonable.
Now, the thought of another man touching her, frightening her, or deciding what happened to her made violence erupt inside me.
I wanted her. I wanted the mouth that kept telling me no.
I wanted the mind that searched every corner of the room for a way to defeat me.
I wanted to remove her glasses, watch her eyes struggle to focus on my face, and feel her body soften because she chose to trust the hands she had once tried to bite.
But I didn’t want her while captivity made the decision for her. I could’ve entered that room, overwhelmed her strength, and taken whatever I wanted. But that wasn’t desire. That was weakness pretending to be dominance.
I wanted her, but I wasn’t taking anything from a woman who couldn’t freely choose to give herself to me.
With a locked door behind me and a chain around her ankle, any pleasure I gave her would still be trapped inside fear.
I wanted her free enough to walk away afterwards. Then I wanted her to stay.
Saving her from Roman was becoming more than business. I wasn’t searching for a way to complete the assignment without starting a war anymore. I was searching for a future in which Sonnet survived and still remained with me willingly.
The idea was irrational. But it was also becoming impossible to ignore.
On the screen, she climbed onto the desk and reached toward the smoke detector. The chain pulled tight near her ankle, stopping her from stretching any farther. She glanced down at it, frustration flashing across her face before she rose onto her toes and tried again.
I leaned closer.
She twisted the plastic cover, exposing the camera hidden inside.
Her face appeared close to the lens.
Sonnet stared directly at me through the screen.
Then she calmly gave me the middle finger.
I laughed as she covered the camera with a folded piece of paper and tape from the desk drawer. Then the screen went dark. I stared at the blank feed, more entertained than angry.
She had found one camera, but there were three others.
Still, I didn’t switch views immediately.
For the first time, I understood why men allowed women to become weaknesses. It wasn’t because they suddenly became soft or forgot who they were. It was because the right woman made protecting her feel more natural than protecting yourself.
Sonnet had become the one thing I couldn’t imagine surrendering.
I had to save her from Roman.
After that, I still had no idea how I would survive opening that door and giving her the freedom to leave.