He cried for a while, then tried to calm himself by taking a deep breath.
"No… I can't give up like this," he said to himself and quickly got up from the bed.
His eyes once again scanned every corner of the room. Maybe there was a secret way out somewhere. But the room was completely sealed. No window, no balcony. Just one door that was locked from outside, and another leading to the washroom.
He tried to push the main door, but it was useless.
When he found no way out, he sat back down on the bed in defeat. Just then, his stomach growled softly. Hunger... He remembered he hadn't eaten anything for quite a long time. Now, his stomach was starting to ache from the hunger.
All his energy had been drained trying to escape. Weakness was clearly setting in now. His throat was dry too.
There was plenty of food in the room. A small fridge stood in one corner. The boy opened it and pulled out a bottle of juice and a few sandwiches.
He ate the sandwiches until he was full, then collapsed on the bed again.
Due to exhaustion and weakness, his eyes started to close on their own. His face clearly showed signs of fatigue, and the dark circles under his eyes revealed how many nights he had gone without proper sleep.
Sleep weighed heavily on his eyelids, but his mind was still restless. He remembered how strange this place was… he was trapped in this room, bound to the man he hated.
He didn't want to sleep because he feared something bad could happen to him while he was unconscious. Someone might take advantage of him in his sleep.
But right now… right now, he couldn't think anymore. Sleep began to wrap him in its arms.
He slowly closed his eyes, and in moments, he had slipped into deep sleep.
He had fallen into a deep slumber. For a little while, he was finally free from all his troubles.
Some time later… the boy wakes up.
He slowly opens his eyes, but as soon as he looks around, he is stunned.
This wasn't the same room where he had fallen asleep.
He found himself in a beautifully decorated, luxurious room. The bed he was lying on was covered in rose petals. The bedsheet was silky, and the pillows had intricately embroidered designs.
Soft fairy lights were strung around the bed, casting a dreamy glow in the room.
A subtle fragrance lingered in the air, like expensive perfume or fresh flowers.
When the boy's eyes moved from the bed to the rest of the room, his shock only grew. Every corner was decorated with the finest detail. The walls had elegant wallpaper that looked very expensive. Scented candles were lit around the room.
Then suddenly, his gaze landed on his feet—where bandages had been applied. His hands were treated as well.
The wounds were no longer raw; they had healed significantly. The pain had nearly vanished too.
**But the real shock hit him when his eyes moved to the walls.**
All around the room, there were photographs of him—small, large, in various poses.
More than 40 pictures. Some from his childhood, showing him smiling innocently, some from school and college days, and some recent ones too.
He couldn't understand how so many photos of him were here. Who brought them? And why?
His heart began pounding rapidly. Seeing all this filled him with a strange unease.
Now the fear inside him grew stronger.
It was now clear to him—this man was truly obsessed. This was beyond normal.
The boy stared at the pictures, his mind racing with a thousand questions.
How did these photos get here? When were they taken? And the biggest question—**who took them?**
He couldn't remember ever posing for these, which made him even more anxious.
He picked up one of the photos and looked at it carefully. His confusion was clearly visible on his face, when suddenly—
**The sound of the bathroom door opening reached his ears.**
The boy immediately became alert.
The photo in his hand nearly slipped, but he managed to catch it just in time.
His heartbeat was racing again.
He slowly turned his head toward the door, and what he saw made his entire body go numb.
It was as if he had seen something he was never meant to see.
The man had just stepped out of the bathroom after a shower. His broad shoulders and defined muscles glistened with droplets of water. A white towel was tightly wrapped around his waist, barely covering the lower half of his body. Droplets clung to his skin, slowly sliding downward.
In his hand was a towel with which he was vigorously rubbing his wet hair dry.
Every time he ran the towel through his hair, some strands fell over his eyes, and he would toss them back with a shake of his head.
The boy's gaze froze on him for a moment.
He stood completely still for a few seconds, his mind ceasing to function. He couldn't think straight, couldn't understand what was happening.
Then suddenly, as if realizing his mistake, he quickly averted his gaze.
His face had turned completely red.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but his heartbeat was still racing like crazy.
The man looked at him with a faint smile, a devilish glint in his eyes.
The man continued watching the boy for a few moments.
Feeling the intensity of that gaze, the boy's throat went dry.
The man slowly tilted his head slightly and stared at him deeply.
"Are you scared… or just shy?"
His voice was deep and cold, with a teasing hint of laughter in it.
The boy instantly dropped his gaze and began stepping backward.
The man mirrored him—he started stepping toward the boy.
Panicked, the boy began to retreat faster.
He backed up until he bumped into the edge of the bed, lost balance, and fell onto it with a thud.
But he quickly tried to recover and scooted toward the corner of the bed.
He kept shifting until his back was pressed against the wall.
Seeing this, a crooked smile appeared on the man's lips.
"Too bad, sweetheart… you can't break through the wall and go any farther," he mocked.
The man was now right next to him, that crooked smile still on his face. He reached out and gently caressed the boy's cheek with his firm, cold fingers.
The boy felt something strange at his touch, as if his entire skin was burning. He shut his eyes tightly in disgust, his breath quickened, and his fists clenched tightly.
When the man saw that, the glint in his eyes changed in an instant.
Where once there had been mischief, now there was only anger and jealousy.
His grip suddenly tightened. He grabbed the boy by the neck and jerked his face close to his own.
"What's with that expression?" the man said in a low, cold voice, his eyes now dangerously sharp.
"My touch disgusts you, doesn't it?"
He let out a soft chuckle, but it held no amusement—only a strange rage and resentment.
**"Unfortunately for you, you'll have to endure my touch every single day now…
In fact, I *want* my touch to feel filthier each time,
so that whenever I lay a hand on you, your soul trembles with revulsion."**
Hearing this, for a moment, anger surged in the boy's eyes—but his helplessness was breaking him more and more.
He tried with all his might to free himself, but the man's grip was too strong.
The man smirked and leaned in close to the boy's lips, whispering—
"The more you resist… the more fun this game becomes for me."
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