On her first day, dressed in a simple white blouse and skirt, her beauty radiant with a ponytail swaying in the breeze, she approached Urbania University's grand entrance. The courtyard buzzed with the energy of new beginnings, but her steps faltered as a chilling scene unfolded.
Twelve figures lounged on the steps, their laughter a discordant melody that sent a shiver down her spine, while five boys—shirtless, sweat-slicked—performed push-ups, their voices chanting,
"Sorry, we won't do it again."
A punishment, she realized with a sinking heart, orchestrated by a bully group, their dominance a dark undercurrent that tainted the air. The twelve watched with cruel amusement, their eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. Nervous, Elena edged away, her gaze downcast, her sandals scuffing the pavement, but a voice sliced through the chaos.
"Hey, you in the white dress—come here!"
Her heart stilled; turning, she saw no one else, the call unmistakably meant for her. Frozen, she became a statue, her breath shallow, her mind racing with fear.
A tall, muscular figure approached—Vincent, his presence a storm cloud that darkened the sunlit courtyard. His smirk was predatory, a slash of white against his chiseled features, as he closed the distance, his voice a velvet threat that coiled around her.
"What about sleeping with me tonight?"
The words hung like a noose, a brazen invitation laced with menace, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the heat of his gaze. Without a second thought, Elena's hand flew, delivering a resounding slap to his cheek. The sound cracked through the air, a defiant echo that silenced the courtyard.
His head snapped to the side, and when he turned back, his eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous—admiration or rage—dancing in their depths. The seed of their twisted fate was sown, a moment that would haunt her dreams and shape the hell to come.
The dream fractured like a shattered mirror, the echo of that defiant slap lingering in Elena's mind as she jolted awake. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her body trembling on the cold stone floor where the towel clung to her sweat-drenched skin. The memory of Vincent's cheek reddening under her hand flickered like a ghost, a fleeting rebellion drowned by the weight of her captivity.
Her heart pounded, a wild drumbeat of tension, as the heavy tread of footsteps approached—deliberate, menacing, unmistakably his. The door creaked open, and there stood Vincent, his towering frame a shadow of authority, his dark eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and raw desire. His gaze swept over her, lingering on the towel barely shielding her bruised thighs, the sheen of sweat tracing her collarbone like a traitor's mark.
"Why are you sweating so fiercely, my captive?"
he murmured, his voice a low growl as he stepped closer, his hand reaching with a possessive intent that chilled her blood. Elena shrank back, crawling until the wall became her prison, her eyes flashing with a mix of fear and defiance.
"No—stay away,"
she choked out, her voice trembling yet resolute. He paused, raising his hands in a mocking truce, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Fine, I'll hold back—for now. But tell me, what nightmare has left you in this state?" Silence wrapped around her, a shield against the storm within, her lips pressed tight.
His smile widened, a dark gleam in his eyes. "Don't say you're replaying last night's intimacy with me—that's why you're shaking, isn't it?"
Elena's glare hardened, a silent storm of shame and anger, her hazel eyes clashing with his in a battle of wills that drew a chuckle from his throat. "Easy, easy, spare me that fierce look," he said with a dramatic sweep of his hand.
"Now, did you eat what I sent?" Her silence stretched, a wall of stubborn resistance, and he waited, counting four tense seconds before his tone turned sharp. "I'm asking you something, Elena." Still, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the floor's unyielding surface.
His head turned, catching sight of the untouched tray of bread and broth, the crumpled dress a silent accusation beside it. "So, you've ignored the food," he said, his voice edged with danger.
"Why?" Elena's reply burst forth, brittle with rage.
"You… you have the nerve to ask why?"
she snapped, her tone a jagged edge. Vincent's jaw tightened, and he grabbed the tray, settling onto the cold floor before her, the plate a stark contrast to the tension between them. "Eat now," he ordered, his voice a velvet threat.
She sat still, her defiance a barrier against his command, her silence a quiet rebellion. His patience thinned, and his voice deepened. "Don't push me, Elena. Eat when I ask with some kindness." Her lips remained sealed, her refusal a silent stand.
His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing, and he leaned in, his tone a low snarl. "Refuse, and I'll end your mother's life." The words hit like a blow, draining the life from her face, her eyes dulling with shock. "What? Why bring her into this?" she cried, her voice breaking.
"I do as I please," he replied, his tone icy, a smirk playing on his lips like a predator's grin. Tears welled, spilling down her cheeks as she shook her head. "You can't!" she sobbed, her fists clenching in despair. "I CAN," he roared, his voice a thunderclap that silenced her pleas.
"You… you're a cruel monster, Vincent,"
she whispered, her voice a trembling lament. He tilted his head, a mocking smile curling his lips. "Should I take that as praise?" She fell silent, her mind a whirlwind, words lost to her.
Then, her voice emerged, fragile and hesitant. "If I eat… will you let me go?" His laughter rang out, a hollow sound that echoed off the walls. "No, Elena. Not in this life will you escape my hold—or this room." Tears flowed freely, a river of pain. "Why? What did I do to deserve this?
Please, let me go, I beg you!" she pleaded, her hands reaching out in desperation. Vincent's face softened for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable, before he pulled her into his lap. Her body tensed, the heat of his embrace clashing with the cold dread in her heart.
"No freedom for you," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear as he lifted the spoon, the broth quivering.
She resisted, her lips a barricade, but his piercing glare broke her will. Slowly, she opened her mouth, and he fed her, each spoonful a bitter mix of survival and submission, her tears adding a salty edge. The meal ended in a heavy silence, his presence a shadow she couldn't shake. "Promise you won't hurt my mom," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread.
He nodded, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Agreed, but for now…" His gaze dropped to the dress, his voice turning low and intense. "Wear the dress I gave you." She shook her head, a weak protest, but his steady stare forced her compliance. The towel fell away, leaving her exposed for a heartbeat before she slipped into the scant garment, its dark fabric clinging to her like a second skin.
Vincent's eyes darkened, a hungry fire igniting within them as he rose, closing the distance between them. "You look breathtaking," he murmured, his fingers brushing the hem, sending a shiver through her frame. She stepped back, but the wall halted her, his body a wall of heat pressing closer. His lips grazed her neck, a soft caress that belied the strength in his grip, his breath a warm whisper against her skin. "Don't fight me, Elena," he said, his voice a seductive pull.
"This is your place." Her heart raced, a tumult of fear and a forbidden spark, her hands pushing weakly against his chest as tears glistened in her eyes. The room pulsed with their entwined breaths, the shadows bearing witness to a dance of power and unspoken desire.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment, Vincent's head snapping up, his expression a mask of irritation. "Who dares disturb this sanctum?" he growled, his voice a low rumble. Elena's breath caught, a tangle of hope and dread—was this rescue, or a deeper plunge into his shadowed world?