Chapter 2 — The Captivity Begins
Marini
The first thing Marini noticed was the ache. It pulsed in her wrists like a relentless drumbeat, dull and insistent, complemented by the faint sting in her shoulders. Slowly, as if prying herself free from a suffocating fog, she opened her eyes. The world around her swam into muted focus, sterile and foreign.
The light above was dim, casting a cold glow over the room. The walls were bare, a shadowy gray that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, devoid of windows or even a clock. Time felt irrelevant here, stripped from the air like an afterthought. The faint hum of what she guessed must be surveillance equipment thrummed in the corners, a mechanical presence that underscored her confinement. The air smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals, sharp and sterile.
Her pulse quickened as fragmented memories of the alley surged back—the gleam of the blade, the cold weight of those piercing blue eyes, the finality of the blood pooling on the pavement. Then there was Arun, his scarred face a mask of impenetrable menace as he dragged her into the void. Her breath hitched, and she bolted upright, only for dizziness to slam into her, forcing her to clutch the edge of the bed to steady herself.
The bed was hard, the thin mattress barely yielding beneath her weight. Her feet swung over the side, grazing the icy floor, which sent a jolt of cold through her skin. Everything felt oppressive, from the hollow silence pressing in to the starkness of the space itself.
Her fingers reflexively found her pendant, the cracked ruby cool and reassuring against her trembling hand. She clutched it as though it could anchor her, her mind pulling her back to a memory of her mother’s voice: *You’re stronger than you think.* The memory flickered like a fragile candle in the dark, and for a fleeting moment, Marini allowed herself to believe it.
Her gaze darted to the steel door opposite, solid and unyielding. The room might as well have been a cell, a place designed to suffocate rebellion. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she surveyed her surroundings, scanning for anything—*anything*—that might offer her a way out. But the room was barren, save for a single chair and a small table. Even the corners of the ceiling, where shadows pooled, seemed deliberately engineered to leave no options.
The door creaked without warning.
Marini shot to her feet, her muscles coiling despite the trembling in her limbs. Her nails bit into her palms as she instinctively raised her fists, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. She wasn’t going down without a fight—not again.
Manik De Luca stepped into the room.
He moved without hurry, his dark suit as pristine as it had been the night before. His presence filled the space, deliberate and suffocating, every step a calculated reminder of the power he held. His gaze swept over her, those icy blue eyes sharp and analytical, as though cataloging every twitch of her defiance. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound reverberating like the sealing of a tomb.
Behind him, Arun loomed in the doorway for a beat longer, his massive frame casting a shadow into the room. His scar caught the faint light, emphasizing the grim set of his expression. He didn’t speak, but his mere presence was enough to remind Marini of her futility. When the door clicked shut and Arun disappeared, she realized the weight of this moment fell entirely on her and the man before her.
“Good,” Manik said, his voice low, calm, and threaded with a quiet menace. “You’re awake.”
Her heart hammered, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Where am I?” she demanded, her voice sharp, though it wavered at the edges.
Manik’s posture was impossibly composed, his hands clasped behind his back as he took another step into the room. “Somewhere safe. For now.”
“Safe?” She gave a bitter laugh, harsh and jagged. “You mean *kidnapped*. Call it what it is.”
His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement gone before it fully formed. “You witnessed something you weren’t meant to see,” he said, his tone disturbingly conversational. “That makes you a liability.”
Her fingers tightened around the pendant, her nails digging into her palm. “I didn’t *ask* to see it,” she snapped. “I didn’t ask for *any* of this.”
“No,” he agreed, his gaze unflinching. “But here you are.”
Her throat constricted as her mind raced. Was this it? Would this be where her story ended, silenced in a room no one would know to look for her in? “So what happens now? You kill me?” she asked, her voice trembling despite the fire she tried to inject into it.
“If I wanted you dead,” Manik said evenly, taking another step closer, “you wouldn’t be standing here.”
The chill in his words sent ice down her spine, but she refused to let him see her flinch. “Then why am I here? What do you want from me?”
For a long moment, silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. His gaze remained locked on hers, calculating and cold, before he finally spoke. “What I want,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate, “is to understand you. And what I need is to ensure you’re not a threat.”
She scoffed, though the sound was hollow. “Me? A threat? That’s rich. You’ve got all the power here.”
“Power,” he repeated, his tone razor-sharp. “It’s more fragile than you realize. All it takes is one mistake, one loose end, to unravel everything.”
Her stomach twisted. “I’m *not* your loose end,” she said, her voice rising in defiance.
His gaze hardened as he stepped closer, his proximity oppressive. “Right now, Marini, you’re whatever I decide you are.”
Her name on his lips felt invasive, like a weapon he wielded against her. Still, she didn’t back down. “I’m not a pawn in your game,” she bit out, her voice taut with barely restrained fury.
“No,” he said, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “But you’re playing now, whether you like it or not.”
The door opened again, the tension momentarily broken as Cabir entered. He carried a tray with quiet, measured steps, his brown eyes flicking between them. His presence was a jarring contrast to Manik’s—his posture less rigid, his expression less hard.
“Dinner.” He set the tray on the table, his voice calm, though there was an undercurrent of something Marini couldn’t quite place—pity, maybe, or hesitation. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as if silently gauging her state.
“Anything else?” he asked, turning to Manik.
“No,” Manik replied, his tone clipped.
Cabir hesitated, his gaze darting back to Marini before he nodded and exited the room, the door closing with a soft click.
“You’ll eat,” Manik said, his voice brooking no argument. “You’ll rest. And you’ll stay here until I decide what happens next.”
Marini crossed her arms, her gray eyes flashing with defiance. “And what if I don’t?”
Manik stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between them. “Then you’ll learn the cost of defiance in my world,” he said, his voice soft but cutting.
Her breath hitched, her pulse roaring in her ears. “You don’t scare me,” she spat, though her voice cracked under the weight of her fear.
His gaze bore into hers, unyielding and merciless. “Liar,” he said, the faintest trace of something—pity? amusement?—flickering in his eyes before it vanished.
Her nails bit into her palms. “I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not afraid of you.”
“Good,” he replied, his tone devoid of mockery. “Fear clouds judgment. Fear gets people killed.”
He turned and strode toward the door, his movements deliberate and composed.
“Wait,” she blurted, the word escaping before she could stop herself. She hated the vulnerability in her voice.
Manik paused, his hand on the doorframe.
“What happens to me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, quivering with the weight of the question.
He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “That’s up to you,” he said, his words heavy with unspoken meaning.
The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
The silence that followed was deafening. Marini sank onto the edge of the bed, her trembling hands pressing against her face. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give him—or anyone—the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Her fingers found the pendant again, the cracked ruby catching the faint light. She clutched it tightly, her mother’s voice whispering in the back of her mind: *You’re stronger than you think.*
She would survive this. Somehow, she would find a way out, a way to fight back. And if Manik De Luca believed for one second that he could break her, he was wrong.
Dead wrong.
