Chapter 4

They led me into a room that looked like it was ripped from a luxury catalog.

White walls, soft golden lights. Velvet curtains are dancing lightly with the breeze from the air conditioning. A massive bed with silk sheets. A walk-in closet packed with designer clothes. Shelves lined with perfumes I couldn't even pronounce, heels arranged like a boutique display, and makeup kits that looked untouched.

Everything sparkled. But I didn't feel lucky. It's not like I didn't have all these at home. I have them. I am... trapped here.

This wasn't a dream. It was a cage dressed up in gold.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared around. "So this is what kidnapping looks like with a chandelier," I muttered.

I rubbed my arms. I still hadn't changed out of the clothes I wore since morning. I wanted to go home. I needed to scream. Cry. Break something. But instead, I was trapped in a stranger's house.

There was a knock, then the door opened. A guard with a stiff expression stepped inside. "The boss says it's dinner time. You're to eat with him."

I didn't even look at him. "Tell him I'm not hungry."

"He said it's not a request. It's an order.”

Of course. Of course it wasn't. Nothing here was ever a request. I sighed and stood slowly, dragging my feet.

They took me through a hallway that smelled too clean. Like a museum that was too strict to let anyone touch the walls. I passed paintings, some I recognized from art books, others I knew probably cost millions.

The dining room was cold. Fancy. A long, dark table with candles and silverware set out like royalty was coming.

And there he was, Liam.

He sat at the end of the table, a black shirt hugging his frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glass of wine in hand. Calm and Collected. Like he hadn't shot at me just hours ago.

His eyes landed on me, and my chest tightened.

"Sit," he said.

I did. What choice did I have?

The guards left, shutting the door behind them. We were alone. I stared at the food, but didn't touch anything. I couldn't. My stomach was too twisted up.

"You don't want to eat?" he asked, lifting his fork.

"Not when I'm being held hostage," I said with a small fake smile.

He chuckled softly. "You're not a hostage. You're my guest."

"Right," I muttered. "The kind of guest who gets their phone taken away and has a bullet put through the door when they try to leave."

He took a sip of wine and said, "You were about to walk away from me. I don't like that."

I shook my head. "That sounds totally healthy."

"You've got fire," he said, leaning in a little. "I like that about you."

I crossed my arms. "Stop liking things about me."

He smirked, then cut into his steak like this was all normal.

"You're curious," he said. "Wondering what I do."

"I don't care," I replied.

"I run a business," he said anyway. "A dangerous one."

"Mafia," I said, more to myself than him.

He didn't flinch. Just gave me a small nod.

I let out a shaky breath. "I'm not interested in any of this. I don't want to be here."

"You're here now," he said simply. "Whether you want to be or not."

The silence grew. I stared at my hands on the table.

They were trembling.

"You don't have to be scared of me," he said, voice low now.

I looked up. "I'm not scared of you," I lied.

His smile said he didn't believe me for one damn second.

My thoughts were spinning. I needed to get out. I needed air.

Suddenly, I clutched my stomach and winced. "I don't feel good," I said, standing up slowly.

His brows lifted. "What's wrong?"

"I just, my head. I need to lie down. Maybe get some medicine or something."

He didn't answer.

"I'm serious," I added, wobbling slightly on my feet like I was dizzy. "Can I go back to the room?"

He nodded once, but his eyes followed me all the way out.

The hallway outside was empty. One guard gave me a look.

"Bathroom," I mumbled, not stopping.

I turned the corner, kicked off my heels the second I was out of sight, and took off fast. Quiet but fast. The hallway stretched ahead. I could see the main door.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it would give me away.

Almost there.

Five more steps.

Four.

Three-

"Bella."

I froze like I'd been zapped.

I turned.

Liam was standing at the other end of the hallway.

Calm. Still. Like he expected this.

Shit.

He walked toward me, not rushing. Just... calm.

I wanted to run. But I didn't. I couldn't.

When he reached me, he didn't yell. He didn't even look angry.

He reached out, cupped my cheek gently, and leaned in.

He kissed my forehead. Light. Soft. Wrong.

"Don't try that again," he said quietly. "Next time, I won't be so gentle."

I stared at him. "What do you want from me?" I whispered. "Why me? I know what I look like. Guys like you don't go for girls like me."

He tilted his head. "Who told you that?"

"Everyone. My ex. My own mother. Society. Mirrors.

The whole damn world. No one wants a fat girl."

"You're just my type,"

I blinked.

"I already told you," he added, "I like you."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "What's your game? You want to mess with me? Use me to patch up your wounds, then throw me out when you get bored? I'm not an idiot, Liam."

He stepped closer, unfazed. "You're not an idiot. You're brave. Even now, your voice is shaking but you're still talking back."

He was right. I was shaking. My voice cracked, my legs felt like jelly, but I kept standing.

"Look at me," I whispered, my eyes burning. "I'm not brave. I'm stuck. And I don't want to be here."

His fingers brushed the side of my face, gently tucking my hair behind my ear.

"I like you like this," he said. "Messy. But Real."

I turned my head. "You're sick."

"I know."

I didn't say anything.

"Go get some rest," he said gently. "Don't fake being sick again."

He turned and walked away without another word, leaving me standing in the hallway, heart thumping like crazy.

I hope my mother searches for me at least. I know she won't even notice that I’m missing. I just want to go home.