"Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage." Richard Lovelace

Veronica

Two days. Forty-eight hours. It felt like a lifetime. Two days lost in this gilded cage, a prisoner in Liam’s twisted fantasy. And I was feeling incredibly nauseous. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a gnawing dread, a constant, low-humming fear that settled deep in my bones, now compounded by waves of nausea that made my stomach churn. The opulent room, with its silk sheets and fragrant roses, had become a symbol of my captivity, each luxurious detail a stark reminder of my helplessness.

He’d been careful, meticulous. He hadn’t taken anything. That was my mistake. In my panic, my foolish, desperate flight, I’d left everything behind – my phone, my keys, my purse. It wasn’t Liam. I was running from then. It was Saint. He knew. My darkest secret, the one I’d guarded so fiercely, was out in the open. He knew. And the shame, the fear, the sheer terror of his reaction had propelled me out of his arms and into the night. I’d been so focused on escaping *him on running from the truth that I hadn’t thought about anything else. I hadn't even thought to warn Hayley. Had she seen anything? Did she even know I was gone? Now, I was paying the price. I was cut off, isolated, completely at Liam’s mercy. The heavy drapes on the windows blocked out the sun, the world, any sense of time. It was always twilight here, a perpetual state of half-light that mirrored the hazy, unreal quality of my situation. The nausea intensified, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep down the meager breakfast Liam had brought hours ago.

He’d come and gone, his moods shifting like the desert sand. Sometimes, he was the charming, almost familiar Liam, the one I’d known years ago. He’d bring me food, little gifts – a new book, a piece of jewelry. He’d talk about the future, about “us,” about the life he imagined we’d have together. He’d touch me, a light caress on my arm, a lingering kiss on my lips, always watching my reaction, searching for a flicker of… something. Acceptance? Love? I gave him nothing. I was a blank canvas, a carefully constructed facade of compliance. Even the thought of food made my stomach turn.

Other times, the mask would slip. The tenderness would vanish, replaced by a cold, possessive rage that made my stomach churn even more violently. He’d yell at me, accusing me of trying to escape, of betraying him. He’d grab my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, leaving bruises that bloomed beneath the delicate fabric of the expensive clothes he’d provided. He’d tower over me, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity, and I’d shrink back, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for the blow that never came. He’d never hit me again, not after… the last time. But the threat was always there, a dark undercurrent that vibrated between us.

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I’d tried to reason with him, to appeal to the Liam I thought I knew. I’d asked him why he was doing this, what he wanted from me. He’d just look at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and madness, and say, “You’re mine, Veronica. You were always meant to be mine.” It was like talking to a wall, a silent, impenetrable wall.

I’d spent hours plotting, planning, and searching for a way out. I’d examined the windows, the doors, the locks. Everything was secure and impenetrable. He’d thought of everything. He’d even taken the shoelaces out of the new shoes he’d given me. He didn’t trust me. He shouldn’t.

My mind kept going back to Saint. With a deep longing, but also a cold, hard knot of fear. I knew he wouldn't stop until he found me. He was relentless, fiercely protective. But where did he even start? I could be anywhere. Liam had the resources and connections to disappear me completely. Had Saint even figured out that Liam was behind it? Or were they still chasing shadows, misled by Liam's carefully constructed lies? And Hayley… Was she okay? Had Liam really hurt her? The thought was a fresh wave of terror. He was capable of anything. Had he targeted her, too? Had he used her to get to me? The images that flashed through my mind were horrific, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out. I had to know. I had to get to her. But how? The thought was a cold dread that settled in the pit of my stomach. What if they were just looking for me, lost in Liam’s labyrinth?

I had to escape. I had to get back to Saint. I missed him like crazy. They were my only hope, and the thought of them – Saint, Hayley, even Marcus – their worry, their fear, settled on me like a crushing weight. I hated it. I hated that I’d caused this, that my stupid, panicked flight had dragged them all into this nightmare. They were out there, searching, wondering, fearing the worst, and it was all my fault. A wave of guilt washed over me, so potent it was almost physical. Hayley… My heart clenched at the thought of her. She must be frantic. Had she seen anything? Had she put the pieces together? Or was she just worried, wondering where I’d gone, completely unaware of the danger I was in? The thought of her, alone and worried, amplified the panic that was already clawing at my throat, along with the persistent nausea. I couldn’t bear the thought of what she must be going through. Suddenly, the nausea became overwhelming. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up violently, my body shaking. Weak and spent, I crawled back into the bed, tears streaming down my face as I fell,

As the days bled into one another, as the walls of my gilded cage seemed to close in on me, a chilling thought began to creep into my mind. What if they weren’t just worried? What if they were giving up? What if they were starting to believe I was gone for good? What if… what if they stopped looking? The idea was a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and terrified. I had to believe they were searching. I had to. Because if they weren’t… if they gave up… then I truly was alone. And that was a fate more terrifying than anything Liam could do to me.