"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven." John Milton

Veronica

The room was a gilded cage. Opulent, luxurious, yet a prison nonetheless. The silken sheets felt like chains against my skin, the fragrant roses a suffocating reminder of my captivity. Liam’s words echoed in my mind, each one a chilling testament to his twisted obsession. “You’re mine, Veronica. You were always meant to be mine.”

I shivered, the memory of his touch sending a wave of nausea through me. He’d looked at me with such… adoration? It was a grotesque parody of love, a possessive hunger that made my skin crawl.

I tried to piece together what had happened to make sense of the chaos in my mind. Hayley’s apartment, the shadowy figure, the prick of the needle… then nothing. Just the suffocating darkness, followed by this… this nightmare.

My phone was gone, along with my purse, my keys – everything that connected me to my life, to Saint, to Marcus. I was cut off, isolated, completely at Liam’s mercy.

Panic started to rise, a suffocating wave threatening to drown me. I had to stay calm. I had to think. Liam was unpredictable, his moods shifting like sand in the wind. One moment, he was the charming, almost boyish Liam I remembered from years ago. The next, he was a monster, his eyes burning with a possessive rage that terrified me.

I needed to find a way out of here, a way to escape this gilded cage before his twisted “love” consumed me completely. But the house… it felt vast, sprawling. I had no idea where I was. I had no idea how to get out.

I forced myself to get out of bed, my legs still shaky. I needed to explore, to find a phone, a window, anything that could offer a glimmer of hope.

The room was large, with heavy drapes covering the windows, blocking out the world. I went to the door, hesitantly turning the handle. It was locked. Of course, it was locked.

I moved to the windows, my fingers fumbling with the drapes. They were thick, heavy, and designed to keep out not just the light but any chance of escape. I tugged at them, frustration building. They wouldn’t budge.

I scanned the room, desperate for anything that could help me. My gaze landed on the dresser. Maybe…

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I rushed to it, pulling open the drawers. Clothes. All women’s clothes, expensive, stylish… and all in my size. He’d planned this. He’d known.

A wave of revulsion washed over me. This wasn’t love. This was obsession, a carefully constructed fantasy built on lies and manipulation. And I was trapped in the middle of it.

I slammed the drawer shut, my hands trembling. I had to get out of here. I had to get back to Saint. He would find me. I knew he would. But as I looked around the opulent prison, the suffocating scent of roses filling my lungs, a chilling thought crept into my mind. What if he didn’t? What if Liam’s twisted plan had worked perfectly? What if they were searching for Julian's stalker, still believing him to be the threat, while I was here, a prisoner in Liam’s twisted paradise? What if I was truly alone?

A small, ornate writing desk sat in the corner. I rushed to it, hoping flickering in my chest. Maybe there was a pen, some paper… or anything I could use to leave a message to signal for help.

I opened the desk drawer, my heart sinking. It was empty. Not even a stray pencil. He’d thought of everything.

Despair threatened to engulf me, but I pushed it back. I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t give up. I had to find a way out. I *had* to.

Just then, I heard a sound. A key turning in the lock. My blood ran cold. He was back. My breath hitched in my throat. I whirled around, my eyes darting around the room, searching for anything I could use as a weapon, anything that could give me even a sliver of defense. But there was nothing. Just the roses, the silk sheets, the heavy drapes that mocked my captivity. The door creaked open slowly, and Liam stepped into the room. He was holding a tray, laden with what looked like breakfast – a delicate china cup filled with steaming coffee, a plate of pastries, a single red rose. He smiled at me, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good morning, my love,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “I hope you slept well.” He closed the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the silence. He placed the tray on the small table near the bed and turned to face me, his smile widening. "I brought you breakfast," he said, gesturing towards the tray. "I hope you like roses. I picked them myself, just for you." He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on me, a strange intensity in their blue depths. "Are you hungry?" He paused, his gaze lingering on my face as if searching for something. "Don't be shy," he said softly. "Come and eat. I made sure to get your favorites." He gestured again to the tray, his smile still fixed in place. "I even brought you coffee," he added, his voice laced with a disturbing tenderness. "Just the way you like it." He took another step closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, a subtle, musky scent that suddenly felt cloying, suffocating. "Come now," he coaxed, his hand reaching out towards me. "Don't keep me waiting." His fingers brushed against my arm, a light touch that sent a shiver of revulsion through me. I instinctively recoiled, pulling away from his grasp. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that same, unnerving tenderness. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Don't you want to have breakfast with me?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Are you still tired? Would you like me to join you back in bed?" He took another step closer, his hand reaching out again, this time to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a low caress. "We have all the time in the world." His touch sent another shiver down my spine, but this time, it wasn't revulsion. It was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. I knew, in that moment, that I was trapped. Trapped in his gilded cage, at the mercy of his twisted love. And I had no idea how to escape. I forced myself to meet his gaze, trying to mask the terror that was clawing at my throat. "Thank you," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "But I'm not hungry." I gestured vaguely towards the tray. "Maybe later." He studied me for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, he smiled again, that same, unsettlingly tender smile. "Of course," he said softly. "Whatever you want." He stepped back slightly, his gaze still lingering on me. "I'll be back later," he said. "And then… we'll have all the time in the world to get to know each other again." He turned and walked towards the door, the click of the lock echoing once more in the suffocating silence. I was alone again. But the fear remained, a cold knot in my stomach. He was playing a game, a dangerous game. And I was trapped, a pawn in his twisted fantasy.