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The cocktail of fear, exhaustion, and anger eddying within me eventually pulls me under. Despite the danger, sleep claims me once again, a temporary escape from the nightmare my life has become.
"Wake up." The command cuts through the silence, accompanied by a rough nudge at my feet. My eyes snap open, and the dimly lit warehouse comes back into focus. "No," I whisper, the word barely escaping my lips. Recognition dawns as I see who stands before me. "You?" My heart hammers against my ribcage, panic coursing through me.
Gerald's eyes narrow as he squats to my level, a smirk playing over his lips. "Oh, Pia. Did you really think you could escape?"
Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won't give him the satisfaction.
"Why—" I start, but he cuts me off, his voice cold.
"You're a traitor. You've embarrassed our family. Thankfully, Jon Marc is willing to overlook your…indiscretion. But," he pauses, his smile chilling, "I can't promise he won't have his own forms of punishment for you."
I swallow hard, the fear tangible in my throat. "Gerald, how can you? You're my brother!" The words feel hollow, echoing in the vast space, a stark reminder of the betrayal that cuts deep.
Realizing my mouth is no longer gagged and my feet are free, I tentatively move my limbs, ignoring the ache that protests each movement. As I sit up, fighting against the dizziness that threatens to overtake me, Gerald simply watches, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Jon Marc is a monster. You know this," I say, my voice gaining strength despite my fear. "Why would you do this to me, knowing what he is?"
Before Gerald can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps freezes me. "Jon Marc," I whisper, the name a harbinger of dread.
Fear seizes me, an icy grip that I can't shake off. The terror I've managed to keep at bay crashes over me in waves, leaving me shivering uncontrollably. In this moment, under the weight of their gazes, I feel utterly doomed.
As Jon Marc's cold eyes lock on to mine, a desperate hope flickers within me—thoughts of Marco, his strength, and the love we've shared offer a glimmer of defiance against the darkness encroaching upon me. Jon Marc's grip is ironclad, pulling me to my feet with a force that leaves no room for resistance. "You're hurting me," I protest, struggling futilely against his hold.
Jon Marc's voice is a venomous whisper. "Oh, you have no idea of the pain I'm capable of inducing." The malice in his eyes sends shivers down my spine, but desperation gives me courage.
"I'm very aware of what you are capable of. And I'm not afraid of you," I retort, meeting his dark gaze with a defiance fueled by thoughts of escape, of Marco.
Gerald interjects with chilling calmness, outlining a plan that sends waves of panic through me. "We are going to get you cleaned up, then you and Jon Marc are getting married. Today."
The absurdity and horror of the statement render me momentarily speechless. "No. I'm not marrying him," I manage to say, my voice laced with disbelief.
Gerald's smirk is menacing. "It's not a choice."
"You can't force me to sign anything," I challenge, clinging to whatever semblance of control I might still possess.
Gerald's confidence is unsettling. "Trust me, little sister. This isn't something you can fight."
As they lead me away, a tumult of emotions swallows me—fear, anger, determination. Marco's face, his promises, and our plans for the future swirl in my mind, solidifying into conviction as hard as a diamond. I need to fight back, to find a way out of this nightmare.
But how? The question haunts me, even as I plot and plan with every step they force me to take. Escape is not just a desire; it's a necessity. For Marco, for me, for the future that suddenly seems as fragile as glass.
I need to be cunning, resilient, and, above all, survive. Resolve burns within me, a beacon against the despair threatening to engulf me.
As Jon Marc roughly shoves me into the SUV, a wave of disorientation washes over me. The scenery blurs past, unrecognizable and alien, amplifying my isolation. My mind races to Ron and Xavier, my protectors. Their absence gnaws at me, a reflection of the meticulousness of my captors' planning. Did they kill them?
Seated beside me, Jon Marc's presence is infuriating, a constant reminder of my precarious situation. The vehicle pulls away, sealing my fate even further. Desperation breeds reckless courage, prompting me to confront him. "Why me? Countless women would vie for the title of your wife. Why insist on me?"
His smile is chilling and devoid of genuine warmth. "You, little princess, are merely a means to an end—a pawn in a grander scheme that will elevate both our families. You're nothing more than a piece in this intricate chess game."
His words, intended to belittle, only reignite my defiance. However, I mask it with a dismissive, "Whatever," turning my gaze out the window. Yet the landscape still offers no clues, no sense of time or direction.
Jon Marc's silence is broken by a voice laced with menace. "Don't think I'm unaware of your little rendezvous with that man." He thrusts his phone in front of me, forcing me to confront images and clips of Marco and me—intimate moments I believed were private. A gasp escapes me, my heart racing in betrayal and shock.
"How did you obtain this?" My voice is barely a whisper, the realization dawning that someone within Don Melchor's trusted circle has betrayed us.
"I have someone on the inside with unrestricted access throughout the house. That's how." Jon Marc's revelation is a cold blade to my heart.
Closing my eyes, tears breach my defenses, trailing down my face. The truth is inescapable, clear as day. The maid—her unfettered movement throughout the mansion, her seemingly benign presence—now casts a shadow of doubt and betrayal.
