Three days.
That's how long Elena had been locked inside David Moretti's estate. And every day felt like a chess match she hadn't agreed to play.
He didn't keep her in a cell. No chains, no bruises—just a beautiful room with a locked door and a guard outside it. A golden cage. She had food, warmth, even books. But it was still a prison.
David visited once a day. Never at the same time. Always watching, always calm. His presence filled the room like smoke—slow, suffocating, and hard to ignore.
And every time he walked in, she hated how her heart skipped.
---
"You don't look like a monster," she said on the fourth day, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him as he poured himself a glass of bourbon.
He raised an eyebrow. "Disappointed?"
"I expected horns. Maybe a pitchfork."
David smirked, amused. "Is this your way of coping? Sarcasm?"
Elena leaned against the desk, her voice steady despite the storm behind her eyes. "You kidnapped me, David. But you haven't touched me. Haven't even threatened me. What do you really want?"
David sipped the bourbon, staring at her over the rim. "What do you think?"
"I think you're playing a game."
There it was—that fire again. Not fear, not submission. Fire.
It should have annoyed him. But instead, it drew him in.
"You're not wrong," he said. "But the game changed the moment you looked me in the eye and didn't break."
Elena frowned. "Why me? My brother's a grown man. Why not take him instead?"
"He ran," David said simply. "Cowards don't interest me. But you…" His eyes darkened. "You surprised me."
Elena turned away, arms wrapping around herself as if to guard what he couldn't see. "You ruined my life," she whispered.
For a moment, David was silent. Then, in a voice softer than she'd heard from him before, he said, "I ruin a lot of things. That's the cost of power."
Elena looked at him again, and something flickered in her chest. Sadness? No—confusion. He was a criminal. A kidnapper. But beneath the danger, there was something… hollow in his eyes. Like he'd been carrying his own prison long before she arrived.
She hated that part of her wanted to understand it.
---
Later that night, Elena sat by the fireplace alone, flipping through a book she wasn't reading. She couldn't stop thinking about him. His voice. His strange gentleness beneath the violence.
Then came the soft knock.
Before she could answer, the door opened. David stepped in, but this time, he didn't speak. He walked over, hands in his pockets, watching the flames.
"I was eleven when I watched my father die," he said quietly.
Elena's breath caught.
"He was shot in front of me. I didn't cry. I just… stood there. Then I inherited a world that only understood fear and blood."
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Because I don't want you to look at me like I'm a monster anymore."
Elena blinked. "You are."
He turned to her, his face unreadable. "Maybe. But monsters feel things too."
She stared at him, the wall between them cracking, just slightly.
---
Days bled into nights, and the air between them shifted. They talked more. Argued sometimes. But always returned to the same gravity—pulling them toward each other when neither wanted to admit it.
He started bringing her books she liked. Let her walk the gardens with him, under watchful eyes. She caught him watching her when he thought she wouldn't notice.
And she hated how her heart began betraying her.
---
One evening, the storm outside mirrored the one inside her chest. Elena stood on the balcony, hair tangled in the wind, staring at the dark horizon.
"You should be inside," came David's voice behind her.
"Why? Afraid I'll jump?"
"No," he said. "Afraid you'll catch cold."
She turned to him slowly, her expression unreadable. "You kidnapped me, David. You turned my life upside down. So why do you suddenly care if I catch a cold?"
David stepped closer, something raw in his eyes. "Because I didn't plan on feeling anything for you."
Her heart slammed.
He stopped inches from her, and for the first time, his walls cracked wide open.
"I brought you here to make someone suffer. But it's me who's drowning now."
Elena's breath hitched.
"I don't expect forgiveness," he whispered. "But I need you to know—it stopped being about your brother a long time ago."
Silence.
Then, slowly, Elena reached up and touched his cheek. She should have slapped him. Screamed. But all she felt was warmth.
And confusion.
"I don't know what this is," she whispered.
"Neither do I," he said, voice rough. "But I can't stop."
---
Want me to continue with Part 3: Love in the Fire? That's when things really shift—trust begins to form, danger gets closer, and the emotional bond deepens.