Chapter 31
Liam's POV
I pulled out my phone and activated the video function.
The lens aimed at her.
The red indicator light began to blink.
I needed to record something. Just a few dozen seconds. Enough for the family to see what she looked like right now—compliant, submissive, completely under my control. Then I could release her, take her away from here, tell her it was all over, tell her I was sorry, tell her I'd never do this again.
I propped the phone on the small table nearby, adjusting the angle to ensure the frame would capture her entire body.
Then I walked toward the door.
"Liam—"
The gag muffled her voice into something incoherent, like a whimper swallowed halfway.
I stopped at the doorway.
"Wait for me," I said. "I'll be right back."
My voice came out more hoarse than I'd expected.
I pulled the door open and stepped out, closing it gently behind me.
The hallway was empty, the carpet absorbing most of my footsteps. The man in the red devil mask stood by the bar in the distance, holding a drink and watching me emerge with a knowing smile on his face.
I ignored him.
I needed a minute. Just one minute to calm myself down, to figure out what to do next. The phone was still recording inside, Elise was still bound there waiting for me to return—
I leaned against the hallway wall, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.
The scent of leather and incense flooded my nostrils.
---
Elise's POV:
Darkness.
Absolute darkness.
After the blindfold covered my eyes, the world shrank to a realm of only touch and sound.
I could feel the metal cuffs around my wrists—cold, hard, their edges pressing against my skin. My ankles were the same. They fixed me to this frame, keeping me in a vulnerable, exposed position.
The gag stretched my cheeks until they ached, saliva uncontrollably spilling from the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chin. I couldn't swallow, could only let it flow.
Shame?
Maybe.
But I could no longer distinguish what shame felt like.
Ever since I'd said "I'll stay," something had been drained from my body. Now I was just a vessel. A space waiting to be filled or used.
Liam had gone out.
He said, "Wait for me. I'll be right back."
His voice sounded a bit... strange. Hoarse. Not as certain as before.
But I didn't want to analyze him.
Didn't want to think about anything.
I was just here waiting. Waiting for him to come back and finish what he wanted to do, then take me away—or not leave at all, it didn't really matter anymore. I didn't care anyway.
Time stretched long in the darkness.
Ten seconds? One minute? Five minutes?
I couldn't tell.
The room was quiet, only my own suppressed breathing, my breath passing through the gag making faint whimpering sounds. In the distance there seemed to be music—the jazz from the first floor faintly penetrating through the floors, like echoes from another world.
Then I heard footsteps.
Not from the hallway—from outside the door.
Someone was approaching.
My heartbeat suddenly quickened—not by my own volition, but as an instinctive bodily response. Like some animal's uncontrollable tremor when sensing a predator's approach.
The door opened.
Light seeped through the crack, and though my eyes were covered, I could sense the change in brightness—the doorway brightened slightly, indicating the door had been opened.
Footsteps entered.
One person's footsteps. Steady, unhurried, each step almost exactly the same distance apart.
Leather shoes on the rubber floor made almost no sound, but I could still feel the floor producing imperceptible vibrations with each step.
He was approaching me.
Step by step.
Until he stopped in front of me.
I could sense his presence—body heat, breath, something with an overwhelming sense of pressure enveloping me. But he didn't touch me. Didn't speak. Just stood there, looking down at my bound form from above.
Had Liam returned?
It should be him. Who else would enter this room?
But why wasn't he speaking? Why wasn't he moving? Why was he just standing there?
I waited.
Waited for his hand to touch my skin. Waited for his mouth to approach my ear and say something humiliating. Waited for all of this to end—or begin.
After a long time—perhaps only a few seconds, but in the darkness it felt like a century—I finally heard a voice.
Not Liam's voice.
A voice I'd never heard before.
Deep, clear, carrying a strange magnetism. Like the lowest string of a cello being slowly drawn.
"This is how the Sterling family cultivates the next generation?"
He said.
His tone was full of mockery, and even blindfolded, I could imagine his gaze roaming over my naked skin. Comfortable yet contemptuous.
"Tie a woman up here, gag her mouth, blindfold her eyes."
A pause of one second.
"Then walk outside yourself to smoke."
My heart contracted sharply.
This person knew Liam.
And he knew Liam wasn't in the room.
Who was he?
A hand reached over.
Touched my cheek.
The fingertips were dry, warm, bearing thin calluses—a completely different texture from Liam's hands. Liam's hands were always soft, well-maintained, never having done rough work.
But this hand's calluses were on the sides of the thumb and index finger—the position formed from long-term pen or knife holding.
His fingers slid from my cheekbone to my jawbone, then stopped at my chin—the position of the gag's strap.
He didn't remove the gag.
Just pressed my chin lightly with his thumb, the pressure gentle yet carrying an undeniable sense of control.
"Is this the price you pay for staying by his side?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
Not because I didn't want to—I couldn't.
The gag prevented me from producing any clear syllables.
But my mind grew sluggish from what he'd said. Staying by his side?
Such words—it seemed only one person had ever said something like that to me!
He seemed to realize this.
Laughed softly.
The laugh was brief, like a hum from his nasal cavity, devoid of emotional color—neither mockery nor pity, more like a confirmation.
Then his hand left my face.
I heard the sound of fabric rustling—what was he doing? Adjusting his sleeves? Getting something?
Then I felt scissors.
The cold metal blade touched the inside of my wrist, right next to the cuff on my skin.
Not the kind of force that would cut through the cuff's chain.
More like... measuring.
"Don't worry."
His voice was very close to me, close enough that I could feel his breath brush across my bare shoulder.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
The scissors moved away.
Then his hand—this time directly on the cuff's lock.
Click.
My left hand was free.
Then my right hand.
Click.
Both hands fell.
Then my ankles.
After two crisp sounds, my feet also regained freedom.
My entire body lost its support, knees weakening, falling forward—
But I didn't hit the ground.
A pair of arms caught me.
Held me steady.