73

73

Clarissa Devor—

I had cried my eyes out until the following day. My hands kept replaying all the conversations I had heard on the recording.

Damien's cruel words...

"I have no attachments to her..."

That kept echoing in my head over and over until I could barely hear anything else.

The fucking bastard!

How could he be so cruel?

I stood away from the bed and stared at my reflection in the window.

I couldn't believe he was doing this to me. All this time, he had been pretending to care.

"Why?" I thought.

"Stop it, Clarissa," I said to myself. I couldn't afford to cry over someone who didn't give a shit about whether I survived or not.

At least now it was clear to me that no one was coming to save me. I was that one princess in distress who didn't get a knight.

"Shut up," I said to myself again.

I didn't need a knight. I never did. I was doing just fine on my own.

Or at least, I tried to convince myself of that.

I looked around the room and stumbled over to where the light switch was, flicking it on.

I scanned the illuminated room. Apart from the small bed where I slept, covered by a shelf on the other side and two chairs blocking the door, there was nothing else.

I didn't know how I got there. Truthfully speaking, I had cried myself to sleep the previous night, and someone might have come into the room without my knowledge.

Then I noticed the bathroom door in the corner of the room.

This place really wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Compared to my room back at the mansion, it was fairly spacious. But in reality, it wasn't that small. It was easily on par with the rooms in a regular apartment.

I was about to go in and shower when I realized I didn't even have a change of clothes. "How inconvenient would that be?" I thought with a frown.

At that moment, the door shifted open and Michael stood in the doorway.

"What do you want?" I folded my arms across my chest.

"Feisty," he muttered, chuckling a little.

I glared at him. Even though I hated Damian, that didn't make me like these people any better. It only proved one fact: everyone around me was a total prick.

He handed me a paper bag, and I glanced at its contents.

"A change of clothes, a towel, and a toothbrush," Michael recited, his eyes never leaving mine.

I stared back at him, mouth slightly open.

"Funny, I was expecting a thank you, considering all the stress I went through just to convince the leader that you needed them," he shrugged, turning away.

"Thank you," I finally managed to call out, finding my voice as he walked away.

He stopped in his tracks and gave another shrug. "Will do," he muttered, walking down the hallway and disappearing upstairs.

Why did I have this feeling that he was trying to help me? But that was impossible. He had been involved and was a co-conspirator in my abduction.

So why would he suddenly want to help me now?

Somehow, it didn't seem to add up. Well, maybe there was some part of the puzzle missing.

I pushed the thought away, deciding not to think too much about it. After all, the very person I had trusted and loved had ended up stabbing me in the back at the first chance.

I wouldn't be so quick to trust someone else right after that.

I unpacked the contents of the paper bag and tucked it away under my bedsheet. Then I went to the bathroom, my movements on autopilot.

A few minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the purple tank top over the pair of plain jeans that were two sizes too big. It's not like I expected anyone here to know my clothes size anyway.

I made my way out of the room and looked around. "Where do they serve food around here?" I wondered.

"Get over yourself, Clarissa," a voice in my head said. I was a captive here, for crying out loud. And here I was, expecting to be waited on or treated like some VIP guest. No way that was going to happen. I had a sinking feeling that no one would mind if I starved to death here anyway.

They were watching me like a hawk, and I knew it. I walked up to the staircase and checked if it was still locked. No such luck there. And this floor was totally empty; there wasn't a soul here.

Nobody would come here unless they had something to tell me or wanted to put me to work somehow.

I faintly heard footsteps descending down the staircase.

My ears picked up the sound, and I turned my head. I heard some clinging on the metal gate and finally Michael stepped down the remaining staircase, arriving in front of me.

He looked at me, seeing that I had changed into the clothes he brought me. He nodded slightly in approval.

"Come with me now," he said, heading for the stairs again without looking back to see if I would follow.

"Why are you taking me?" I asked, remaining in my spot.

He looked back at me, annoyance flashing in his eyes.

"Well, if you're not interested in eating, then you can't just stay here all day because no one is going to come for you," he stated.

I bowed my head with a sigh and fell into step beside him.

"Fine," I muttered, following him up the stairs. "But where are we going?"

"You'll see," Michael replied, his eyes fixed on the stairs ahead.

He stopped to let me pass him, then went and unlocked the gate again before joining me and heading upstairs.

I rolled my eyes, but said nothing. What was the point? I was a captive, after all. I had no choice but to follow him and do whatever they wanted, hoping they would release me eventually. Now I knew for sure that no one was coming to rescue me.

A new wave of helplessness washed over me. I was all on my own, I thought sadly. The thought of being at someone else's mercy made me scared and angry at the same time.

We reached the top of the stairs, and Michael led me down a long hallway.

I took a quick look around. The dining hall where I had been yesterday was just over there. Didn't he say something about eating? Where was he taking me now, I wondered silently.

The walls were lined with doors, each one closed with a big padlock. They must be empty, I thought.

What kind of building was this anyway? Why were there so many empty rooms, almost like whoever was behind this had bought a fine new mansion and couldn't decide whether to turn it into a hotel or their own private lair.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around as we walked down the seemingly endless corridor.

Michael didn't reply. He just kept walking, his footsteps echoing off the walls, leaving me no choice but to follow.

We turned a corner, and I saw a door at the end of the hallway. It was open, and I could see a sliver of light coming from inside.

Michael stopped at the doorway and jerked his head towards the door.

"Go on in. I can't follow you from here," he said, stepping back.

Michael pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter. I hesitated, feeling a shudder run down my spine.

Who was on the other end of that door, waiting for me? And what did they want? Well, there was only one way to find out.

I stepped into the room, and there it was—a table, set with food. And there, sitting at the head of the table, was a figure.

My heart plummeted as my eyes locked with Karl's.

What was he doing here? And what did he want from me? Hadn't he done enough already? I thought.

My mind went back to the recording I had heard the day before.

He had spoken with Damien. What was he doing here now?

"Welcome, Clarissa," Karl said, his eyes fixed on mine. "You kept me waiting for quite a while."

I felt a surge of anger, but I kept my mouth shut. This time, I knew that no one was going to save me. All I had was myself and my wits.

I still had my anger and my distrust. As much as I wanted to submit and act docile to keep myself out of trouble, I hated seeing that look of satisfaction on his face.

I would wipe it off with a punch if I had to.

"I see you got my present," Karl continued, a smirk forming on his face.

I glared harder at him, hating him with everything I had.

I hated him, I hated Damien. A bunch of bastards... I thought, shuddering slightly.