Chapter 165: Hidden Truths

Chapter 165: Hidden Truths
Nina’s POV
Maybe Raymond had some kind of sexual dysfunction.
Unable to get an erection. That would explain why he always made me take those pills, made me pass out, and then used various tools to torment me instead. It was the only logical explanation for his behavior, for the way he preferred mechanical devices over actual intimacy.
The thought struck me with sudden clarity, cutting through the fog of pain and humiliation that had clouded my mind for so long.
Before I could process this realization fully, Raymond shoved me away with brutal force. I stumbled backward, my shoulder hitting the wall hard enough to leave a bruise.
His face contorted with rage, veins bulging at his temples as his skin flushed a deep crimson.
"How dare you question me?" he bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the walls of the room like thunder. "In this room, I am the master. You," he jabbed a finger at me with such violence I flinched, "are nothing but a sex slave. You're my property, my possession. Don't you ever forget your place. You have no rights here, no voice, no agency. You exist solely for my pleasure, at my discretion."
I swallowed hard, tasting bile rising in my throat, but something inside me refused to be completely silenced. "When will you let me go?"
"Maybe next month. Maybe next year. Maybe never." He leaned closer, his breath hot and sour against my face. "That's the beauty of this arrangement, Nina. You have no timeline, no end date to count down to. Your fate is entirely in my hands. If you don't want to take the pills, fine. I won't force you. But I guarantee you'll be begging for them soon enough. Let's see how long you can endure without them."
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him with such force that the paintings on the wall shook. The sound echoed through the empty room, and then there was nothing but silence and my own ragged breathing.
I sat alone in the dimness, my mind racing through possibilities and dead ends. Was this really my fate? To be Raymond's plaything indefinitely, at his mercy until he grew tired of me or until I broke completely? How many other women had sat in this exact spot, contemplating the same hopeless questions?
I dragged myself to the shower, needing desperately to wash away his touch, his scent, every trace of him from my skin. The hot water scalded my bruised flesh, but I welcomed the pain. It was clean pain, honest pain, unlike the violation I'd endured.
As the water ran down my legs, I noticed blood. Thin streams of crimson mixed with the clear water at my feet, swirling down the drain like my hopes and dignity.
For the first time since June's death, genuine fear gripped me. If June could see me now from heaven, she would be so disappointed. I'd become exactly what I'd always feared: broken, passive, defeated. I'd let Raymond reduce me to nothing more than a hollow shell, a breathing corpse going through the motions of existence.
No. I couldn't continue like this. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I had to pull myself together. I had to escape. June hadn't sacrificed everything for me to waste my life like this, trapped in this gilded prison, subjected to Raymond's twisted desires.
But how?
Kevin watched my every move with the vigilance of a trained guard dog. I had no immediate plan, no clear path to freedom, but I had time, didn't I? Time to observe, to learn Raymond's routines, to identify weaknesses in his security. I would figure out something methodical, foolproof. I owed June that much. I owed myself that much.
The next morning, I woke to find the villa empty and eerily quiet. Raymond had already left for whatever business occupied his days.
Unlike other wealthy people who surrounded themselves with entire staffs, Raymond kept only one middle-aged maid who was deaf and mute. She didn't even live here, leaving punctually every night at eight o'clock sharp. Perhaps Raymond preferred solitude, or perhaps this villa held too many dark, bloody secrets to risk additional witnesses who might talk, who might see too much.
Under Kevin's watchful eye, I finished breakfast in the formal dining room. He prepared to drive me back to my apartment. The usual routine after I spent a night here. Sometimes Raymond joined me for breakfast, maintaining a facade of normalcy, sometimes not. Either way, Kevin always drove me home immediately after, delivering me back to my apartment like a package being returned to storage.
But today, I wanted to stay and explore. Maybe I could discover something useful about Raymond, some leverage, some weakness I could exploit.
"Kevin, I don't feel well," I said, pressing a hand to my stomach and doing my best to look pale and uncomfortable. "My stomach is really upset. Could I use the restroom? Can we leave a bit later today?"
Kevin's brow furrowed with concern. "Should I call Mr. Raymond? He can arrange for his private physician to examine you. He wouldn't want you to be ill."
"No, no need," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "I just need to rest a moment. It's nothing serious, probably just something I ate."
Kevin agreed reluctantly, and I made my way to the bathroom. After waiting a reasonable amount of time, I slipped quietly into Raymond's private bedroom, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure Kevin would hear it downstairs. I searched carefully but found nothing unusual. No incriminating documents, no obvious clues. The room was impeccably organized, almost sterile in its perfection.
As I turned to leave, disappointed and frustrated, I heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. Panic seized me. There was nowhere to hide. Without thinking, I dove under the bed, pressing myself flat against the cold floor, holding my breath.
It was just the old maid, coming to tidy the room. I watched her feet move efficiently around the space, dusting and straightening with practiced movements.
After she left, I crawled out from under the bed, my heart still racing, accidentally bumping my head hard against the bed frame. Pain shot through my skull, stars exploding behind my eyes. At that exact moment, an oil painting hanging on the headboard crashed down, nearly hitting me. A dark, brooding landscape.
As I moved to rehang it, my breath caught in my throat. Behind the painting was a hollow space carved into the wall. Nestled inside was a safe, its metal surface gleaming dully in the dim light.
Before I could process this discovery, Raymond's voice suddenly drifted up from downstairs, clear and unmistakable.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I rushed down the stairs, forcing my expression into careful neutrality despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"You're back?" I asked, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "I didn't expect you."