Chapter 8 Chapter Eight
Three days pass in a painful blur. Literally.
Since all I do is wake up to my cruel reality and sob my eyes out when I realize I’m still trapped in here.
My phone is still confiscated—just like my freedom. I’m not allowed to leave the house or even take two steps toward the front door.
For an extroverted person like me, I’d say it’s hell living in a place as suffocating as this goddamn mansion!
It doesn’t matter that the house is huge enough for me to roam around or play if I want—there’s still no freedom.
I fucking hate this. I just want out.
But I know that wish isn’t happening anytime soon—he’s made sure of it.
Tears leak freely from my eyes as I look out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. The night view is amazing, but I’m only allowed to see it—not experience the actual vibes of it. I can’t remember the last time I stepped out of this goddamn room.
Drawing air into my starved lungs, I uncross my arms from my chest and swipe the tears from my cheeks with my forefinger. I’m so tired of crying every fucking second.
Get yourself together, Liora.
If I’m going to escape this hellhole, I need to get my head straight and come up with something smarter than my earlier sketchy plan.
That’s actually what I’ve spent the last three days doing —plotting and failing my supposed perfect escape.
I’ve considered using the window, but damn, this is a three-story building. I’d probably land on my head if I jumped, considering I’m on the third floor. And what I didn’t sign up for as part of the plan is an untimely death.
So no, the window plan is out of the few lousy options.
I haven’t come up with any better ideas though.
After Mr. Sorrentino all but rejected my plea for an annulment, my determination to leave—which was briefly renewed in the heat of that moment—has been dwindling by the second, seeing I have no means of making that wish come to life.
Safe to say, I’m doomed. At least for the time being… until I think of something better. I trust myself to do so later on.
My stomach lets out a rumble that drags me from my thoughts, reminding me I still haven’t eaten since yesterday. And it’s already the evening of today—past 7 p.m., to be exact.
I woke up from a three-hour nap barely an hour ago and chose to sit by the window since I have nothing else to do with myself.
It’s also been three days since I last saw him—after he boldly told me he had no plans of letting me go.
Samantha informed me he left for Russia the next morning since my ‘nuisance’ had derailed him from his mission before, and he wouldn’t be back for three days. Which happens to be today, I guess.
Seeing he still hasn’t returned yet, I assume he’s coming back tomorrow.
Anyway, I couldn’t care less. That’s the least of my problems right now.
He could stay gone for all I care.
The noise from my stomach interrupts my thoughts again, and I lower my gaze, wrapping an arm around my belly.
This starvation is about to deter my hunger strike. I don’t know if I can endure it any longer.
I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in the last thirty-six hours. My throat is parched, and my stomach keeps screaming for food. It’s starting to affect my head, to be honest.
I should probably get something to eat…
No. I shake my head against the idea. What good is it if I eventually cave and they think I’m weak?
‘And what good is it if you end up dying from hunger, you fool?’ a voice in my head reprimands, and I wince.
It’s probably right. If I die from starvation, I die for nothing.
I still have my life ahead of me—and so much to achieve—including my ultimate revenge against Skylar and my parents. Zayn too.
So what good is it if I let them win just because I was foolish enough to think a hunger strike would melt the icy heart of that devil, hoping he’d reconsider my offer, and I just end up dying from it?
I already know it won’t work on him. My refusal to eat won’t move him. He’s a cold-hearted monster. And also a Mafia Lord, so I sure as hell know his ‘No’ means ‘No.’ End of discussion.
I swallow a hard lump as I tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear, admiring the view since it’s the only proper thing I can focus on to distract myself from the pain.
The city’s nightlife is satisfying to watch. New York is beautiful, but it’s not somewhere I imagine myself living in.
I prefer Los Angeles. I prefer places that keep me far from my family.
That’s why I chose to build a life there. I had a job, I’m an aspiring model, and I also thought I was in a solid relationship with the love of my life.
I mean, I was doing so well until Skylar decided to screw it all up — all because of a grudge from ten years ago.
Something I still don’t know to this day if I’m solely to take the blame for, or if we were both at fault back then.
But I guess we’ll never know.
Since I didn’t really let the matter reach Mom and Dad—or anyone else—I guess the blame lies with me, as Skylar always claims.
‘You ruined my life.’ Those have been her go-to words for the past ten years whenever we argue and she wants to win. She always spits those words in my face to make me feel guilty and walk away from her bullshit.
The emotions from all these years have been bottled up inside me—both guilt and regret. One single, unforgivable mistake brought me to the harsh reality I’m living now.
I guess life is really a bitch, as they say. And so is my sister.
I’d be damned if I don’t make her pay for this. An eye for an eye.
Once the wall clock strikes 8 p.m., I finally rise from my chair and make my way out of the room.
I can’t bear this hunger anymore. I won’t make it through the night.
Upon stepping out, I tell the bodyguard stationed outside my door that I’m heading downstairs to make dinner or something. His response is merely a grunt, but he lets me go and doesn’t escort me.
Finally, some fucking freedom.
As I descend the stairs cautiously, one hand gripping the railing, thoughts of Agnes cross my mind.
It’s been days since I last saw her. In fact, I haven’t seen her since that day she took me out. Only Samantha has been sent to my room lately.
Was Agnes permanently removed from serving me—or was she fired? Which one is it?
It can’t possibly be the latter since Samantha mentioned Agnes was helping 'the boss' the other day. Besides, Agnes told me she’s worked for him for years. He can’t just fire her because of my mistakes now, can he?
I wonder...
My thoughts are cut off as I reach the last step. I glance around and find the way to the kitchen.
But just as I’m about to make a right turn toward it, the massive door to the living room swings open, halting me in my tracks.
My ears first catch laughter. No—giggles. Excited, feminine giggles. Before the swift scent of his cedarwood cologne hits my nostrils.
My heart does a flip, uncalled-for butterflies dancing in my belly.
However, those butterflies die the instant I lift my gaze toward the individuals entering the living room.
One familiar —my very own legal custom-made terror in a black suit. While the other? Certainly haven’t seen HER before.
Yes, it’s a her. I was right about the giggles.
A painful constriction grips my chest, and I hate the way I freeze when his eyes meet mine across the room. My nostrils flare.
But despite the intense, crushing eye contact, I still see her by his side. The unfamiliar woman in a red dinner dress with long, black hair and— a blindingly beautiful smile, might I add.
Her hand is wrapped around his arm. She’s clinging to him like a fucking leech, and I don’t know why that makes my skin burn with… rage?
No, it can’t be.
I want to look away and pretend I didn’t see them—but I can’t.
I can’t seem to move my head or tear away from his gaze.
In fact, he’s pinning me with those terrifying gray eyes. And I swear I catch the faint shift in his once-deadpan expression.
There’s an evil glint in his menacing orbs and a subtle smirk is etched on his lips.
But I can’t seem to find any amusement in anything that's happening around us at the moment—so what the fuck is he smiling about?
Who the fuck is this bombshell beside him, and why did he bring her here?