Chapter 3 What I was worth
Lina’s POV
Wait… how was that even possible?
I pushed myself off the cold floor, palms slipping once before they found purchase. My legs trembled, weak beneath my weight.
The director? The rumors, the whispers about him—none of it aligned. Panic crept up my spine, slow and invasive.
“Don’t let your thoughts wander too far, Lina,” he said. Cool. Detached. There was no warmth in his voice. Not even a crack. Each word felt wrapped in ice before being forced down my throat, freezing everything in its path.
“Why have you taken me?” My voice fractured despite my effort to steady it. “I don’t even know the man who brought me here. Please—just let me leave. I swear I won’t say a word to anyone.”
I hated how small I sounded. Hated that begging was the only thing I had left. He watched me, unmoved.
“Lina Gray,” he said slowly, deliberately, “you’re mine now. My property. You have no one but me—get used to that.”
The words struck like blades, precise and merciless, slicing through what little of me remained intact.
“I already told you, princess,” he continued, a faint curl of mockery tugging at his mouth. “You are mine.”
The princess wasn’t affectionate. It was a weapon. Cold. Cruel. It slid through me like steel pressed against a fractured bone.
“Please…” My chest tightened, breath hitching. “My life was already falling apart. You fired me—wasn’t that enough? Why are you so determined to ruin what’s left of it?”
Silence.
Then movement.
His hands slipped into his pockets as he stepped closer. One step. Then another. Slow. Intentional. A devilish smirk carved itself onto his lips, the kind that made my stomach twist instinctively.
When he stopped in front of me, he bent down to my level until we were eye to eye.
Too close.
The air between us thickened, suffocating, before he finally spoke.
“It’s unfortunate,” he clicked his tongue. “Unfortunate that you trusted people you shouldn’t have.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “No—that’s not quite right. You trusted him when you weren’t supposed to.”
His words felt deliberate, like pieces of a puzzle he wasn’t done handing me yet. “What do you mean?” I asked.
I had never trusted blindly. Trust was earned. Carefully given. And no one in my life—no one—had ever given me reason to doubt them.
“You really are clueless,” he said, straightening. “Ruciano.”
The sound of his name hit me like a physical blow. My heart dropped, dragging my breath with it.
“What do y—”
“Are you stupid,” he cut in flatly, “or do you just enjoy pretending to be ignorant?”
I flinched.
“Ruciano took €180,000 from my loan sharks,” he continued, voice calm—almost bored. “The man you trusted traded you to clear his debts. You were nothing more than leverage.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The words landed anyway. Slow. Crushing. One by one, pressing down on my chest until breathing felt like work.
I didn’t feel shocked. Not immediately. It was betrayal that seeped in first—quiet, corrosive. Like realizing you’d been bleeding long before you noticed the wound. My mind resisted the truth, pulling away from it, because accepting it meant admitting something worse.
To him—I was never a person. I was a solution.
The humiliation didn’t scream. It settled in my throat, heavy and bitter, whispering that my life had been weighed, measured, and assigned a number. That I had been worth just enough to erase his mess.
Then fear followed.
Not panic—something sharper. A fear with teeth. The kind that makes you think too clearly. Not just about what the man standing in front of me could do—but about how easily it had all happened. How simply Ruciano had handed me over, like my consent had never mattered.
Like I hadn’t been there at all.
The money didn’t hurt the most.
What hurt was knowing that the man I had loved looked at my life and decided it could be traded.
“You’ll be taken to my house in a few minutes,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Thirty, at most.” He paused, as if recalling something insignificant. “And one more thing—be on your best behavior.”
He wasn’t threatening me. I could hear that much.
But behind every word sat something far worse than a threat—certainty.
A quiet understanding that disobedience wouldn’t be forgiven. And that I wouldn’t survive the cost twice.
I couldn’t speak. It felt as though my tongue had been bound by something unseen. My body reacted before my mind could catch up—my breaths turning shallow, uneven, like my lungs were rationing air without my permission.
He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one. He turned and walked away.
“No,” the word tore out of me before I could stop it. My voice shook, but it carried defiance. “You don’t get to walk away like that.”
He paused.
Not fully. Just enough to let me know he heard.
But he didn’t turn back.
The door shut.
Ruciano.
The name burned.
How could he do this to me?
I pushed myself up, my palms slipping against the cold floor before my strength failed. I refused to stay down. My legs gave out anyway, and I hit the concrete hard, the impact knocking the breath from my chest.
I had given him everything. Every piece. Every fragile part I should have protected. And this—this—was what I was worth?
The cold crept into my bones, but I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to sit upright. I wouldn’t curl in on myself. I wouldn’t make it easier.
My family had warned me. My parents had begged me to leave him before he destroyed me. Cathy too. I had brushed them all off, convinced love meant enduring. It didn’t. I know that now.
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped me.
“You didn’t break me,” I whispered, more to the room than to him. “You just showed me who you are.” The words steadied me, even as tears burned my eyes.
My life wasn’t over. He didn’t get to decide that.
I was still sitting there when footsteps approached. I lifted my head before they reached me. I wouldn’t let them take me by surprise.
Two men stepped inside, dressed in black. When they grabbed me, I resisted—not violently, not foolishly—but enough to make it clear I was aware, present, alive.
“Don’t touch me like I’m nothing,” I said through clenched teeth.
One of them hesitated. Only for a second. They lifted me anyway, but I kept my head up as they carried me out of the cellar. The warehouse stretched ahead, cold and endless.
Each step echoed.
This couldn’t be the end.
He could claim ownership. He could lock doors and give orders. But he didn’t own my will. He didn’t own my mind. And that was enough.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. The fear was still there—but now it shared space with something sharper.
Defiance.
And if he thought I’d stay down forever—
He was about to find out just how wrong he is.