It had been two endless days.
Two days tied to a chair in a windowless storeroom.
Her wrists throbbed, her legs numb from the rope biting into her skin, her throat raw from crying into the gag. Derek came only three times a day once to drag her to the toilet, once to shove food or water between her lips, and once to lean close and ask if she had "learned her lesson."
The door creaked open, and her heartbeat kicked into a frantic rhythm. She squeezed her eyes shut as light spilled into the room.
"Your boy toy is really looking for you," Derek chuckled, his voice a sing-song mockery.
Susan opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness. He stood in the doorway, scrolling casually through his phone. Her stomach twisted at the sight of him. Before Chris, before she'd learned what normal care looked like, she hadn't noticed how wrong Derek always was. Now, every smile, every touch, every word screamed sickness.
"The burnt car was a bad idea," he muttered, "but they'll never find this place." His eyes lifted, glittering with smug satisfaction as he yanked the gag from her mouth.
"I made you a sandwich."
Her throat tightened. She swallowed, not from hunger, but from dread. Still, she chewed when he pressed the bread to her lips. She hated herself for eating but her body was too weak to refuse. He even held the straw of water to her mouth, wiping a crumb from her cheek afterward like he was some doting lover.
"Derek, please…" her voice cracked.
The gag was shoved back between her lips.
His palm lingered against her cheek, almost tender. "I'll be back. Need to stock the house." He whispered it like a secret before slipping out. The light vanished, plunging her back into silence. Her sobs filled the darkness, and she hated how small they sounded.
Time bled away, shapeless and cruel, until the light snapped on again. Derek untied her just long enough to drag her toward the bathroom. Her legs barely worked, each step a stabbing ache.
"Do your business. Clean up," he ordered, tossing a change of clothes toward her.
Susan's eyes stung. For a moment, the sight of the clean shirt and trousers sparked a stupid, fragile hope of escape. But a sharp knock on the door reminded her reality was still waiting.
"You have five minutes," Derek barked.
She rushed, cleaning herself quickly, changing clothes with trembling hands. When he dragged her back to the storeroom, she was shoved into the chair again. A tray of food sat on the floor at his feet.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, testing.
His eyes met hers, and a strange softness passed over them. "So, you don't run away again."
Her stomach clenched. She tried once more, her voice shaking. "I won't. Please, don't tie me"
The rope bit tighter than before.
"I don't trust you."
Her chest caved. "Kill me then!" she snapped through tears. "I can't take this anymore sitting here in the dark, tied like an animal please, just…"
His hand clamped on her chin, silencing her.
"Speak again without being spoken to," he murmured, eyes glittering with cruel amusement, "and I'll hurt you."
She couldn't stop the broken words that slipped through the gag.
The fork gleamed in his hand before she even understood. Then pain exploded in her thigh.
Her scream ripped the air, only to be muffled by his hand crushing her mouth. Tears blurred her vision as her body convulsed against the ropes.
"Shhh." His voice was almost soothing. He pressed the fork down harder, twisting until her vision swam. "Do you understand me?"
She didn't answer fast enough.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
She nodded frantically, sobs choking her.
He withdrew the fork, wiped it on her shirt as if she were nothing but a napkin, then scooped up the bowl of ramen.
"It's ramen," he said almost cheerfully, before spooning it into her mouth. She ate, tears streaking down her face. He ignored them completely.
When the last bite was gone, the light clicked off again. The door slammed. Silence.
Across town, Chris sat in his office, the weight of rage pressing against his ribs. His fingers tightened around the one photo he had of Susan her passport picture. That was all. Not a real smile, not a candid memory. Just a stiff, lifeless photo while the real her suffered God-knew-where.
The door opened. Michael strolled in, too loud as always, followed by the investigator.
"Look who I found on the way up," Michael announced, but Chris's blank stare silenced him.
"Do you have anything?" Chris's voice was gravel.
The investigator laid out a stack of envelopes. "The burnt car… only two models were sold in the city. One silver, accounted for. The black…." He hesitated, then slid a photo forward. Aunt May and Stephanie, standing beside the car in a grainy CCTV still.
"She bought it in cash, two days before Miss Susan went missing."
Chris's jaw ticked. He opened the next envelope, eyes narrowing at the phone records.
"Derek Steward," the investigator explained. "Ex-convict. Thirty. Worked at an auto shop. Arrested for unlawful confinement and attempted murder last year. Victim's name Blake Johnson."
Chris froze when the photographs spilled out Susan, battered, broken, unrecognizable. Her old life.
His knuckles went white around the images.
The investigator's voice was a blur. "If you want to find her alive, your aunt will have to talk."
Chris didn't speak. He dialled the police with steady, lethal calm, demanding Aunt May be taken in. Stephanie followed soon after.
But Derek? Every lead ended in smoke. His number dead, his transactions clean, his contacts vanishing into thin air.
And Susan…
She was slipping. Her body trembled uncontrollably; her vision hazy.
The door crashed open, and Derek stormed in, face twisted with fury.
"Did you tell him about me?" he snarled, shoving his phone in her face.
Her mouth opened, but only a whimper came out.
"Answer me!" His roar filled the room.
"I didn't…."
The slap cracked her head to the side, blood blooming on her lip. His hand clamped around her jaw, forcing her gaze to his.
"Did you tell him about me?"
She shook her head, sobbing.
His fingers tightened around her throat, choking the air from her lungs.
"When did you become a liar?"
"I didn't," she rasped, barely audible.
He released her suddenly, pacing like a caged animal. She collapsed against the ropes, coughing, body shaking.
"You were mine," he whispered hoarsely, dropping to his knees in front of her. His hands cupped her face with the same tenderness he'd once used to lure her trust. "Before him, you were mine. We had no one else. You loved me."
Her chest heaved. Her tears blurred him into a monster-shaped shadow.
"You ran because of him, didn't you? He took you from me." His eyes glistened with something close to grief.
"Blake…" His voice cracked. "You remember, don't you? What we had? What we survived together?"
Her body sagged, too weak to fight, too weak even to answer.
He nodded as if she'd confessed. His palm stroked her cheek. "I'll make it right again."
His lips brushed her forehead in a twisted benediction.
"Maybe if I kill him," he whispered, almost to himself. "Then it'll be just us again."
Susan's heart hammered painfully, the last thread of strength keeping her conscious. Her tears fell hot and fast as Derek stood, his shadow looming.
"I'll fix everything, Blake. I promise."