The next morning came too quickly.
The sun poured into the room through the large windows. It lit everything—the white walls, the glass furniture, the tall wardrobe in the corner. Everything in the room looked expensive. Clean. Beautiful. But none of it felt like mine. It didn't feel like safety. It felt like a cage dressed in gold.
I was awake, but I didn't move.
My eyes stayed on the ceiling, watching the fan turn slowly above my head. My body was sore. My head still ached. But the pain was not the kind you could see. It was deep, hidden under my skin. The kind that didn't heal with sleep.
I hadn't eaten anything since I woke up here. I didn't trust the food. I didn't trust the people. I didn't trust the soft beds, or the sweet-smelling soap, or the way the house was so quiet.
I especially didn't trust the man.
The man with the eyes that watched me too closely.
He came into the room last night.
He didn't say much.
He stood by the door, holding a glass of water. He looked at me like he was trying to figure me out. Like I was a puzzle he didn't understand.
His face didn't carry anger. But that meant nothing. I had learned the hard way that even soft eyes could hide sharp hands. That smiles could turn into slaps. That a gentle voice today could be a monster's roar tomorrow.
I kept my eyes on him. I didn't say a word. I didn't take the water.
After a few minutes, he placed the glass on the table and walked out.
He didn't lock the door behind him. That scared me more.
Freedom felt like a trap.
Now, as morning light filled the room again, I got out of bed and walked slowly to the window. The view was calm. Trees. Flowers. A long road that led to a black gate. Two men stood outside, talking. Probably security.
If I wanted to run… I couldn't.
Not in this weak body.
Not without knowing where I was.
I turned back from the window and walked around the room slowly. Every step was careful, as if something might explode. I opened the wardrobe—clothes. Clean, folded, untouched. Some still had tags. They weren't mine.
I checked the drawer—just a Bible and a pen.
No phones. No laptops. No clues.
I went to the door and opened it gently. The hallway was quiet. Marble floors, tall ceilings, paintings on the wall. Everything screamed money. But still, I didn't feel safe.
I heard footsteps.
I quickly closed the door and backed away, heart pounding.
Then the knock came.
"Are you okay?" It was a woman's voice again—Maria. "Can I come in?"
I didn't answer.
She waited, then gently pushed the door open.
Her smile was kind, but I didn't trust it. I stepped back, arms folded.
"I brought you something light," she said. "Just fruits and tea. You really should eat."
I said nothing.
She didn't look annoyed. She just sighed and placed the tray down.
"The man who found you... his name is Callum. This is his house. You were unconscious outside the gate. He asked us to take care of you."
I blinked. Found me?
I was outside the gate?
So… they didn't bring me here on purpose?
She looked at me. "He's a good man. He's not going to hurt you."
I scoffed quietly in my mind. Good men didn't exist. Not in my world.
She gave a small smile. "He'll be around if you need anything." Then she left.
As soon as she stepped out, I locked the door.
I paced around the room. My mind was racing. The pieces didn't add up.
This wasn't Obinna's house.
This wasn't his staff.
This wasn't his kind of luxury either. It was softer. Warmer.
But why was I here?
Why did this Callum man care?
I sat on the floor and hugged my knees.
Minutes passed. Then, as if he had heard my thoughts, the door creaked again. A soft knock.
I didn't speak.
"Are you okay?" A deep voice.
Him.
Callum.
I stood slowly, walked to the door, and pressed my ear against it.
His voice was calm. Patient. Not like Obinna's, which was always sharp and loud.
"I'm not here to force anything," he said. "I just… wanted to check on you."
I closed my eyes and held my breath.
He didn't move. He just waited.
Then I heard his footsteps fade away.
I opened the door slightly, peeking out. He was walking down the hallway, dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans. Tall. Broad shoulders. He had the kind of presence you couldn't ignore—even when he was silent.
He reached the end of the hallway and stopped. Slowly, he turned and looked back at me.
Our eyes met.
Something passed between us in that moment. Not words. Not fear. Just… something I couldn't name.
Then he nodded gently and walked away.
I stood there, confused.
He didn't speak much.
He didn't force me.
He didn't even look angry that I wasn't talking or eating.
He just… existed.
Watching.
Waiting.
A different kind of captivity.
This time, there were no chains. No shouts. No bruises.
But still, I didn't feel free.