𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕

Cara Hendersons pov

I was free... wasn’t I?

Panic surged through me as I scanned the rooms, rushin' into one that turned out to be a faded bedroom, its single window barred tightly, offering no lifeline. Just one big, dismal opening with no hope of escape. There was a closet—one I could definitely fit in—but how long would I remain hidden before they found me?

What kind of hellhole was this?

Just then, the door burst open behind me, and I turned to face him. He wasn’t as angry as he usually was, but his breathing was heavy, his eyes sparking with intensity that sent chills down my spine.

“I’m…” I breathed out, instinctively stepping back. But there was nowhere to go; I was cornered in this small room where I felt the walls closing in.

He moved closer, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what had transpired.

“We… trusted… you…”

“Big mistake on your part,” I shot back, defiance creeping into my voice, though I felt that tight knot of fear in my gut.

In a split second, he closed the distance, standing just inches away. I felt the cold wall pressing against my back as his eyes bore down into mine, their intensity unreadable. Why was he so close? What was he doing? His body radiated heat, making it hard to think straight.

And then, his lips parted, leaning in. His hand lifted slowly, fingers grazing my skin. Everything inside me screamed to move, but my body refused to cooperate.

“Silly cara…” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck, igniting a shiver that spread like wildfire through me. His hands gripped my arms, holding me firmly against the wall.

“I don’t make mistakes.” Suddenly, his hands tightened around my neck, squeezing as I struggled to pry them away. My body fought against his grip, but he was too strong, and with each passing second, my strength faded until darkness enveloped me.

When I came to, the blaring lights were still overhead, the thin mattress pressed uncomfortably beneath me. Only now, I felt cold—a chill creeping over my exposed skin.

Glancing around, panic set in. I was chained… and completely naked.

“What the…” I gasped, quickly grabbing the thin blanket to cover myself, its warmth barely comforting. Why was I naked? What the hell had happened?

The door swung open, and in walked the curly-haired one, his expression far from the smirking guy I’d seen before. This time, he wore different jeans, a fresh bandage wrapped tightly around his leg—where I had stabbed him. His anger glowered in his eyes, transforming his face into a dangerous glare.

“Why—”

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to speak after everything we’ve done for you—let you shower, gave you your stupid products, fed you, and even gave you clothes. And what do you do? You take advantage of us, you bitch!” His words sliced through me like a knife, and I lowered my head in acknowledgment, knowing he was right. I had no chance to fight back; so why even try?

For your dignity, you idiot.

“I’m sorry,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

“No, the fuck you’re not! Don’t make half-assed apologies. No more TV, and you’ll get food every other day!”

He was taking away my privileges, and deep down, I knew I deserved it.

“I… understand. And the… clothes?” I asked hesitantly.

That twisted smirk returned, and I hated how it sent shivers of dread through me.

“That’s just for fun. Next time, you’ll think twice before messing with me.” He ran his hands through his hair, and I stared at him, a cocktail of fear and something else—something darker—swirling inside me. He was both terrifying and oddly mesmerizing, a contradiction that sent my mind reeling.

“A beautiful mess,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“That's me… don’t forget it.” With that, he turned and strode out, leaving me in my small prison. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pooling as I tried to keep my emotions in check. I didn’t want him to see me break down, but deep down, I knew he could sense my fear.

I was so stupid to think I could somehow escape this hell. Days had turned into an uncomfortable blur since the moment I’d gone missing, missing home, my warm bed, and those carefree nights watching movies with Rory, mockingly critiquing the terrible acting. Now, I was trapped here with two dangerous, psychotic, yet infuriatingly attractive men, caught in an uncomfortable bond that made me crave their presence even when I wanted to resist.

It had been days since I last ate, hunger gnawing at me, but stubbornness kept me from feeding into their expectations. They wanted me to eat; giving in would feel like admitting defeat, like they had won.

“Fuck you both!” I yelled, collapsing back against the hard mattress, the frustration boiling over.

Was I really going insane? Was this all just some weird fever dream? I longed to be back home, safe and sound, wishing I’d never found myself here. What was I going to do now?