'Access approved.'
Shit.
I jerked upright, then hastily dove back under the sheets, feigning sleep. Why was he here again?
I was trying to stay out of trouble, but my mouth seemed to have a mind of its own whenever he was near. And I didn't want to provoke him; I was too young to die. I had so many things I wanted to do, and I was on the cusp of starting a new chapter in my life before he disrupted it.
I heard his footsteps growing louder as he approached my bed. I held my breath, hoping he'd leave me alone if he thought I was sleeping.
Please leave
Please leave
Please leave
The sheets were suddenly and unexpectedly yanked away from my body, and I recoiled as the cold air air conditioner hit my skin. I stiffened, still pretending to be asleep, hoping against hope that he'd leave me alone.
"Get up and Eat. Now"
Why was he the one bringing in my food?
I got my meals through a slot in the door, like a prisoner. It was degrading, especially since I had a contract that was supposed to protect my rights. I knew it wasn't Shane, though. he wouldn't have bothered with the slot; he would have simply walked in, like he just did.
"I'll eat it later," I muttered, abandoning the pretence of sleep, but my eyes remained shut; I wasn't ready to face him yet. Afraid I would remember the man he killed and that nasty hole the bullet made in his forehead.
"You're not deaf, I said now," Shane's voice was accompanied by the sound of the tray being placed on the table.
"I don't feel good, I'll eat later," I replied, knowing I had no intention of touching the food. For the past three days, I'd been secretly flushing it down the toilet. Hunger gnawed at me, and my bones ached from the lack of nutrients, but I refused to eat anything he gave me. I didn't trust him; I couldn't trust a murderer.
Trust me, I'd seen guys like Shane in the movies - sociopaths and psychopaths who'd kill without hesitation or remorse. And with his wealth and influence, he could easily make my death look like an accident. Even the thought made goosebumps rise on my skin. Looking back, my life had been a mess, and I knew that if I turned up dead, no one would push too hard for answers.
Plus, not eating the food was a smart move. God knows what they'd put in it or how they'd prepared it. These people had stabbed me with a syringe before, and I didn't think it would bother their conscience to do it again. Especially Shane. He seemed to have no qualms about using underhanded tactics to get what he wanted. I wasn't about to allow him to slip something past me again.
"Don't piss me off Ariana," he warned, his gruff voice raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The way he muttered my name was unnervingly intimate, making my skin prickle with unease. "Get up and eat."
"I don't want to." I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the tension.
"Did I ask?" His tone turned threatening.
My eyes reluctantly pried open, and I sat up, my stomach growling with the small movement. I cursed myself for the lack of self-control.
Shane gestured to the tray on the table, laden with Prawn Cocktail, served on a bed of crisp lettuce, and Chicken Alfredo Pasta—my favourite. The addition of tiramisu only made my hunger pangs worse. But I shoved the craving aside. I wasn't eating that, no matter what.
"I know there's something in there," I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. He didn't respond, his hands slipping casually into his pockets as usual. His white shirt was untucked, the top buttons open, revealing a glimpse of smooth, brown skin underneath. I tore my gaze away, focusing on the food. "I'm not eating that, and you can't force me," I added, still glaring at him defiantly.
His lips curled into a slow, threatening smile, the dimple on his cheek mocking me. He took deliberate steps towards me, his eyes gleaming with intent, and I swallowed hard.
"Good idea." With that, he grasped my elbows, his grip like a vice, and yanked me to my feet. I let out a startled yelp, trying to wriggle free, but he was too strong, his fingers digging into my skin like talons.
"Hey!!" I yelled, trying to free myself from his grasp, but he overpowered me. He grabbed me by the waist, lifting me off the ground and swinging me over his shoulder effortlessly like a sack of potatoes.
My glare locked on him as he dumped me on the sofa. "Eat," he ordered flatly.
"No," I spat bluntly, my chest heaving with agitation and my breathing rapid.
He chuckled before taking a half forkful of pasta. I knew what he was about to do, and I clenched my lips shut, trying to resist. But his left hand grasped my jaw harshly, his fingers digging into my cheek, forcing my mouth open. I whimpered, struggling against his hold, but he shoved the fork into my mouth, the pasta gritty against my tongue.
"Chew and swallow," he commanded, dropping the fork onto the tray with a clatter.
As I chewed, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and before I could think better of it, I spat the pasta onto his crisp white shirt. The moment it hit his chest, leaving an ugly stain, I felt a pang of regret and my eyes locked on the mess I'd made.
His glare turned glacial, his eyes freezing me in place. I felt like my days were numbered, my very existence teetering on the edge of oblivion. He placed his hands on the armrests, leaning in close, his dark eyes piercing mine like daggers. The air seemed to thicken as he loomed over me, his cologne suffocating.
"We're going to try that one more time, Ariana," he hissed, his muscles working. My mind raced, and I knew I had to listen.
He took another forkful of pasta, fury etched the deep lines on his face.
Maybe I should just swallow my pride...and the pasta?
I tried to steel myself, but I couldn't help trembling as he forced my jaw open, the fork scraping against my teeth. "Chew... and swallow," he whispered, his breath hot against my face.
I glared at him with teary eyes as I chewed slowly, my cheek aching from the force. I swallowed the dissolved pasta, the action feeling like a betrayal.
A silent sob broke free from my lips, but Shane didn't flinch. He continued to feed me, his movements mechanical, until I was eating without resistance. Even tiramisu, something I normally ate with pleasure, was forced down my throat by him, making me feel like a prisoner in my own body.
"If you had obeyed me initially, you wouldn't be a sobbing mess right now." His voice was devoid of empathy, once the plates were cleared.
I'd eaten every last bite, my body numb and my mind reeling. I wiped the tears from my face, my eyes cast downward, focusing on my feet. The silence that followed was oppressive, weighing me down like a physical force.
He slowly lifted my face gingerly, his fingers resting on my jaw. His touch was soft, but his eyes were cold. "If I catch you flushing my food down the toilet again, I'll make sure you don't live to throw another tantrum. Do you understand me?" I stared back at him, my eyes welling up with tears.
"Nod if you understand," he snapped again, and I nodded, my movement barely noticeable, but sufficient for him to see. He held my gaze for a moment, then released me from his grasp. "Good... very good," he said with a bitter smile spreading across his face.
He turned away, gathering the plates and tray, the sound of clinking dishes echoing through the room.
He placed his hand on the biometric scanner.
"Goodnight, Ariana" The door slid open, and he stepped out, leaving me shattered.
As soon as he was gone, I broke down, my body wracked with sobs. My palms covered my eyes, but the tears seeped through, streaming down my face.
I felt like I was drowning in unhappiness. My life was in a complete mess, and I was trapped, at the mercy of a man who seemed to take pleasure in my suffering.