CHAPTER 3

He left again without saying a word, I was confused; I loved the experience and hated it simultaneously, and as days turned into weeks, I had not heard a word from Lorenzo. I didn't know if I should be worried or not bothered; just as I was lost in thoughts, the door opened again, and it was Marcus, Lorenzo's right-hand man. He then instructed me to come with him; I was reluctant because that wasn't part of the plan; I yelled, "NO, that's absurd," and then he forcefully pulled me up to the terrace.

On getting there, Lorenzo was there, and there was a table that had a tray, and on that tray, there were some unfamiliar tools like whips, balls, and so many more; I was confused and out of words, and immediately he locked my hands with the chains and locks it was like a wheel, then he tore off the dress I had on and grabbed my breasts and pinched my nipples in his fingers the then went down with his fingers down my this and then my clit at first he was gently rubbing my clit and then all of a sudden he dipped his finger it definitely feels like just one finger, he pounded his fingers deeper inside of me. Then he went to the tray and picked up a bullet shaped like piece of material, turned it on, and inserted it deep in me, I screamed in pain for help, and no one came; my legs trembled, then he released me from the chains me up turning me to face the wall and said "hands on the wall" then he arched my back and boom his dick was inside of me, he pushed it in really deep that I screamed and moaned at the same time, he went in and out slowly at first then went faster and faster that I couldn't feel my legs he didn't stop there he then pulled me and pushed me on the table that had the tools and turned me to back him and then he too the whip and whipped my bum I screamed in pains. He moaned harder for the first time I had heard him moan; he whipped me and told me to count down from ten; he continued till I could no longer speak, and when he was done, he left. I was in so much pain I couldn't move, neither could I cry; I fell on the floor sobbing and wondering when all of this was going to end. The thoughts I had earlier of enjoying the sex were no more; I felt raped and brutalized, and I was left strengthless; the door opened, and two masked men came, picked me up, and took me back to my room. Days passed, and weeks also, I had not heard a word from anyone except the people who were coming to treat all the injuries I had and making sure I recovered as they were instructed, well, so I thought.

Days passed in an agonizing silence, each stretching longer than the last. The memory of Lorenzo's brutal treatment lingered like a dark cloud, poisoning my thoughts. I could still feel the sting of his rough touch and the callous disregard in his eyes. Hatred began to fester in my heart. Lorenzo was more than just cruel—he was a monster, and I despised him for it, but at the same time, I loved the sex; the fact that I had never experienced sex in such an intense way, I felt it was good to experience new things, but I also hated it because I was just a sex slave to him. I thought of ways to escape, but the room to the room I was kept in could only be open from the outside; I cried day and night and wished I had never gone to work that night and also that I had never been born. Every attempt to escape failed before executing my plan, so I gave up for a while.

Weeks turned into a blur of monotony. The loneliness was suffocating, and I longed for any distraction to pull me from my spiraling thoughts. One evening, as the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, the door creaked open. Marcus stepped in the shadow of the man I had come to fear by association. He was Lorenzo's right-hand man, but something was different about him now—something softer.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur.

I stared at him, unsure of how to respond. The concern in his eyes was unexpected and confusing. He moved closer, offering me a glass of water. "You look pale," he observed, his tone sincere.

Then he said:

"Do not fear; I have come in peace. I'm here for you as my boss, Lorenzo, is currently out of state on a business trip."

I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his. A spark of warmth spread from the point of contact. Marcus was different. He wasn't like Lorenzo. The realization was both startling and comforting.

Marcus continued to visit over the next few days, bringing small tokens of comfort—a book, some fresh fruit, and a warm blanket. He never overstepped his boundaries, always keeping a respectful distance. Slowly, I found myself looking forward to his visits. He listened when I spoke, his eyes never wavering from mine. For the first time in weeks, I felt seen and heard.

I was never allowed out of the room, but because Lorenzo had gone on a business trip, Marcus had the upper hand for a while

One night, as we sat on the terrace under a canopy of stars, Marcus spoke about his life before he met Lorenzo. He shared stories of his childhood, his dreams, and his regrets. There was a vulnerability in his voice that tugged at my heart.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he said quietly, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "I should have stopped him. I didn't want to hurt you."

Tears welled up in my eyes. His apology was unexpected, and it touched a part of me that I thought had long been buried. I reached out, placing my hand over his. "It's not your fault," I whispered, trembling. "You're not like him."

Marcus squeezed my hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. At that moment, something shifted between us. The walls I had built around my heart began to crumble, and I realized that my feelings for Marcus had changed. He wasn't just Lorenzo's right-hand man anymore—he was my ally, my confidant, and perhaps something better, better, I thought.

As the days turned into weeks, our bond grew more assertive. Marcus continued showing me kindness and respect, and my hatred for Lorenzo deepened. The contrast between the two men was stark—one was a brute who thrived on power and control, while the other was a beacon of compassion and strength.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery red and gold, Marcus and I sat together on the terrace. He turned to me, his eyes searching mine. "I care about you," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "More than I should."

I felt my heart skip a beat. The feelings I had been trying to suppress came rushing to the surface. "I care about you too, Marcus," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with promise and hope, a stark contrast to the brutality I had experienced with Lorenzo.