Chapter 135 - ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FOUR

Chapter 135: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FOUR

ANGEL

Damien didn’t keep me in chains or tied to a bed like before.

No locks.

No chains. He didn’t bother with any of it because he knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

The house was a fortress—modern and sleek with brooding colours that matched its owner. Surrounding it on every side was dense forest that stretched for miles, not to mention the guards stationed at every exit.

Inside the house, it was just me and him. And Ines, who appeared and disappeared like a ghost. She was there one moment tending to all the domestic stuff, and gone the next without a sound.

I’d completely lost track of the days. It was the same routine everyday. Wake up, get fucked, survive whatever he did to me, try to eat, sleep, repeat. The sun rose and set and rose again, and I stopped counting.

Except something was different now.

I’d been dizzy. Tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix, and the nausea that had been lurking for days was getting worse. The smell of food made my stomach flip and clench. I’d thrown up twice yesterday, maybe it was grief, my body was still catching up to everything that had happened.

Today was the worst yet. The dizziness hit the second I sat up too quickly, the room spinning like I’d downed a bottle of vodka. I grabbed the headboard to keep from falling, breathing slow and deep through my nose until the world decided to stay still.

Ines appeared with dessert. Some kind of pastry, buttery and rich, the smell hitting me like a wave. "You’re pale," she said, watching me with those assessing eyes. "Are you unwell?"

"I’m fine." I pushed the tray away, turning my face from the smell. "Just tired."

"You’ve been tired for days." She didn’t leave, just stood there studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. "Should I call the Master?"

Master.

I hated that word. It never failed to make my skin prickle with revulsion and unwanted recognition.

"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. "Don’t call him. I’m fine. Really."

She raised an eyebrow but reached for the tray.

And then it hit me.

Calling Damien meant a phone.

This might be my only chance at reaching the outside world.

"Wait." I pressed my hand to my forehead, letting my eyes flutter closed. The dizziness was real, I didn’t even have to fake much. "Actually... I feel really bad. Maybe you should call him."

Ines watched me for a long moment, her dark eyes giving nothing away. Then she nodded and pulled the phone from her pocket.

There it was. A lifeline to everything beyond these walls.

"Master," she said into the phone, her back half-turned to me. "The girl is unwell. She says she’s dizzy, refusing food again—"

I watched the phone, her attention split between Damien’s voice and whatever instructions he was giving her.

Think. Think.

I couldn’t just grab it from her hand—she’d fight back, and I was too weak and dizzy to win that struggle. But maybe...

"Yes, Master. I understand. Should I—"

"Ines." I made my voice strained. I’d been acting most of my life, putting on an act wasn’t something difficult. "I think... I think I’m going to be sick."

She glanced at me, phone still pressed to her ear, concern flickering across her features.

I gagged dramatically, loud, and what I hoped was convincing enough.

"Hold on," she said into the phone, and I watched with my heart pounding, as she set it down on the nightstand. "Don’t vomit on the bed—"

"Bathroom," I gasped, scrambling off the mattress on unsteady legs. "I need—I can’t—"

I stumbled toward the bathroom, and Ines followed close behind, her hand on my back, guiding me through the door. I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and gripped the porcelain like my life depended on it, making retching sounds that echoed off the tiles.

"I’ll get you water to rinse your mouth," she said behind me.

I heard her footsteps retreating and then the sound of the door open and close as she left to fetch whatever she thought would help.

The second the door clicked shut, I was up.

I moved faster than I thought possible, back into the bedroom, my eyes scanning frantically until—there. On the nightstand, right where she’d left it.

The phone.

I grabbed it and fled back to the bathroom, locking the door behind me with shaking hands.

I’d done it. I had a phone. I could call for help. My fingers hovered over the screen, trembling.

Who could I call?

Kevin? He was my only friend outside, but I didn’t know his number by heart. I’d never needed to memorize it—it had always just been there in my phone, a tap away. And even if I somehow remembered it, the last thing I wanted was to drag him into this. He’d almost died because of me once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.

Vincenzo’s men? But I didn’t know their numbers either. And even if I did, would they help me now that their boss was dead?

The police? And tell them what? That I’d been kidnapped by a mafia lord who was obsessed with me?

I stared at the phone in my hand, the screen glowing mockingly up at me, and felt the full weight of my isolation settle into my bones.

There was no one.

No one I could call who would come for me.

Asides from Damien, there was no other person in this world who my life mattered to.

The tears came, hot and bitter, streaming down my face. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back at me. Pale. Haunted eyes. Pathetic.

I wanted Daddy to hold me. The longing rose up so fierce and sudden it stole the breath from my lungs. I wanted to hear his voice. Even just one more time or just a recording. Something. Anything.

I knew his personal phone by heart. Just before the whole tragedy, I’d even made him record his voicemail greeting one time so I could hear it each time he had to leave for work and couldn’t answer my calls.

My fingers moved, typing in the number and I pressed call.

The phone rang.

My heart seized in my chest, tears still streaming down my face. One ring. I held my breath, waiting for the voicemail to pick up.

Two rings.

Any second now, the recording would start. His voice The line connected. For a second my breath completely stilled.

The recording didn’t come. No automated message either. There was someone on the other end.

"Who’s this?"

I froze.

The world stopped spinning, the cold air, the tears on my face—all of it faded into nothing. There was only that voice. That masculine voice I knew better than my own heartbeat. It was a voice I’d been so certain I would never hear again.

It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t possible.

Damien had said Jillian killed him.

"D-Daddy?" My voice came out a whisper. I had to be hallucinating. The grief had finally shattered what was left of my sanity. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision and make sense of what was happening. "Daddy, is that y-you—"

"Baby girl?"

Disbelief tangled together into a knot around my chest so tight I couldn’t breathe around it.

"Baby girl, where are you?!" His voice was louder now, urgent, desperate in a way I’d never heard before. "Angel, talk to me! Where are you?!"

Daddy wasn’t dead.

A knock on the bathroom door made me jump so hard I nearly dropped the phone.

"Angel." Ines’s voice was sharp and cutting, "Open the door."