“You were trying to leave me again, weren’t you?” Rafael’s voice is calm, almost too calm, as he wipes the blood from his lips. His fingers trail along his mouth, collecting the crimson stain, before he looks at Elena.
She stands frozen in the center of the room, her heart pounding in her chest. There’s a cold sweat on the back of her neck. She should’ve known better. She should’ve known he’d see through her. Rafael always sees. Always knows.
The plan was simple—slip away, escape before he noticed. But the second she made her move, he caught on. She hadn’t even gotten halfway across the room when his hand was around her wrist, pulling her back to him.
“You thought you could outsmart me?” Rafael asks, the amusement in his tone unmistakable. His dark eyes shine with a dangerous edge, but there’s no fury. Instead, there’s something much worse—he’s pleased. He enjoys this. Enjoys seeing her struggle.
Elena says nothing. She can’t. Words would only make it worse. She just stands there, her eyes locked on the floor, her stomach tight with anxiety.
He steps closer, his presence suffocating, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. His hand rests lightly on her chin, forcing her to look up at him, his thumb stroking her lower lip. His touch is gentle, but there’s nothing kind about it. It feels like a warning.
“I should punish you for trying to leave,” he murmurs, his voice low, but it’s not the threat that makes her skin prickle. It’s the quiet confidence in his words. He knows he has her. He knows she can’t escape.
Elena feels something snap inside her. This isn’t how she wanted it to end—trapped like this. But Rafael’s hold on her has only tightened. She doesn’t know if she’s fighting to escape anymore, or if she’s just fighting to survive.
“I didn’t mean to—” She tries to speak, but her voice falters. It’s useless. She can’t explain.
Rafael cuts her off, his finger pressing against her lips. “Shh… don’t try to explain yourself. You don’t need to say anything.”
His words settle around her like a heavy weight, and she feels the warmth of his breath on her skin. She hates how he’s so close, how his presence invades her every thought, every feeling. It’s suffocating.
“I’m going to punish you, Elena,” he says again, but this time, there’s no trace of kindness in his voice. It’s cold, final. “But I think I’ll make it a little… different.”
She watches him warily, unable to tear her gaze away.
Rafael takes a step back, studying her. His eyes flicker over her face as if assessing her, calculating what he wants to do next. She holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of anger, there’s only amusement—he’s enjoying this. The fear, the uncertainty, it fuels him.
Without saying another word, he walks over to the table by the window. Elena’s eyes follow him, dread curling in her stomach. She knows that look. It’s the look of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing—and who knows exactly how to make her bend to his will.
He picks up a glass of wine from the table, the dark red liquid swirling inside the delicate crystal. Her heart skips a beat as she realizes what it is.
“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice weak, but she can’t stop the fear from creeping into her words. “Please don’t.”
Rafael only smirks as he turns the glass in his hand, studying it as if it holds some secret, some mystery he’s about to unravel. He walks back to her, holding it out in front of her face.
“It’s just wine,” he says casually, but Elena knows better. Her pulse spikes. He wouldn’t give her a chance to leave so easily. He wouldn’t make it that simple.
“Elena,” he whispers, a hint of mockery in his tone. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. Not yet.”
He brings the glass closer, and she recoils instinctively. She tries to step back, but he’s too fast. His hand grips her wrist, holding her in place.
"Drink," he commands, and there’s no room for disobedience.
Her body betrays her as she reaches for the glass, taking a small sip, trying not to gag. The taste is bitter, sharp, but she knows it’s not just wine. She doesn’t know what he’s done to it, but she’s certain it’s something that’ll make her weaker, something that’ll make her more susceptible to him.
She can already feel the edge of something slipping over her. Her limbs feel heavy. Her head swims. But she doesn’t let it show. She fights it, fighting against the sensation, fighting against the feeling of losing control.
Rafael watches her with a strange intensity in his gaze, his eyes dark and knowing, as if he’s seeing through her, reading her every thought.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost teasing. "You think I don’t know how to keep you here?”
His lips curl into a smile, and she feels a shiver crawl down her spine.
“I’ve always been one step ahead,” he adds, his voice dark with satisfaction. “You were never going to escape me. Not this time.”
Elena’s heart sinks as she realizes he’s right. She never had a chance.
The world around her starts to blur as the drug takes its toll. Her knees feel weak, her thoughts muddled. She stumbles slightly, but Rafael catches her, holding her up with a firm hand on her waist.
“There,” he says softly, almost affectionately, as if he’s proud of her for finally surrendering. “It wasn’t that hard, was it?”
Her vision spins as she’s pulled toward the bed. She’s powerless to stop it. All of her strength, all of her plans, have vanished in the face of his control.
Later, as she lies in the darkened room, unable to fully fall asleep, she feels a presence beside her. Her eyes flutter open, and she sees Rafael’s face just inches from hers, his dark eyes glinting with something between satisfaction and amusement.
“You can’t run from me, Elena,” he whispers softly, the words like a heavy weight. “You never could.”