Chapter 5: Three Weeks Ago: When Everything Changed.

The sensation of ice water dumped on my head jolted me awake abruptly with a gasp and a sputter as it streamed down my face and mingled with the sweat on my skin already glued in place by the heat of the room.

My body spasmed as I struggled to breathe. Panic constricted my chest, and I blinked furiously, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Slowly, the spinning world came into focus—a dim, suffocating room with walls that seemed to close in on me. 

A shadow loomed overhead. The man’s massive frame eclipsed the faint light, his presence radiating menace. He tossed the empty bucket aside with a loud clang that echoed in the confined space. 

I tried to move, but the ropes binding my wrists to the back of the chair bit into my skin, holding me firmly in place. My breaths came in shallow bursts as I craned my neck to look up at him. 

"Oh, our damsel in distress is awake. No, wait—it’s Sleeping Beauty," one of the guards quipped, his sneer pulling laughter from the others. 

I blinked rapidly, my vision sharpening just enough to catch his mocking expression. “Where am I? What do you want from me?” I demanded, my voice trembling but defiant. 

The guard leaned closer, smirking. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know what’s coming." 

“I’m sure you know my father,” I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady. “If it’s money you want, he’ll pay you. But if you’re playing games—" 

A hand shot out, gripping my chin roughly and cutting off my words. My heart pounded as the man yanked his mask off, revealing a face twisted with cruel delight. 

He drawled, his grip tightening, “Your daddy and his money can’t save you here. Welcome to the real Los Angeles—the side your kind pretends doesn’t exist." 

My gaze dropped to the red emblem on his navy blue suit, and something clicked. I hadn’t known them before, but the news stories flashed in my mind—the notorious mafia crew of Los Angeles. Only a few months ago, they were making headlines as the city's most feared criminals. Now, here they were, standing in front of me.

Before I could fully process the danger, the door creaked open, and a deep, menacing voice sliced through the air. 

“Take your filthy hands off her." The dark tone ordered from the now open doorway; it was then I noticed I was in what looked like an underground cellar, not a room.

“Your job was to bring her in; anything else you choose to do after would require direct authority from me. If not, you'll end up in her position or worse." The voice sounded like thunder from a distance. It was the kind of voice that messengers from hell should have, and every word he said felt like poison to my skin. The guards stepped back as the figure emerged from the shadows, his silhouette framed by the dim bulb dangling overhead, and I shivered where I sat. 

“Pardon my guards; they tend to be moronic and overzealous at times,” the man said, his tone calm yet laced with danger. He approached slowly, his expensive suit exuding power. Smoke curled from the pipe in his mouth, the faint light catching the silver streaks in his hair. Even with his advanced age, he exuded an air of provocative handsomeness that only added to his menace. 

“Get her a change of clothes,” he ordered, his voice like velvet dipped in poison. “Make her beautiful and prepare her for tonight." 

My stomach dropped. “What—what do you mean? I asked, stammering, but I got no response.

"Don't you dare touch me!” I yelled at the guard, who had now moved to stand behind me, awaiting their boss's final orders before they bundled me away.

Their menacing boss crouched to my level, his eyes boring into mine. “Oh, duckling,” he said with a mocking smile, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the tears on my face. “Should you disobey me, I’ll show you what a wolf does to stray lambs." His words dripped with cruelty, each syllable tightening the knot of fear in my chest. 

“I’m Mr. Blade, but the people who know me; call me *The Godfather*,” he continued, staring deeply into my eyes. "Everything you are now belongs to me, little duckling. Even your defiance.” He added concludingly, straightening his suit in the process.

“I’m not a thing to be bought or sold! I’m a Blackwell!” My voice rose with defiance as I glared at him and spat on his shoe. 

The slap came hard and fast, leaving my cheek stinging and my vision swimming. 

“You can make this easy or difficult,” Mr. Blade snarled, his calm demeanor slipping for a moment. “But the choice is yours.” He straightened and called, "Elias!" 

A hulking man dressed like a soldier stepped forward, his presence radiating violence. 

“Take her to Clayton. She’s to be added to his girls,” Mr. Blade instructed, his tone dripping with malice. “He’ll know how to handle her spirit. Maybe after a night or two, she’ll learn her place." He leans in closer, his lip close to my ears, as he whispers so low only I can hear him.

“My son has a thing for tall women like you.” He said, rubbing my shoulder. “And he likes to fuck rough, but I’ll ask him to go gentle.” He breathed, laughing maniacally as he stood back up and made his way out of the room. 

“Who’s Clayton?” I asked, starting to wail again.

“I don’t want to be with this Clayton,” I shouted, sobbing, but all my tears fell on deaf ears. 

“Please don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave me here. I don’t want to be touched by this man.” I pleaded, trying to get up; however, his guards bundled me back, and he walked out of the cellar. 

“No!” I screamed, thrashing against the guards, who now had their hands firmly wrapped around my upper arm. “I’ll do whatever you want—just let me go!" I begged, but my pleas fell on deaf ears as they pulled me helplessly out of the room and to the opened cellar door.

As they pulled me from the darkness of the room and we emerged outside, I was met with two men standing by the exit, their imposing figures blocking the way. 

They both exuded an ominous presence, their muscular frames apparent in the sunlight. Tattoos covered their arms and even crept up their necks, marking them as dangerous, but they didn’t look alike. One stood taller and broader, clearly a bodyguard. The other... smirked as he reached out to touch my face. I recoiled, glaring at him. 

“Bold,” he remarked, his voice smooth but dripping with mockery. “I like that. It'll make your fall even sweeter."

“Fuck you,” I snapped, my fear twisting into fury. 

His grin widened. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I plan to do." 

My heart plummeted as I glanced at the other man. He was taller and broader, with a calm demeanor that somehow made him even more intimidating. His piercing gaze met mine briefly before he turned away. 

I looked back at the first man—the one with dark, taper-wavy hair and a handsome face twisted with cruelty—it had to be Clayton. 

"Bring her in," the handsome man ordered, confirming my worst fears as he turned, already walking toward the mansion. I screamed, kicking wildly as the men on either side of me dragged me forward.

“Please! Stop!" My voice cracked with desperation, but they kept moving, ignoring my pleas as if I were nothing more than a beggar. My feet scraped against the dirt as I struggled, but it was useless. 

My surroundings blurred through my tear-filled eyes, but I caught glimpses of the massive compound, the imposing mansion at its center. I could barely make out the details of the building. It didn’t matter; I knew what awaited me inside wasn’t salvation.

Inside, the guards led me through lavish halls and into an elevator. My mind raced, searching desperately for an escape route, but every corner was heavily guarded. 

The elevator doors opened to a third-floor corridor. The guards dragged me into a room and threw me onto a bed. 

“Can we leave, Lord Clayton?” One of them asked, and I sighed as I was right; he was the devilish son Mr. Blade spoke about. 

Clayton—nodded his eyes, never leaving me. "Yeah, get out," he said, his voice flat.

The larger man behind him—who stayed silent until now—but kept his distance. His presence loomed just as dark, his silence more menacing than words.

Clayton smirked, turning to look at him where he stood. "Would you like to do the honors, Andrew? I saw the way you looked at her when they dragged her out, and now you seem glued to that spot."

Andrew shook his head, unbothered. "Nah, man. She’s all yours."

Clayton asked again with mockery in his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want her?" 

Andrew chuckled darkly. “Yes, I don't; I’m surprised though," Andrew muttered. "Most rich girls are either plastic or ugly. But her? She looks real."

Clayton chuckled, picking up a knife from the desk behind him. "Yeah. That’s why I’ll enjoy her tonight."

“As your lordship pleases,” Andrew responded, taking a slightly playful bow to Clayton, and they both laughed. Andrew glanced at me one last time, his expression unreadable, before leaving. 

Clayton turned to me, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. “Now,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt, "your pride is going to be the simplest thing for you to swallow by the time I’m done with you."

I screamed again, “HELP!” my voice breaking as he approached. My hands wrestle painfully against the ropes that bound them. His grip found me, pulling me closer. 

“Where's that sharp mouth of yours now?” He asked angrily, holding me tightly by my neck with his right hand, bringing his knife close with his left hand, and pointing them straight into my eyeballs. 

I tried to scream or blink, but a single wrong move from me and a knife would be in my eyes to my skull. Clayton didn’t seem to care; he looked at me with the looks of a killer and a predator.

"Please," I gasped, but the words barely left my lips as an unbearable pain surged through me.