Chapter 4: The Captive

Mia's POV.

I let out another groan, my head pounding like a war drum. My arms felt like lead, and my throat was dry enough to crack. I shifted on the cold, hard floor, realizing I couldn't move my wrists—zip-ties. The bite of the plastic around my skin made me grit my teeth as memories of the night slammed into me.

Dylan Griffin.

The son of the man Ray killed. The charming bastard had drugged my drink and dragged me into this mess.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to sit up. The room was barely lit, the flickering bulb above casting more shadows than light. My eyes darted around, taking in the stark, empty space—four walls, no windows, and a single steel door.

“How do I get out of here?” I whispered to myself, flexing my wrists against the restraints. The pain grounded me, and I welcomed it. I needed to focus, not panic.

Footsteps echoed outside, sharp and deliberate. The heavy door creaked open, and Dylan stepped in.

“Awake already?” he mused, his lips curling into a smirk. He looked annoyingly composed, dressed in casual clothes that somehow made him appear even more intimidating.

“Cut the smug act,” I snapped, my voice hoarse. “What do you want?”

Dylan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stared down at me. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

I glared, refusing to let him see any fear. “Don’t waste my time, Griffin.”

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something colder. “I want what your father owes me. His blood built his empire, and now, you’re going to help me tear it down.”

I scoffed, ignoring the ache in my body. “And you think kidnapping me will do that? Ray doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“Maybe,” Dylan said, his tone measured. “But you’re not just anyone, are you? You’re the Valisteen Princess. The perfect pawn.”

The word pawn hit a nerve, but I kept my expression neutral. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Here’s how this works, Mia,” Dylan continued, crouching down to my level. “You stay alive as long as your father cooperates. If he doesn’t... well, let’s just say your little fairytale life comes to an abrupt end.”

I leaned forward despite the restraints, meeting his gaze head-on. “You really think this is going to work? And who the fuck told you my life is a freaking fearytale? Its a bloody nightmare you asshole. Ray will tear you apart before he even considers bargaining with you.”

Dylan’s jaw tightened, but he quickly masked it with an easy grin. “We’ll see about that.”

---

Over the next three days, I learned two things about Dylan Griffin: he was methodical, and he didn’t underestimate his enemies.

I was kept under constant surveillance, barely allowed to move. Every time he visited, I could feel his eyes studying me, analyzing every word I said, every move I made.

What surprised me, though, was how much I got under his skin. Oh the satisfaction I got for it was overwhelming.

“You’re awfully chatty for someone in your position,” he remarked on the second day, his tone laced with irritation.

“Maybe I just enjoy pissing you off,” I shot back, smirking despite the ache in my ribs.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stood and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Still, I noticed the cracks in his cold exterior. For all his threats and bravado, he couldn’t entirely mask the flicker of something else—something softer—when he looked at me. But whatever it was, he buried it deep.

---

By the third day, I was ready to lose my mind. My wrists were raw from the restraints, my stomach growling from the barely edible scraps they called food. I knew Dylan intentionally wouldn't let me set foot outside this stupid prison because he knows I would have found my way out of this shithole the second he did. This place is slowly driving me mad and I hate the fact that I can't do much but hope to God that someone found my signal through the tracking device in my earnings. Now normally I would have preferred Victor but right now, anyone would do.

Then, God finally decide to answer my prayers, Victor’s voice came through. 

It was faint at first, a whisper through the thin walls. “Mia, can you hear me?”

I froze, my heart pounding. “Victor?” I hissed back, pressing my ear to the wall. I nearly squeak with joy but swallowed it back.

“Hold tight. I’ve got a plan, but you need to stay sharp. Can you stand?”

“Barely,” I admitted, my voice shaking with relief.

“Doesn’t matter. When the lights go out, run to the east side. I’ll handle the rest. Can you realse your hands?”

“I already did, long before you asked." I replied, an evil but proud at myself grin played on my face. Minutes felt like hours, but when the lights finally flickered and died, I didn’t hesitate.

I stumbled through the darkened corridors, my limbs screaming in protest. Shouts echoed behind me, Dylan’s men scrambling to contain the chaos Victor had orchestrated. I still can fully understand how that man does his things but I don't think about that and kept running.

When I reached the east wing, a set of hands grabbed me. I almost screamed before I heard Victor’s familiar growl.

“Let’s go,” he snapped, hauling me toward an unmarked car waiting outside.

The engine roared to life, and we sped away, leaving Dylan and his men in the dust.

---

Two days later, I stood on the balcony of a small villa in Italy, the warm breeze brushing against my skin.

Victor was inside, making arrangements for my stay. “It’s safer here,” he’d told me. “For now.”

I stared out at the horizon, my mind racing. Dylan had underestimated me, and now, he’d have to p

ay for it.

I wasn’t just the Valisteen Princess. I was a survivor. And this wasn’t over.