CHAPTER 8

As the plane touched down and rolled to a stop, the tension in my body reached a fever pitch. I felt like a prisoner being transported to a new cell, and the man beside me was my warden. He stood up and reached for my hand, his grip firm.

“Come, wife,” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper.

I followed him out of the plane, my heart pounding in my chest. The night air was cool and filled with the scent of rain, but it did little to calm my nerves. A sleek, black car waited on the tarmac, its windows tinted and intimidating.

He opened the door for me, and I hesitated for a moment, the urge to run overwhelming. But his eyes were locked on me, daring me to disobey. With a resigned sigh, I slid into the backseat, and he joined me a moment later.

The drive to his mansion was silent. The only sound was the hum of the engine and my own racing thoughts. When we finally arrived, the grandeur of the place was almost suffocating. Tall iron gates swung open to reveal a sprawling estate.