"You think you've won, Isabel? Walking away won't erase what you've done."
His voice thundered through my apartment, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. I froze mid-step, my suitcase handle gripped tightly in my trembling hand.
"Xander," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You have no right—"
"No right?" His laugh was bitter, a sharp, humorless sound that echoed off the walls. "I own the rights to everything in your life, don't I? Your time. Your loyalty. Hell, your very existence these past three years."
He stood there in the doorway, his tailored suit and neatly combed hair a perfect mask for the chaos I saw simmering in his eyes. His fists were clenched, his chest heaving as if every breath cost him a piece of his control.
I tightened my grip on the suitcase. "Midnight passed, Xander. The deal is done. The money is in my account. I don't owe you anything anymore."
"You owe me everything," he snapped, stepping closer, his voice dangerously low. "You think you can just leave? After everything I've done for you?"
His words hit me like a whip, each syllable cutting deeper into wounds I thought I'd buried. Three years of servitude. Three years of swallowing my pride, of enduring his cold indifference, his scathing remarks. All for the promise of freedom. And now, with that freedom finally within reach, he was trying to chain me down again.
"What you've done for me?" My laugh was sharp, hollow. "Let me remind you, Xander. I was your servant. Your pawn. You didn't do anything for me except break me."
He flinched, just barely, but enough for me to notice. The fleeting vulnerability in his eyes disappeared almost instantly, replaced by the familiar, arrogant mask he always wore.
I turned away, determined to put as much distance between us as possible. But his next words stopped me in my tracks.
"I love you, Isabel."
My breath hitched. The room spun for a moment as if his confession had tilted my entire world off its axis. Slowly, I turned to face him, disbelief etched into every line of my face.
"You're lying," I said, my voice trembling.
He stepped closer, his gaze boring into mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm not lying. And you know it."
I wanted to laugh, to scoff, to call him a liar to his face. But the way he was looking at me—like I was the air he needed to breathe—made the words catch in my throat.
"You don't get to do this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not now. Not when I'm finally free."
"Free?" he echoed, his tone mocking. "You think running away makes you free? You think the money will fill the void inside you? You'll be as empty as you've always been, Isabel. Because the truth is, you don't know how to be free."
His words were like a slap to the face, brutally honest and unbearably cruel. And the worst part was, he wasn't wrong. Freedom had been my dream for so long, but now that I had it, I felt more lost than ever.
"Get out," I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and despair. "Get out, Xander, or I swear—"
"Swear what?" he interrupted, stepping even closer until there was barely an inch of space between us. "Swear you'll hate me? Swear you'll never forgive me? Go ahead, Isabel. Hate me all you want. But don't pretend that walking away will erase everything we've been through."
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to scream, to cry, to do anything to drown out the storm raging inside me.
"You don't own me," I said through gritted teeth.
He smirked, a sad, almost defeated expression. "Maybe not. But I think you own me, Isabel. And that terrifies me more than anything."
His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them pressing down on me like a physical force. I didn't know what to say, what to feel. All I knew was that I couldn't stay here any longer.
I grabbed my suitcase and pushed past him, my heart pounding in my chest as I headed for the door. But just as I reached for the handle, a voice stopped me.
"Leaving so soon, love?"
The voice was smooth, low, and hauntingly familiar. I turned slowly, my blood running cold as my eyes met the figure standing in the shadows of the hallway.
Nathaniel Blackwood.
His dark eyes glittered with a dangerous intensity, and his lips curled into a smirk that sent shivers down my spine.
"You didn't think I'd let you go that easily, did you?" he said, his voice dripping with unsettling charm.
Xander's expression darkened as he stepped protectively in front of me, his entire body tensing like a coiled spring.
"Who the hell are you?" Xander demanded.
"Someone who knows her better than you ever will," Nathaniel replied smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine. "Isn't that right, Isabel?"
My heart pounded in my chest as memories flooded my mind—memories of a voice that had guided me, haunted me, for years. Could it really be him?
I took a shaky step back, my mind racing with questions I wasn't ready to face.
"What do you want?" I managed to ask, my voice barely steady.
"Oh, love," he said, his smirk widening. "I'm here to take back what's mine."
His words sent a chill down my spine, and for the first time in years, I felt truly afraid.
Xander turned to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and anger.
"Isabel," he said sharply. "Who is he?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Because the truth was, I didn't know who Nathaniel Blackwood was. But something deep inside me told me he was about to change everything.
And in that moment, I realized my fight for freedom was far from over.
Nathaniel stepped closer, his smirk fading as he whispered the words that shattered my world:
"You've been mine all along, Isabel. You just didn't know it yet."