The walls weren't closing in.
They were simply not letting her breathe.
It had been two days.
Two days since Aamira was brought here.
Two days without her phone. Without sunlight. Without a voice.
She wasn't beaten.
No. It was worse.
She was watched.
Every time she moved, she felt it—that invisible gaze.
The camera in the corner, tiny and discreet, reminded her she was never alone.
But it wasn't just the lens that stripped her of privacy.
It was him.
Rafaël hadn't come back into the room since that first night. But his presence never left.
His cologne still lingered in the air.
His rules echoed louder than the silence.
And his absence hurt more than his words.
Aamira sat at the edge of the bed, wearing the silk slip someone had laid out for her. It was thin. Bare. Designed for temptation. For surrender.
But she wrapped herself in a blanket—shivering not from cold, but from something deeper. Something unnamed.
Her heart jumped as the door clicked open.
He walked in—black shirt, sleeves rolled, watch glinting under the soft light.
No smile.
Just a look that undressed her soul.
She stood up, instinctively.
He tilted his head. "Are you afraid of me, Aamira?"
She didn't speak.
He stepped closer. "Or are you afraid of what you feel when I'm near?"
Her breath hitched.
He didn't touch her. Not yet. But his eyes did. They roamed every inch of her—slow, lingering, invasive.
"You look better when you're scared," he whispered. "Real."
She blinked rapidly, trying to hold the tears back.
"I won't force you tonight."
She looked up, shocked.
He leaned close, voice almost gentle—almost.
"Fear is more delicious when it's earned."
He turned to leave, but paused by the door.
"Tomorrow," he said, without turning. "I want you to wear what I send. And sit by the window. I want to watch you fall."
And then he was gone.
The silence he left behind wasn't peace. It was war.
And for the first time… Aamir
a wasn't sure if she wanted to win it.
---
End of Chapter 3