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Chapter_104
Whitney’s mind churned like a storm, the events of the night before leaving behind a dull, relentless ache in her chest. Every breath felt heavier in the cold, impersonal silence of the villa. Once a sanctuary, the place now resembled a prison—quiet, clinical, and inescapable.
But the worst part wasn’t the walls or the locked doors. It was Ludwik.
The man who had once kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered had become the warden of her confinement. And the cruelest part? She hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
She was cut off from the world. Her phone had been confiscated, her freedom stripped, her voice reduced to an echo in a house that wasn’t hers. It was isolation in its most elegant form—stillness wrapped in money and marble.
A soft knock broke her spiral of thought.
Taryn’s voice came from the hallway, quiet but firm. “Madam, your breakfast is ready. Sir insists. Please… you can’t skip meals. Not in your condition.”
Whitney leaned her forehead against the door, her hand pressed flat to the cool surface. The tears came faster than she could stop them, warm and blinding. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t anything. Just tired.
Her voice cracked as she murmured, “I’ll starve.”
There was a pause, followed by a heavy sigh. “We’ve been ordered to report your meals. Please don’t make this harder—for yourself or for us.”
His tone was laced with sympathy, but it only made her feel worse. Trapped and observed. Poked and prodded like a fragile thing under glass.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
The hallway grew quiet. Eventually, she heard Taryn retreat, leaving her alone with her anguish.
Whitney slid to the floor, her back against the door. Her body trembled—not just from exhaustion but from the utter loss of control. The Ludwik she once thought she understood had become a stranger, and the kindness he had shown her felt like a distant memory. What remained was anger. Punishment. Possessiveness.
He doesn’t trust me. That thought hurt more than anything else.
Her mind drifted to the banquet, to Elaine’s smug, knowing smile. Whitney clenched her fists as a surge of bitterness rose inside her. She had seen it—the moment Elaine knew the setup would work. Whitney had walked right into it, and Ludwik had taken the bait.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered into the quiet room. “Why won’t you let me go?”
Downstairs, the tension in the villa was equally thick.
Nolan stood near the fireplace, his usual calm cracking under the weight of unease. “Big Bro,” he said slowly, his voice edged with discomfort, “you can’t just lock her up. This isn’t the answer.”
Ludwik didn’t flinch. His expression was like carved granite—cold, immovable.
“Is there anything I can’t do?” he asked quietly, his tone too calm to be comforting.
Nolan hesitated. He knew this version of Ludwik—sharp, wounded, dangerous. There was no talking sense into him when he felt cornered. And right now, Whitney’s pain had ignited something volatile inside him.
“Find out who set her up,” Ludwik ordered, turning away from the fire. “And make sure this doesn’t leak. I want names. I want proof.”
Nolan gave a terse nod and left without another word. As his car disappeared into the night, he couldn’t shake the sick feeling growing in his gut. Whitney didn’t deserve to be treated like this. No one did.
Back upstairs, the hours stretched on.
Whitney lay curled beneath the blankets, her body sore from the examination earlier that day. The doctor had assured her the baby was safe, that the antidote had neutralized the worst of the toxin. But it didn’t ease the tightness in her chest, or the humiliation that came with knowing she was being watched, judged, and controlled.
Another soft knock at the door.
“Madam…” It was Taryn again, gentle, hesitant. “Please. Just a little soup. Something warm. You need your strength.”
“I don’t care,” she mumbled into her pillow, her voice thick. “Just go away.”
He didn’t respond. She heard the tray being placed outside, then the fading sound of his footsteps.
Whitney stared at the wall, tears sliding silently into the sheets. She didn’t know how long she lay like that. Hours, maybe. The villa was as quiet as a tomb.
But even as exhaustion pulled at her, something in her heart remained stubborn.
She didn’t know how—but she would find a way out. Someone had orchestrated her downfall, and they would pay for it.
As for Ludwik… the damage he had done might never be repairable.
