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Pleased with the camera set-up, I head back to the open door and grab Sophia’s food. Bringing it inside, I set it on her nightstand, and then I go to double check that the camera is recording.
“My cooperation is always optional,” she hisses at me. “Don’t think I’ll go on a hunger strike? Just fucking watch me.”
“Okay, Gandhi. Go on a hunger strike. Would you like me to help by keeping your arms tied up? Or should I untie you and see if you have the strength to do it yourself?”
“Let me do it myself.”
“Very well.”
Before I head to her bed, I march towards the bedroom door and kick it shut. The walls rattle against the force, and I swear I see a glint of fear in Sophia’s angry chestnut eyes as I turn back towards her.
“You didn’t have to do that…”
“Do what?” I ask, leaning over to untie her first wrist.
“Close the door.” Her voice is shaky with concern and anticipation. She’s scared. Good. She should be scared. “I’m not going to run. I’m not that stupid.”
“I didn’t shut the door to stop you from running,” I explain, untying her first wrist. My stomach drops a little when I see just how red her skin is. Maybe I was being a little too harsh, keeping her locked up like a dog for so long… it doesn’t seem to have dimmed her spirit too much.
She’s a fighter. If there’s one thing I can bear to like about her, it’s that.
“I shut the door to keep you from scaring my staff,” I explain. “No one is allowed to hear you scream but me, pr—” I stop myself before I can say princess. But it’s not because I know she hates it. It’s because if I’m going to get this stubborn girl to talk, I’m going to have to play with her. And that means making some concessions. But only some—at least, that’s what I tell myself. “Get it, Sophia?”
She doesn’t respond, and the second I untie her second wrist, Sophia gasps and clutches at the red mark emblazoned on her olive skin. Another sliver of guilt pierces through me, but I force myself to ignore it as I grab her plate from the nightstand and place it on her lap.
“I told you, I’m not eating,” she stubbornly insists.
“And I told you, I’m not giving you a choice.”
“How are you going to force me to eat?”
“Would you like to see?”
Sophia hesitates as I stare her directly in the eyes. God. Those eyes. They could stop a missile… but they only attract the predator in me.
“If I eat, what privileges do I get?” she tries to bargain.
That’s a foolish move on her part.
“Privileges? Honey, this isn’t summer camp. I’m not your daddy. You listen or you’re punished. There is no negotiating.”
“That actually sounds a lot like my father…” she mumbles under her breath.
I choose to ignore the comment. Kostas Xiphias is the last person I want to be compared to, but I’m not getting caught up in that quagmire. My job right now is very clear. I need to justify why Sophia Xiphias is in my bedroom.
But first…
“Eat,” I order, adding force to my command.
A stubborn sneer starts to rise on Sophia’s pretty face before she seems to fight it off.
“Fine,” she finally says. “But not because you told me to.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m hungry, obviously… idiot.”
Her hand reaches down to the plate I’ve placed on her lap, but before she can reach it, I grab it for myself and whip it away. The ceramic shatters against the wall just as I grab Sophia’s wrist.
