The four grey stone walls of the north wing dungeon room absorbed the entire bone-chilling cold of the mountain range north of San Francisco. Here, the concepts of day and night were as murky as the dense layer of fog outside the window welded shut with thick, dark iron bars. The sole light helping Maya know time was passing was a pale streak of sunlight casting through the iron gaps in the early morning and a dense, thick darkness swallowing the space when late afternoon fell.
Travis decided every smallest detail of her existence.
Every morning, servants brought in long silk dresses in pale blue or ash-grey — soft, without buttons or complicated ties, an outfit that rendered the wearer fragile and completely stripped of any ability to defend oneself. He decided what she would eat: specially prepared nutrient-rich dishes, and he would sit directly opposite, quietly watching every spoonful of soup she swallowed. He decided when she was allowed to speak, and every word she uttered had to be under the control of the family chairman.
That restraint gnawed at Maya's spirit hour by hour, minute by minute, turning her into a creature completely dependent on his favor.
On the fifth night of captivity, the sound of iron chains outside the door sounded later than usual.
Clatter... Snap... Snap...
The steel-plated wooden door slowly pushed open. Travis walked in.
He was not wearing his neat black suit as usual. He wore only a black shirt with the top two buttons open, sleeves rolled halfway to reveal firm arms with clearly bulged veins. His black hair was slightly messy, falling over his high forehead. He brought with him a dense sandalwood scent mixed with the light bitter taste of tobacco and the bone-chilling cold of the night frost. His ash-grey eyes were drenched in a dark emotion, murky with a craving and possessiveness that had been suppressed to the utmost limit.
Maya sat cowering in the corner of the single iron bed, both hands clutching her knees tightly. When his muscular dark shadow covered the bed, her body automatically trembled according to survival instinct.
Travis walked leisurely closer, sitting down on the edge of the iron bed. The rough mattress sank beneath the man's weight. He raised his large, warm hand, gently sliding his fingers over Maya's pale, emaciated cheek.
In response to that touch, Maya did not dodge, nor did she scream and cry. She merely looked at him with sunken, exhausted eyes overflowing with a quiet hatred.
"Do you still look at me with those eyes, Maya?" Travis spoke in a low voice, a tone sweet and gentle to a spine-chilling degree. He leaned forward, his thumb lightly rubbing over her dry, cracked lips. "I have given you everything. Safety from the gun barrels out there, the finest food, the most beautiful clothes... Why do you still resist me?"
Maya spoke in a faint voice, each word dry as sand prickling her throat:
"This flesh... you may lock it up as long as you want, Travis. But you will never have submission or respect from me. My heart... my kindness... is reserved only for naive children like little Mark. As for you... you are merely a ruthless, pitifully warped madman."
A deadly silence suppressed and enveloped the isolated room.
The sound of the storm wind howling outside the window iron bars seemed to halt. Maya prepared herself mentally for a fit of rage, a slap, or ruthless interrogation from the powerful man.
However, Travis did not get angry at all.
His chiseled lip corners slowly curled up into a smile — a faint, slow smile containing a warped ruthlessness that cut to the bone. Her mention of Mark, the naive affection and gentleness she had reserved for that child, suddenly became a spark stimulating the darkest possessive instinct hidden beneath the tycoon's dignified shell.
"Mark, is it?" Travis tilted his head, his ash-grey eyes darkening like black ink. He leaned in close to her, the pressure of both hands braced down on the iron bed surface trapping Maya completely inside his muscular chest frame.
He looked deep into the young teacher's trembling eyes, uttering a whisper in a magically seductive sound full of mockery:
"Do you love children that much, Maya? Are you longing to give gentleness, longing to be a mother to that extent?"
Maya's chest heaved rapidly, a feeling of unease surging boisterously in every cell: "What... what are you saying...?"
Travis lowered his head. His lips pressed close to her ear, his hot breath carrying the bitter taste of tobacco lightly passing over her smooth neck skin, uttering words ruthless to the point of madness:
"If you like children that much... if you long for motherhood to such a degree... then I will give you one."
Maya was stunned. All the blood in her body seemed to freeze solid. Ultimate panic erupted: "No! Travis! You're crazy! Don't—"
Without letting her finish her sentence, Travis lunged forward, using the absolute strength of a man to tackle her down onto the iron bed surface.
"Get away from me! Let go of me!" Maya screamed in despair, her two hands punching wildly against his firm chest.
However, the weak resistance of a girl exhausted over many days of soft house arrest was nothing compared to Travis's ruthless suppression. He easily used one hand to lock her two slender wrists together, pinning them above her head, his other hand clutching her waist, pulling her body to stick tightly against his own.
"Let me go... Travis... please..." Maya's voice choked into interrupted pleading through tears.
"It's too late, Maya," Travis whispered into her neck, his tone suppressing a wild wave of emotion. "You stepped into this castle, you touched my son, and you aroused something you shouldn't have. You must belong to this place... completely."
The yellow light swayed violently on the stone ceiling. The space surrounding Maya completely collapsed into shattered fragments.
That night, amidst the terrifying quietude of the isolated Gothic castle, Maya was dragged into the most real and ruthless nightmare. All resistance was extinguished beneath the man's absolute suppression. She underwent a state of complete numbness — where physical pain blended with the bitter collapse of self-esteem. A feeling of disorientation swallowed her mind. Every sense blurred, leaving only the bone-chilling cold of wild force and the sensation of her body being violated openly, unable to escape.
She closed her eyes tightly, biting her lip to the point of drawing blood so as not to emit a sobbing sound. She let darkness swallow her whole, no longer thrashing, no longer pleading, with only a dead silence accumulating deep within her soul.
The next morning, when pale, icy streaks of early morning light slipped through the window iron bars, Travis had long since departed.
The isolated room returned once again to its inherent quietude.
Maya lay on the single iron bed, both eyes wide open looking at the grey stone ceiling. Her whole body was in pain, limp as if having just stepped out of a horrific beating. Her grey silk dress was disheveled, her pure white skin covered in long red welt marks.
After a long while rooted in silence, Maya slowly sat up. She dragged trembling, unsteadily swaying footsteps toward the corner of the room — where a small brass mirror hung on the stone wall.
The moment she looked into the mirror surface, Maya froze.
The girl in the mirror had emaciated cheekbones, sunken eyes with dark circles, and dry, cracked lips lacking a single drop of blood. Her black hair, once smooth, was now messy, disheveled over her thin shoulders. Those eyes... completely empty, godless, no longer having a single ray of light or warmth of the ambitious intern teacher Maya of days past.
She no longer recognized herself.
A feeling of despair surged like a violent wave, wanting to force her onto the path of suicide to end all this humiliation and pain. She raised her trembling hand, touching the cold brass mirror surface.
Who am I? What am I doing in this corner? Will I forever be imprisoned here, turned into a soul-less toy of his?
Her tears seeped out, rolling down her pale cheeks.
However, right in the moment her soul was about to break into a thousand pieces, a memory from the past suddenly surged back into Maya's mind like an electric current sweeping away the darkness.
That was two winters ago, when she was still an intern teacher at a suburban elementary school. That night it rained heavily in torrents, the old classroom flooded with water, the electricity cut out abruptly, thirty five-year-old children panicked and burst into tears because of the darkness and thunder/lightning outdoors. Alone — with her thin hands and old warm coat — she had embraced each child, soothed each one, personally scooped every bucket of water out. The next morning, when parents arrived, they insulted and scolded her unfairly for dirtying their children's clothes. But that night, she did not collapse. She stood straight-backed, swallowing tears inside and continuing to shield the children.
She had once been that strong. She had never collapsed before fate's harshness.
Why am I giving in to a madman now?
If I die here, if I sink into this despair... Travis will win! He will turn me into a second pitiful ghost in this castle, just like little Mark's mother!
A spark ignited behind Maya's sunken eyes. The numbness vanished, replaced instead by a firm, cold, and hate-filled awakening.
To escape this iron cage, she could not collapse. She had to live. She had to be stronger than her jailer.
Maya leisurely turned back toward the small wooden table. The morning food tray brought in by servants long ago was still placed there, the bowl of soup having begun to form a cold skin layer.
Maya picked up the spoon. Her hand was still trembling from exhaustion, but she forced herself to scoop every spoonful of soup into her mouth. Every mouthful swallowed down her throat was bitter like poison, making her stomach churn with nausea. But Maya gritted her teeth, swallowing every mouthful, forcing her body to receive nutrients.
She had to eat. She had to live. She had to accumulate every smallest bit of strength.
When night fell, as the sound of iron chains locked the steel-plated door once again, Maya lay on the single iron bed. She no longer closed her eyes crying silently in the dark. She stared at the iron bars on the window, took a deep breath to suppress the tearing pain on her body, and then spoke in a whisper.
She began to sing softly.
It was the melody of a simple children's song she often taught her class every afternoon — a clear, gentle melody about sunlight and free birds. The tiny, trembling singing voice echoed in the cold stone space of the prison room, like a declaration shattering Travis's psychological control.
He could imprison her flesh, could crush her self-esteem, but he would never extinguish the survival flame burning inside this seemingly shattered fragment.
Maya closed her eyes, soothing herself to sleep. She forced herself to sleep, forced herself to wake up the next morning to await a sole opportunity... to break out.
