Lucas didn’t stay away for long. In the days that followed, he was always there—hovering in the background like a shadow, but never menacing. His presence was steady, constant, and surprisingly gentle. At first, Michelle braced herself for his temper, expecting the cold cruelty she had seen in the past to return at any moment. But it didn’t. Not in the way she remembered.

Each morning, Lucas would bring her breakfast. He’d set it down beside her with a soft smile, saying little, eating with her before leaving again. The same routine followed for lunch and dinner. In the evenings, he’d check on her, making sure she was comfortable, offering small comforts: a book, a blanket, a glass of water. At night, he’d quietly lock the door behind him, leaving her alone but never with the same harshness she’d once known.

This unexpected tenderness was unnerving, but she no longer felt like a prisoner in the traditional sense. The chain around her ankle remained, but Lucas never mentioned it, as if its presence was merely incidental. He spoke to her softly, kindly, as though they were two old friends reunited. It was almost as if he were courting her again—bringing her back into his world with patience and care.

Michelle found herself drawn into this strange, new rhythm, her initial terror gradually replaced by confusion. The man who had kidnapped her was acting like the man she had once loved, the man she had forgotten. Each time he came close, her memories would strike at her heart like flint—small flashes of moments they had shared, nights spent laughing, mornings filled with soft touches sparking an unexpected, but not unwelcome, warmth.

One evening, after days of this strange calm, Lucas appeared at her door with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He smiled gently, a smile she hadn’t seen in what felt like years. “Thought you might like some company tonight,” he said, lifting the bottle.

Michelle hesitated, her instincts warning her not to trust this newfound peace. But something in her craved the familiarity, the connection they had once shared. She had been alone with her thoughts for so long, and here was Lucas, warm and inviting, as if he truly wanted to make amends.

She nodded, offering a small smile in return. “Okay. one glass.”

They sat together in front of the fireplace; the room bathed in a soft glow. The tension between them had shifted into something else—something.

Lucas handed her a glass of wine, his touch lingering for a moment as their fingers brushed. Michelle’s heart fluttered, and she quickly took the glass, trying to hide her reaction.

The fire crackled, filling the silence between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was a quiet moment, reminiscent of times when they had sat together in peace, the world outside forgotten.

Lucas watched her with a soft smile, his voice low and calm. “I missed this…missed us.”

Michelle glanced at him, her heart tugging at the familiar words. Michelle hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all a game to him—a way to pull her back in. But her body betrayed her, and she clinked her glass against his. She sipped the wine, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest.

She caught herself glancing at him, and each time she looked, she found it harder to reconcile the man beside her with the one who had chained her to the chair. Lucas noticed her glances, his lips curving into a soft smile, his voice lowering to almost a whisper.

“I love you, Michelle. You know that don’t you?”

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Her pulse quickened again, this time not from fear. There was something intoxicating about his presence, something that made her want to believe him.

She turned to him, her voice shaking slightly. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Lucas.”

He leaned closer, his eyes locking with hers, the mask of his past cruelty completely gone. He seemed earnest, vulnerable even. “Because you’re mine.”

Michelle’s heart skipped a beat. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, her memories and emotions swirling in confusion. She remembered what they once had—the passion, the connection. For a moment, her mind allowed her to forget where she was, what he had done.

His hand found hers again, and this time, she didn’t pull away. His thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand, a gesture that once made her feel safe. Now, it made her feel something else—something she wasn’t ready to admit.

“I need you, Michelle,” Lucas whispered, his voice like velvet. He leaned in closer, his breath warm on her skin. “I’ve always needed you.”

She didn’t resist as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek. For the first time in days, the fear melted away, replaced by something more dangerous—longing.

Her breath hitched as he closed the space between them, his lips ghosting over hers in a tentative kiss. It was soft, almost hesitant, as if he were waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

For a moment, Michelle allowed herself to fall back into the past, to pretend that everything was normal again, that this was the man she had once loved, and that nothing else mattered.

Lucas leaned in, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path along Michelle’s jawline, down the column of her neck, leaving her skin tingling in his wake. Every touch, every gentle kiss, calculated to pull her deeper into a web she had once escaped, but now found herself willingly caught in again.

Her breath quickened as his hand slid down her arm, trailing over her body with an agonising tenderness that both excited and confused her. She wasn’t supposed to want this—not after everything he’d done. Yet, here she was, unable to stop herself from leaning into him, from craving the warmth of his touch.

But then, something shifted. Lucas broke the kiss, his eyes dark with intent as he knelt down in front of her. Slowly, his fingers curled around her ankle, lifting it gently. Michelle’s pulse spiked, her breath catching in her throat as he brought his lips down to where the cold metal cuff bound her.

He kissed the skin above the chain, softly at first, almost reverently, like he was worshipping her. His lips lingered, brushing over the tender spot where the chain had left faint marks. A shiver coursed through her body, and her mind blurred in a haze of conflicting emotions—fear, desire, shame.

Lucas glanced up at her, his eyes holding hers for a moment, dark with something primal, something dangerous. But instead of pulling back, he kissed her again, his lips grazing the chain itself, the gesture both intimate and possessive.

“You are mine, Michelle,” he repeated, his voice low and thick with desire. “You always were.”

Her heart pounded as Lucas moved upward, trailing kisses along her calf, her thigh, his hands gliding over her skin with a familiarity that ignited memories of a time when his touch had only brought her pleasure, not confusion and fear.

When he reached her waist, he paused, his hands tugging at her clothing, pulling it away with a slow deliberation that left her trembling. His lips found her stomach, then lower, moving with a teasing slowness that made her ache for more. Every inch of her body responded to him, even as her mind screamed that this was wrong. But his touch drowned out that voice, replacing it with something more primal, more undeniable.

He stood, pulling her against him, his mouth capturing hers again, this time with more intensity. His hands roamed over her, possessive and eager, and she found herself lost in the sensation, in the way his body felt against hers.

Michelle’s breath hitched as he guided her to the bed, laying her down gently, like she was something fragile, something precious. The weight of him pressed down against her, and for a moment, she forgot everything—the chain, the past, the fear.

His touch was everywhere—tracing her curves, teasing her, building her up to a point where her body felt like it might break from the tension. She arched against him, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, the need in her overwhelming.

Lucas met her eyes, a dark smile playing on his lips. He knew exactly what she wanted. He kissed her again, deep and slow, his hands sliding lower, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Michelle’s body responded instinctively, arching into him, her breath ragged, heart pounding, as pleasure built inside her.

When she thought she couldn’t take any more, when her body begged for release, Lucas stopped. His hand stilled, his lips left hers, and he pulled back, leaving her trembling, teetering on the brink of an orgasm that never came.

Michelle’s eyes flew open, wide with confusion and frustration. “Lucas…” Her voice was breathless, laced with a desperate edge she couldn’t hide.

But Lucas smiled coldly, his earlier tenderness replaced with something cruel. He traced a finger down her cheek, almost mockingly gentle, as he rose from the bed.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his tone laced with dark amusement. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

Michelle’s stomach dropped, the cruel realization washing over her like ice. He had lulled her into believing—into feeling something real again—but this was still Lucas. Still, the man who held her prisoner, who controlled everything.