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Art of Torment: A Captive's Defiance

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 832    |    Released on: 01/07/2025

f on the arm of the sofa. I pressed a hand to my forehea

de in an instant, his concern sharp

d, my voice weak. "

Back to a time before the gilded cage, before the broken promises of one

cess. My parents, both architects, had just sunk their life savings into their dream project: a sustain

' designs were structurally unsound, a lie manufactured to cheat them out of their dream. The legal battles bankrupted us. My father, broken and defeated, had a h

s working three dead-end jobs, my art supplies gathering dust, the fire i

of place amongst the peeling paint and cracked linoleum. He

reamble, no condolences. Just a cold, hard fact. "He took every

corporate espionage, about psychological manipulation, about how to wear a mask so perfectly it became a second skin. He had me study Alexander

one of our sessions. "He wants to possess them, to control them. To get to h

world. I painted with a frantic, sorrowful energy that critics c

at the art on the walls. He was looking at me. His gaze was electric, obsessive. He saw the talent, but he also saw

t I agreed to be his, the door to the cage slammed shut. The manipulation and psychological abuse started almost immediately. He isolat

cold, deliberate act. I had sketched a bird taking flight, a sim

calm as he pinned my hand to the table and brought his fist down. The pai

alized into a diamond-hard certainty. I would n

ck to the present. Alexander was holding a glas

p," he said, his h

ess my soul. The plan was in motion. The fake illness, the first step in the final phase of my

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Art of Torment: A Captive's Defiance
Art of Torment: A Captive's Defiance
“The cold, sharp edges of the resin necklace dug into my skin, a constant, physical reminder of Alexander Vance' s twisted grasp. Just hours ago, I, Scarlett Hayes, had almost tasted freedom, only to be dragged back to this gilded cage. He didn't yell, he never did, not at first; his silence was always more terrifying than any scream. "Why do you keep trying to leave?" he would ask, his voice a smooth vibration that set my teeth on edge, entirely oblivious to the torment he inflicted. I longed to tell him that his control was suffocating, or that the fractured pieces of my destroyed art embedded in the necklace were a constant agony. Instead, I met his gaze with a defiant chin, "Maybe I like the exercise." But Alexander Vance was never fooled, not the man who saw me only as a broken bird to be possessed. My wrist still carried the faint scar from the day he broke my drawing hand, a brutal lesson in his twisted love. "Don' t lie to me," he whispered, his thumb pressing down on the mark, "You met with someone. You think there' s a single breath you take in this city that I' m not aware of?" The accusation hung thick and suffocating; he was right – I met Marcus Thorne, his rival, my only hope for escape. But what if my hope was just another cage? What if the man I thought was my savior was just as monstrous and possessive as my captor, seeing me not as a person, but as a prize to be won? The question gnawed at me with chilling certainty, just weeks before Alexander' s grand "Aion Project" launch, a monument built on the ruin of my family' s dreams. This elaborate trap, this calculated play for freedom, was not just about survival anymore. It was about discovering how deep the treachery went.”
1 Introduction2 Chapter 13 Chapter 24 Chapter 35 Chapter 46 Chapter 57 Chapter 68 Chapter 79 Chapter 810 Chapter 911 Chapter 10