Raya

Paetyn’s POV

How does a person determine how much time has passed without seeing a sliver of sunlight?

No matter how hard I try to keep track of time by counting each second as I feel them ticking by, committing the numbers to memory as best I can, I’m still clueless as to how long I’ve been sitting on this thin mattress with a dirty sheet wrapped around me, praying that Liam will come to my rescue.

Is my fiance worried about me? Is he doing everything in his power to find me?

God, I hope so.

The longer I sit here, wondering what the masked man is going to do to me, the more I begin to lose hope of being rescued. I could be anywhere in the country right now, making it near impossible for Liam to find me. If the house I’m being held in is located deep in the woods, I may as well begin digging my own grave.

I feel so helpless. So confused. And so f*****g angry that I’m unable to see my mother.

Picturing her face when I close my eyes brings the sense of comfort I’m desperately seeking, but it’s also a reminder that she is likely confused about why I haven’t visited or called on my way home from work like I do most days. The thought of her thinking I have abandoned her….

I swallow the lump in my throat, my lips quivering. Crying isn’t an option. I refuse to appear weak in front of my kidnapper. I’m sure it’s what he wants—to see my fear. He probably gets off on it.

What I don’t understand about the man who kidnapped me is why he’s treating me like a house guest, minus the filthy bed and the chain secured around my ankle preventing me from leaving. He routinely brings me food and water but makes no effort to speak to me. Not even when he releases my ankle from the chain attached to the bed and escorts me to the bathroom attached to the room. The words he uttered about not being able to leave ring in my head—another reminder of how trapped I am.

Each time I see the mask covering his face, hiding his identity, fear slides across my skin. His presence alone indicates he’s a dangerous man. Whenever he enters the room, his shoulders are tense, his body rigid, and his eyes hard as he stares at me from behind the creepy mask. He may scare me, but I’m grateful for the food he offers. I would be in worse condition if he didn’t.

He could starve me if he wanted to or do whatever he wants to me. I’m completely helpless. But he doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t even speak to me, let alone touch me. Why?

Despite being unable to keep track of time by counting seconds, I have a feeling the masked man is bringing me three meals a day. If that’s the case, he has offered me five meals in total, which means I have likely been here for two days.

Two whole f*****g days.

I can’t believe it.

As if sensing my thoughts about him, the lock on the door unlatches, and the masked man steps through the doorway with the same red tray he has presented me with each time. For my third meal of the day, a steaming styrofoam cup of ramen sits beside a bottle of water and an apple. It’s different from the sandwiches he’s been offering.

I watch as he sets the tray on the end of the mattress, the muscles in his arms constricting with the movement. He wears the same thing every day—a black T-shirt, black jeans, and that damn mask. It must be his kidnapper uniform.

The cup of noodles is in my hands before he sits down in the chair across from me, his usual place to watch me eat. He leans back in the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

I ignore his gaze and blow on the steaming water in the cup. With how cold it gets in this room, my hands have long since turned into ice cubes, so the warmth of the cup is greatly appreciated and needed.

Each time he stops by, the masked man sits and watches me eat. Once I’m done, he takes the tray and leaves, not returning until the next meal. Although it’s awkward sitting in silence while I eat, I never know what to say to him. What does one say to their kidnapper?

“So…” I begin, still cupping the noodles in my hands, “do you have any family?”

I could punch myself for the stupid question, but I had to say something. If I’m going to be spending time with this man, I may as well try to get him talking. The more I learn about him, the more information I can supply the police when they find me.

His body stiffens as his large hands grip the armrests. My question stunned him. But what stuns me more is his response. “No.”

It’s the first time I have heard him speak since I first woke up here. Now, I just need to keep him talking. Maybe if I can play the sympathy card and remind him that I’m a real person, he might let me walk out of here unscathed.

“I have a family.” My voice is soft but determined nonetheless. “I’m an only child. My father left my mother a few years back, and now I’m helping my mom through her second bout of cancer. She needs me.”

Silence. But I can feel his eyes piercing through my soul.

I shift slightly on the bed, my heart racing ever so slightly. “I have a fiance, too. His name is Liam. We met at a club four years ago and have been engaged for two. I do love him, but I don’t trust him.”

I want to punch myself again for revealing such personal information, but it just slipped out without me realizing it. However, the admission seems to pique the masked man’s interest because he sits up straighter, his long fingers twisting the thick silver ring on his left hand. A design is etched into the band, but I can’t make it out from here.

The cup of noodles is now forgotten in my hands. The need to get this man talking to me is stronger than my desire to eat. Instead, I allow the cup’s warmth to spread across my body.

“I just… I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s sleeping around behind my back, but I don’t want to say anything because he helps with my mother’s medical bills. It’s just… complicated.”

The man tilts his head to the side, inky curls framing his face. If he wants to say something, he doesn’t open his mouth, let alone make a noise. He just… listens.

So, I keep going.

“But despite all that, I still care for him and hope that he’s looking for me. He will find me.” The words are filled with conviction—a warning to my kidnapper that I will be getting out of this room alive. “If I were you, I would be afraid of getting caught.”

And now I’ve just ruined it. I was supposed to be playing the sympathy card in the hopes I could tug at his heartstrings enough by telling him personal details about me, but now I’m threatening him.

You’re an i***t, Pae.

The masked man stands, his body tense with his hands fisted at his side. “I’m not scared of your fiance, little bird. If anything, he should be afraid of me.”

And with that, he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. My heart races wildly in my chest, the cup of noodles now lukewarm in my hands as I stare after him.

I need to learn when to keep my mouth shut because that interaction did not go the way I planned. Now, I just have to pray that I didn’t make my situation worse.