Bound By Pain: The Billionaire's Captive

The helicopter touched down on the massive green lawn of Blackwater Bay Estate. The house looked like a modern castle of glass and black stone.

Hollis grabbed Carole's arm and pulled her out of the cabin.

Mr. Finch, the head butler, stood by the front doors with a line of staff. He looked at Carole's messy clothes and bare feet, but his face remained perfectly blank.

"Finch," Hollis said, walking past him. "Redo the staff schedule. She does not leave this house. No one opens her door without my order."

Carole was dragged up the grand spiral staircase. Hollis pushed her into a massive bedroom suite.

The room was beautiful, but heavy iron bars covered the floor-to-ceiling windows. Two guards stood in the hallway.

Hollis let go of her arm. "This is your world now. Do not try to leave."

Carole lunged at him, swinging her fists. Hollis stepped to the side. She tripped over the thick rug and fell hard onto the floor.

Hollis looked down at her. He turned around and walked out. The heavy door clicked shut. The deadbolt locked.

Carole scrambled to her feet. She hit the wooden door with her fists. "Let me out! You psycho!"

No one answered.

She turned around and leaned against the door. A fresh copy of the marriage agreement sat perfectly centered on the coffee table.

She walked over, picked it up, and ripped it into pieces.

Hours passed. The sun went down. A maid unlocked the door, pushed a cart of hot food inside, and left quickly.

Carole looked at the roasted chicken and vegetables. She pushed the tray off the table. The plates shattered on the floor. She sat on the bed and crossed her arms.

In his study on the other side of the house, Hollis was reading a report. Suddenly, a violent cramp twisted his stomach. The report slipped from his numb fingers, and he instinctively pressed his forearm hard against his abdomen, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of severe, physical nausea washed over him.

He stood up, his chair crashing to the floor. He marched out of the study and up the stairs.

He kicked Carole's door open. The wood splintered.

Carole jumped back on the bed. Hollis stormed into the room. His face was dark red with anger.

He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and dragged her off the bed. He pushed her down into the chair next to the ruined food.

"Eat," Hollis ordered, pointing at a piece of bread that had survived the crash. "Or I will shove it down your throat myself."

Carole looked up at him. His eyes were wild. He was not just angry; he was in physical pain. The fear finally broke through her stubbornness.

Hollis stepped back, crossing his arms. He watched her like a guard dog.

Carole's hands shook. She picked up the bread and took a small bite. It tasted like ash in her mouth.

Hollis rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. His breathing slowed down as the hunger pain faded from his stomach.

"If you don't hurt yourself, I won't bother you," Hollis said, his voice tight. "You are doing this to yourself."

Carole swallowed the bread. A single tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto her lap.

Hollis looked at the tear. He clenched his jaw, turned around, and walked out. He did not lock the door this time, but the shadows of the guards remained in the hall.

Carole finished the bread. She stood up and started walking around the room. She checked the corners of the ceiling.

Three small cameras were hidden in the molding. He was watching everything.

She walked into the bathroom and locked the door. There were no cameras here.

She looked at her pale face in the mirror. She bit the inside of her cheek. She was not going to die in this house. She started opening the drawers, looking for anything she could use.