Silent Daughter 3: Owned

Silent Daughter

3: Owned

Copyright © 2016 by Stella Noir & Linnea May

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Stella's Newsletter

Linnea's Newsletter

This is the third and final part of the
'Silent Daughter'
serial.

Read the previous parts here:

Part 1: Taken

Part 2: Bound

LEONARD

The luncheon does not take as much of my time as I feared. I am able to excuse myself less than two hours after my arrival without being impolite.

There was even a chance for me to exchange a few words with William in private. That guy never remains sober for long at these occasions, and I made sure to be close to him when I noticed his face turning red and his words starting to slur. They say kids and drunks are the most honest people, and I agree with that statement. If there is anything that Will is not willing - or allowed - to share with me, moments like these are the perfect opportunity to find out. Considering the kind of people that he is working with at the other end, I would not be surprised if there were some hot details that he was told to leave out when talking to his newest business partner. I’m his broker, and I’m trying to save his ass from making an immensely bad decision.

As it turns out, I was right to be suspicious. Our Mexican partners see their precious deal in danger and have every right to do so. If it were up to them, he would start a joint venture, investing in a new luxury hotel complex. Generally speaking, there is nothing wrong with such a venture and investing in that specific hotel complex is a smart choice in my eyes. However, a joint venture with those guys would be William’s downfall. He has no idea who he is dealing with, and it is my job as his broker to make sure that he does not go down that road but invests in the hotel complex directly and without them involved.

They are bad guys. The kind of guys I used to work with. I know what they are capable of, and I know what their intentions with the Bishop’s fortune and name are - but William is clueless.

I have a score to settle with those guys, not them in particular, but their kind. This is the perfect opportunity if I get William to play along.

It should be sealed and done soon, and as soon as it is, I’m out of here. Once again leaving everything behind - including the little fairy I keep locked up inside my home. Only under these circumstances has it ever been possible for me to keep her there the way I do—my captive, my sexy little pet.

I have never been able to stay in one place for too long. This has been my life for years, ever since I left my terrible foster home and became the protégé of a questionable nightclub owner whose business included a little more than staging parties for drinking and dancing. I started out as a minor henchman, but even at the tender age of eighteen, I managed to outsmart most of his associates and soon made a name for myself. He told me that I have a talent, a good business sense and no moral obligations that restrict my actions.

"You can make something of yourself," he said. "If you just stick to your gut and don't get confused by the nice guys. They're doing it wrong."

It was the first time that someone believed in me and in a twisted sense I like to think that my birth parents would be proud of me, if they were still alive.

My thoughts are interrupted by William’s son Pete, who shakes my hand in that strong and welcoming manner he must have learned from his father. His betrothed, Sandria’s handshake feels spineless and weak, so different from her sister’s.

“Mr. Clark,” Pete says as we are standing in the door. “If you don’t mind, I would love to meet you for a coffee some day. Or lunch! Whatever is good for you.”

I nod. “Sure.”

“I mean… it’s err,” he stutters. “I just thought it would be… you know, since my father said I could learn from you and-”

“Sure,” I repeat, interrupting his helpless uttering. “I’m quite busy this week, but we can arrange for something at a later time.”

“Absolutely!” he exclaims. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you, it’s just that-”

“It’s no bother,” I assure. “I will have my assistant call you.”

He swallows hard and nods. “Yes, sure. Thank you.”

I turn to Sandria.

“It was nice seeing you again.”

She puts on a fake smile and nods. “It was good to see you, too, Mr. Clark.”

I cast them one last smile and turn to William and his wife to repeat this silly goodbye ritual. What a nuisance. If it weren’t for all that redundant protocol, I could have been out of here more than twenty minutes ago.

I am on edge by the time I finally get to my car. Liz has been by herself for too long. I hope she is sleeping.

The short drive drags on for an eternity, leaving too much time for me to worry. What worries me most is not the thought of her escaping or destroying anything in an attempt to do so.

What worries me is her wellbeing. Would she feel lonely? Desperate? Scared? I like her scared, but only to a certain degree.

Would she miss me?

I know she is familiar with solitude—as I am—but I don’t know if it is any different for her now that this solitude is forced upon her. If I’m lucky, she might be sitting on her heels, obediently kneeling in front of me as I return to her dungeon.

I chuckle. “Keep dreaming.”

She is not there yet. But one day, I will have her at that point. Addicted to me, in desperate need to serve and please me. I will become the center of her universe.

Everything lies in my power right now. Her freedom, her pleasure, her sanity. It is a great responsibility—and a great turn-on as my body reveals. I have had my way with her today; I have had my release. Yet, my cock is twitching as I think about her. Naked, collared and chained to her bed, possibly waiting for me.

Always ready. She is always ready for me, no matter how much she tries to fight it.

She is meant to be mine.

No one has ever caught my attention as much as she has. No one has ever challenged me the way she does.

This girl.

My hands are closing around the steering wheel in a tight grip, causing my knuckles to turn white.

My need for her infuriates me. This was not supposed to happen.

How am I ever going to let go of her again?

Maybe I don’t have to…

I violently shake my head as this dangerous thought creeps up. No, I will let her go. I have to. I will finish what I came here to do and then I will leave everything behind - Liz included. My business, my life, does not allow for anything else.

I ignore the cold clamp that tightens around my chest as I remind myself of these things and turn into the driveway that leads up to my temporary home.

Nothing suggests that there is a beautiful fairy trapped inside of it, awaiting my return. I park the car and step out, casually scanning my surroundings like I always do. Right now, it is not more than a mere habit, but there used to be times in my life where it was necessary to make sure I wasn’t followed or spied on by anyone. There is no need for that at the moment, as far as I am aware of. But it never hurts to be sure.

The estate is covered with an eerie silence and a certain tension that makes me feel uneasy. I freeze and listen for a few moments, but there is absolutely no sound except for the faint rustling of the leaves on trees and bushes as the autumn wind tickles them. 

I take a deep breath, hoping to calm the ridiculous drums that started their beats within my chest. That heart needs to calm down and shut the fuck up. I straighten up and walk up to the front door. A frown runs across my face when I notice my hands shivering while I unlock the door.

I open it and step in, careful not to make too much noise.

The door closes behind me—and my heart almost stops when I see her standing right in front of me.

Liz is standing in the hallway about ten feet away from me, wearing the light robe from her room and nothing else. Her long hair falls down over her shoulders in dark and rumpled waves, building a stark contrast to the light fabric she is wrapped in.

She looks up at me through dark green eyes. Her makeup still smeared from our play this morning, giving her an almost ghostly appearance. Her gaze shows determination, as does her upright posture and the way she  clenches her little fists.

“If you want to imprison me,” she whispers. “At least do it right.”

LIZ

Now this, I did not expect.

I look up at my hand, still holding the doorknob that was not supposed to move. And, yet, it has.

I am so struck by surprise that I instinctively jump away from the door. The hairpin falls to the wooden floor and causes a strangely loud noise as it lands on the surface.

This must be a trap. It is impossible that he forgot to lock the damn door, especially when I am not chained to the hook next to the bed. He would never allow this to happen; he is better than this.

I am panting, thoughts running wild while I try to figure out what I should do.

Why am I not running? Any other person would have swung the door open and make a run for it. Even if this were a trap, a normal person would still try.

So should I.

But I need to be smart about it. I cannot even imagine the kind of punishment I would receive if this was a trick and Leonard was standing behind that door, waiting for me to run out like a wild, scared animal. He would grab me in an instant and drag me back to the room, forced into chains that would make the collar and the rope look like child’s play—I am certain.

I swallow hard and tighten the belt around my waist, as if I was putting on my armor, ready for battle. For a few moments, I freeze and listen for any noise coming from behind the door. Nothing but silence responds.

I approach the door with small, careful steps. When I reach for the doorknob with my right hand, I am almost certain that it will not turn, that I imagined it before.

But it does. The doorknob turns, and the door opens easily. I let it stand ajar for a few moments, waiting for any noise or reaction from the other side. When nothing responds to my actions, I dare to fully open the door.

My heart is beating so loud and fast that I am sure it must be audible through the whole corridor that reveals itself in front of me.

Nothing. No one. It is completely deserted, and I realize that this is the first time that I am laying eyes on this part of the house. A weird feeling of uneasiness crawls up my spine as I realize that I was unconscious the only other time I have been in this corridor. Leonard must have carried me through here like a sleeping child, unaware of the prison that awaited.

The corridor is about six feet wide and surprisingly long. The room that is used for my confinement is at the far end, and there are three doors alongside it, two on the left and one on the right. At the opposite end of the hall, a grand staircase arches down into an open area, whose ceiling rises to encompass all three levels of the mansion. Giant windows let in the light from the outside, bathing the area in a cool and gray atmosphere as the sun is not shining today.

I step out into the hallway, and the door closes behind me with an audible click. Still, there is no sound, no reaction coming from elsewhere in the house.

I look up at the ceiling and especially at the corners right and left above me. No cameras. The one in my room seems to be the only one he found necessary.

A part of me wants to call out for him, but I don’t know what I would hope to achieve with that. If he is hiding somewhere, waiting for me to panic and run out, he would most likely not want to reveal himself. If he was around but did not leave the door unlocked intentionally, all I would do is draw his attention to me when I could just as well make a run for it.

Then again, there is also the option of him not being around. I don’t know why this possibility comes to my mind last since he mentioned it earlier. He said he would leave the house and the present silence suggests that is what has happened. But I have a hard time believing whatever he says, and his presence is so ubiquitous that I have trouble imagining I’m alone. I have been here for less than two days but never without him. Even when he was not in my room, I knew that he was close, watching me through the camera.

I take a step forward. Then another one. The hallway is covered with the same dark wooden floor that I found in my room, and my naked feet are eerily audible as I make my way across the corridor.

I reach the end of the hallway and come to a halt at the balustrade. Just as I suspected, it opens to a wide airspace spanning across the entire entrance area that reveals itself two stories below me. The staircase leads down to the second floor to my left and then continues its path down to the first floor on the other side.

I place my hands on the balustrade and carefully lean forward to get a better idea of what may lay below. It is undeniably interesting architecture. The house itself is huge, but seeing how much of that space was used for the entrance area, I reckon that there are not as many rooms as it would appear from the outside.

I freeze, once again listening for sounds or signs that don’t appear.

I might truly be alone in this house. He left and forgot to lock the door.

Could it really be that simple?

If he were indeed out and wouldn’t return for a few hours as he disclosed, I would have some time look for my personal belongings—my clothes especially—before I storm out the door with nothing but the bathrobe covering me.

I turn around and face the door to the room that has been my prison for the last two days, but that is not the one I am curious about.

My steps are still quiet, but nowhere near as slow and careful as they were before. The first door to my right opens up to a little closet with nothing in it; not even a layer of dust lies here, Leonard’s meticulous personality shining through in even the most minute corners of the house.

I close it and continue to the door right next to it. This one opens up to a small and dark room. The blinds in front of the window are closed so that no light can come in from the outside. I push the light switch to my left hand only to find out that it doesn’t work. The room seems empty, anyways, completely deserted. There is not a single piece of furniture or anything that suggests that he has ever used this room.

I shrug and close the door. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals that I am still by myself. I don’t see or hear anyone. My heart calms down, and I begin to feel more at ease.

I turn around to check the last door on this floor, opposite the other two. It is the first that opens up to more than deserted emptiness. A lot more.

The room that reveals itself in front of me is bigger, but equally dark because most of the blinds are closed here as well. Only a hint of daylight sheds some visibility over what seems to be an office. I enter the room and open the blinds to let in more light. The left side of the room is entirely consumed by a huge desk. It is immaculate; there is hardly anything on it save for a keyboard and a mouse, a notebook with a pen, and three screens.

I furl my eyebrows. What the hell does he need three screens for? I step closer and move the mouse. I know the chances were slim, but I am still disappointed when none of the screens flicker to life.

Something tells me that this might be where he watches me. There are a lot of cables and other electronic equipment that I cannot assign to anything. I sit down in the lavish office chair and reach for the notebook to flick through it.

Not much is written in it, but the few things that are cause my pulse to speed up again.

They are notes about me. It reads a like a timetable with time slots on the left and notes on the right. This can only be where he has been watching me. He watches me and takes notes about my behavior and consequently, what sort of punishments are in order. He told me about some of them like the strokes I earned for talking back and giving him the finger through the camera last night and the ones I earned for trying to untie myself.

But the notes about me start a lot earlier, about a week ago when we met for the first time. This part looks like some kind of sick diary; he records every moment of our meeting but not in a sweet way. He describes me like prey, like an animal he intends to tame.

In a way, that is what has been happening since I became his captive.

Use me
. I said that to him. In a daze of lust and need, I begged him to fuck me, to use me, and I remember wanting nothing but to serve him in that moment for my own pleasure.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. I’m embarrassed by it.

I close the notebook and put it back exactly where I found it. I can’t let him know that I went through his stuff.

There is not much else in this room. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of belongings lying around, at least, not up here.

When I leave the room and step back into the corridor, I almost expect him to be standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down on me with intense eyes, full of dark promises.

But I am still alone.

I make my way down the staircase to continue my investigation on the second level. There are two hallways here, both more spacious than the one upstairs.

I opt for the right hallway, mostly because it is longer and because there is a door at the end of it, very much like the one that leads to my room one level above. In fact, the room that lies behind it must be directly below mine. My instinct tells me that this could be where he sleeps.

My heart jumps with excitement as I approach the door. The thought of seeing his bedroom, his private refuge, sends a warm tickle through my body. I can’t tell if I’m excited to see his bedroom out of genuine attraction, or if this is a small way of invading his privacy as he has done to me—a gesture of taking back a bit of the power.

I slowly turn the doorknob, relieved to find that it is not locked. I open the door, and a wide smirk spreads across my face as I discover it is indeed a bedroom. The room is huge, bigger than mine, but just as sparsely furnished as every other room I have seen so far. There is a giant canopy bed to my left, with nightstands on either side. The wall opposite of the door is covered with floor length windows. None of the drapes are closed, and light gray daylight floods in.

Opposite of the bed, to my right, I find a small desk with nothing on it but an old newspaper. The rest of the room is empty except for a big, wooden chest at the foot of the bed. It doesn’t match any of the other furniture and stands out with its rugged look. I cross through the room and come to a halt in front of the chest, pausing for a moment before I dare to see if I can open it. But unlike every door I have encountered so far, it is locked.

I sigh with disappointment and spin around, scanning the room for anything else. It is just as empty as the rest of the house. No clothes, no personal belongings, nothing. The only thing that suggests that he is using this room is the paper on the desk and the closet next to the bed. The door of the closet is ajar, and when I walk over to it and open it, I find that he is using it for his wardrobe. Suits, shirts, ties, and a few less formal pieces of clothing, all very neatly put away. It is a cavernous walk-in closet, but he is not even using half of its space.

I step inside and find the sweater he was wearing the day before on the boat. A weird sense of melancholy overwhelms me when I take it from the shelf, feeling the soft fabric between my fingers. I hold it up to my face and take in the smell of it. His smell, strangely alluring.

A weird need for his presence overcomes me, and I find myself exchanging the bathrobe for his sweater. The soft fabric feels like a thousand tiny hands caressing my naked skin.

When I saw him wearing that sweater, he was nothing but an enchanting stranger. A man who seemed to understand me, who could give me what I wanted. A dirty little secret, even. A sexy stranger who promised to enrich my otherwise dull life.

I close my eyes for a moment, taking in his scent and hugging myself, imagining I was in his strong embrace.

I had no idea. All I could see was the excitement that came with him, but not the danger. Everyone would warn a woman about doing what I did, meeting an intrusive stranger out on the lake, all by myself, on his boat, without telling anyone about it. How could I be so stupid?

And why am I still here? He is gone. I am on the loose, and instead of taking the chance to run away, I am standing in his closet, smelling and wearing his clothes.

“What is wrong with me?” I hear myself whisper.

I take off the sweater, put it back on the shelf and scan the closet one last time to see whether I might find my bag in it, but it is nowhere to be seen. The bathrobe is still all that I have to cover myself up. I sigh when I put it back on.