Beg For It
ARIANA’S POV
There was a sliver of light now.
Just a faint, golden crack in the corner of the room that told me morning had come. That the world was still turning outside this suffocating prison.
I couldn’t move much. My arms were sore, my wrists chafed raw against the thick rope that bound them. Every part of me ached—my shoulders, my back, my legs. My head throbbed like it had its own heartbeat, pulsing against my skull where he hit me.
God, being tied like this all night wasn't exactly funny.
My mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof. My stomach curled in on itself, cramping with hunger. I hadn’t eaten yesterday. Not really. A few bites at breakfast, maybe coffee... then nothing.
Now, all I had was this darkness. This ache. And that growing fear in my chest that whispered, no one knows where you are.
I shifted, groaning under my breath. The rope around my wrists was tight—cutting off circulation. I tried to twist, pull, wedge my fingers under the knot, but the pain was too sharp, too deep.
I stilled when I heard it.
The sound of metal.
The creak of a doorknob.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
The door swung open.
And there he was.
Garry.
Looking like he’d just walked out of a boardroom and not the basement where he kept a woman tied up like an animal.
Smirking like he’d just woken from a perfect dream while I lay in a nightmare I couldn’t crawl out of.
“Well, well,” he said, stepping inside with a tray in one hand. “Sleeping beauty’s awake.”
I didn’t answer.
His eyes swept over me with that same disgusting satisfaction—like he was admiring something before finally destroying it.
“You look good like that,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “Tied up. Helpless. Quiet.”
“Go to hell,” I rasped, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He chuckled and crouched down in front of me.
“Already there, sweetheart. And guess what? I brought you with me.”
He lifted the tray and tilted it slightly—revealing a crusty slice of bread, half a bruised apple, and a small plastic water bottle. My stomach growled before I could stop it, and his smile widened.
“Oh? Someone’s hungry.” He stood and then—just like that—he dropped the tray.
The bread hit the floor with a dry smack. The apple rolled, gathering dust. The bottle thudded and spun near my feet.
“Come get it,” he said with a smirk. “Like a good little pet.”
I stared at him. Heat rushed to my cheeks—not from shame, but rage. Pure, electric fury.
Then I laughed.
It was dry and cracked, but it was real.
He blinked.
“The only dog in this room is you,” I croaked. “So why don’t you eat it?”
His eyes darkened.
The smile slipped.
“You bitch.”
He moved fast.
His hand cracked across my cheek like a whip, snapping my head to the side. Pain exploded through my jaw. I tasted blood.
I spit it out.
Right on his shoe.
“That all you got?” I hissed.
He grabbed my chin, forcing my face up to his. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser,” I spat. “A sad, pathetic old man who’s never earned a single thing in his miserable life.”
He hit me again.
Harder this time.
My ears rang.
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” he snarled. “You’ll regret every word, you stupid little—”
He raised his hand again.
Another slap.
My vision blurred.
The world spun.
But I kept my eyes on him.
Even through the pain.
Even through the dizziness.
Because I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered.
He laughed—a short, bitter sound.
“You should be.”
Then he stood and looked down at me like I was trash on his floor.
“No one’s coming for you. No one even knows where you are. You disappeared, Ariana. And they’ll all believe it. The board will move on. Your precious Hardin? He’ll cry into a glass of whiskey for a few days and then get over you.”
“You don’t know him,” I growled.
“I don’t have to. People are predictable. Weak. They forget fast. You’ll see.”
He walked toward the door, brushing off his coat like he hadn’t just beaten a woman tied to the floor.
“But I will give you one thing,” he said, turning back with that twisted smile. “You’ve got fire. Shame it’ll die here with you.”
The door slammed.
The lock clicked.
And he was gone.
Again.
The silence screamed louder than anything.
I sat there, shaking.
Not from fear.
From rage.
From the white-hot burn of injustice tearing through my chest like a blade.
This couldn’t be how it ended.
Not like this.
Not here, in some mildew-ridden pit while he played king with my name and empire.
I refused.
I looked at the food on the ground, then at the ropes around my wrists.
My fingers were numb. My skin burned from friction. But I forced myself to move.
Twist.
Pull.
Ignore the pain.
Twist harder.
If I could just loosen the knot—
I remembered my mother’s voice again. Not the imposter. The real one. The one who called me her warrior.
Be strong, baby.
I blinked through the tears.
Not out of sadness.
But fury.
I wouldn’t let him win.
Not even if it killed me.
I turned, trying to drag the rope against the edge of a broken pipe near the wall. It was rusted, sharp in some places. If I could just get the right angle—
I scraped once.
Twice.
Pain shot through my wrist.
I kept going.
There was no more room for fear now. No more space for doubt.
I had one goal.
Survive.
And when I did, I’d make sure Garry never saw another day of freedom.
He thought he’d buried me.
But he forgot—
I’m a Miller.
And we don’t die easy.
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