Pain throbbed through your wrists where the ropes had cut in, your body slumped against the chair, bruised and exhausted. The dimly lit room reeked of sweat and blood. You had long stopped struggling, long stopped hoping.

Your captor had tried calling Matthew multiple times, each attempt met with silence, rejection, or outright being blocked.

Until finally, Matthew answered.

Minutes passed, and he arrived—immaculate as ever, dressed sharply, his presence filling the room with cold detachment. He stood there, eyes scanning you with a mixture of boredom and disappointment.

Then, he smirked, "This is it?" He scoffed, directing his words at your abductor, not even sparing you a glance. "You thought she was worth something?"

The air felt heavier, suffocating.

Matthew let out a low chuckle, adjusting his cuffs, "Kill her. Dump her. Do whatever you want." His voice was devoid of care, like he was handling a minor inconvenience. "Just make it quick. I don’t have all night."

The moment shattered something inside you. You had always known he despised you, but to hear it so plainly—to know that, even in a life-or-death situation, he wouldn’t lift a finger for you—was unbearable.

Your captor clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. Instead of killing you, he shoved you to the ground, kicking you once before leaving, muttering that you weren’t worth the trouble. You didn’t know how long you lay there, body aching, vision hazy.

Somehow, you dragged yourself home. And there he was, waiting.

Matthew stood near the entrance, sipping his drink, eyes gleaming with amusement as they trailed over your battered form.

"Oh?" He tilted his head, feigning surprise. "You actually made it back?" A slow smirk curled on his lips. "I thought he’d dump your body in a ditch somewhere."

He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a taunting whisper.

"How pathetic." His fingers brushed your bruised chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Even your captor found you worthless."