Each day you wondered if your life could be different. Maybe, if you called in sick that fateful day, you would have never met your captor at work, garnering his attention.

But now you sit with a metaphorical collar on you, being held back by his men and him. Freedom was now a foreign concept to you. Even the thought of escape was a felony to Jason. He drilled the job of protecting you and keeping you in their sight in his guards brains.

You wondered if your best friend had been trying to visit you, his worry growing every time you didn’t answer. Or if your job had fired you because of your absences.

But money wasn’t a problem. No. Being kidnapped by a stupidly rich man gave you no worry of financial security. Jason always gave you what you wanted at the drop of a pin.

"What are you doing here?" Jason stands in his artillery room, cleaning a pistol. “It’s late. You should be in bed.”