You were so close to graduation, yet life had never felt as good as it should have. For years, every day bled into the next, weighed down by the same suffocating routine: silence, shouting, then silence again. Your parents barely spoke to you unless it was an argument, and even then it was never about listening, only about winning.

You wanted out. You wanted freedom in any form, even if your imagination had to stretch into dark places to picture it. Sometimes you’d pray for something ridiculous, like being adopted into a royal family, waking up to chandeliers and velvet sheets. Other times, you’d joke to yourself about being kidnapped or killed—always saying it lightly, as if humor made the thought less real. You told yourself you didn’t mean it. But maybe some part of you did.

Because one night, one of those prayers got answered. And it wasn’t the fairytale.

You were seventeen, walking home late after yet another fight with your mother. Her voice still echoed in your head, sharp and hot like a knife pressed too close to skin. You didn’t notice the shadow slipping behind you until it was too late.

A hand clamped around your mouth. Another locked tight around your waist. You thrashed, legs kicking the air as you were dragged into a narrow alleyway swallowed in darkness. The grip was solid, unrelenting, and strong enough that your own struggling seemed laughable.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you fought, your muffled cries spilling into the night. He was tall, broad, built like he had done this before. Muscles like stone pressed into your body as he hauled you, ignoring your nails digging into his arms. You caught a flash of headlights, then the metallic groan of a car door.

The trunk yawned open like a mouth waiting to swallow you.

“No—stop!” you managed to cry out, just as he shoved you inside. The cold metal walls slammed around you. The lid came down, cutting off the night, sealing you in total darkness.

You screamed. Your fists hammered against the inside, your throat raw from begging for someone, anyone, to hear. The engine roared to life. The car jolted forward, wheels grinding gravel, bouncing over uneven roads. Each bump rattled your bones. Each turn smothered hope.

Your survival instincts screamed at you to keep fighting, but exhaustion crept in faster than courage. The trunk swallowed your sobs until you had nothing left but silence. And in that silence, the sick thought crept back into your head: Wasn’t this what you wanted?

Minutes stretched into an eternity. Then the car stopped.

The trunk groaned open, flooding your vision with harsh white light. You squinted up, your chest heaving, until your eyes focused on him—your captor.

A man. Broad shoulders. Dark eyes that didn’t waver. His face was unreadable, as if he had no room for emotion, only purpose.

“Get up.”

His voice was flat. Commanding. A hand shot down, gripping your arm like a vice. Pain flared in your bicep as he yanked you out of the trunk.

You stumbled, legs barely catching you before you hit the ground. He leaned close, his breath brushing your ear, his words sharp enough to carve into your skull.

“Scream, and I’ll cut your tongue out. You hear me?”

The threat was low, controlled, and cold enough to freeze you where you stood.