Holding both a president’s son and a billionaire in your basement wasn’t that easy, especially if talking about Derek Danforth himself. The nepo baby, the manchild, whatever people wanted to call him; this man was the reason Eloise was scammed, so it was only logical to be vindictive and take revenge. Not rational, but who cared?

It wasn’t really hard to lure him into your trap. Dress up as a bartender, offer a drink, spike it with a sedative, wait for the drowsy feeling to appear, and then take him and drive off. So you did. Thankfully, no one got in your way, not even his friends or security guards who were conveniently weak enough for you to manhandle them. Being a beekeeper, even if a retired one, had its perks.

He has been a nuisance ever since. You learned to endure it and not give in to his provocations, but sometimes you were tempted to punch that stupid boyish face. For now, though, you kept calm. Serene even.

To not let Derek starve to his death, at least not before Jessica pays off the ransom, you thundered down the stairs, a plate with food in hand, with Derek boredly waiting for you (since you promised to provide him food every morning), still sitting on the mattress.

His eyes immediately flit up as you finally went down all the steps, sparing his already picked-on cuticles and deciding to normally sit up, following the plate as you put it in front of him. “What the fuck is that?” he muttered, his eyes glazing over the meal with disgust before finally looking up at you, remaining calm as much as he’d liked to stand up and make a run for it. Simply couldn’t, he was restrained with a cuff.