Olivia's strength was slowly returning, but she kept her muscles slack, letting her limbs hang limply as Daniel positioned her. He circled her like a predator sizing up its prey, a sick smirk on his face as he tugged her into place.
"Yes," he said under his breath as he positioned her arms, forcing her to stand straight—her head tilted slightly to the side, one leg angled just enough to give her an almost mannequin-like posture. He moved her hands too, placing them delicately on her hips, fingers splayed in a twisted imitation of grace.
"Beautiful, aren't you?" he murmured, as though admiring an art piece, his fingers curling against her skin in a mockery of tenderness. He stepped back, eyeing her as if she were some lifeless doll he'd just dressed in his favourite costume.
It took everything Olivia had to stay limp, but she could feel the anger building inside her. She wasn't completely powerless anymore.
With a sudden, sharp movement, Olivia summoned what little strength she had left. Desperation surged through her, driving her arm forward as she delivered a solid blow to Daniel's face. Her knuckles connected with a satisfying crack, and for a fleeting moment, his expression morphed into one of genuine shock.
She didn't wait to see his reaction fully register. Her heart pounding, Olivia bolted toward the door, her legs wobbling beneath her like a newborn foal. The effort sent pain shooting through her body, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward, adrenaline momentarily masking the burning in her muscles.
"Help!" she screamed, her voice raw and hoarse. "Somebody help me!"
Her fingers clawed at the doorknob, but before she could twist it, a heavy force slammed into her back. Daniel's weight sent her crashing forward, pinning her to the wall with frightening speed.
"You little bitch," he spat. His hand shot out, and he grabbed a fistful of the red dress, tearing the fabric violently. "You think this is a game?"
Olivia's heart pounded in her chest as she struggled beneath him, but she could already feel the familiar surge of fear. He wasn't just angry—he was losing control. His hands were shaking with rage, and she knew that whatever happened next, it wouldn't be good.
Daniel leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous. "You want to make this harder on yourself? You want to keep fighting? Fine. But if you keep resisting, I'll taser you again, and this time, I won't be so gentle."
Olivia froze. The thought of being incapacitated again, losing all control, was terrifying. She couldn't afford to be completely vulnerable again.
He glanced down at her dress, a sneer twisting his lips. "That's not gonna work now," he said, the contempt clear in his voice. "Get changed."
He rifled through a nearby pile of clothes. After a moment, he pulled out a cheap, shiny pink miniskirt and a tight, cropped top. He held them up for her to see, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Here," he said, tossing it toward her. "This should suit you. Or are you too good for something this...fun?"
"I don't think this is right," Olivia said quietly, her voice steady but edged with defiance. She met his eyes, trying to keep her tone respectful but firm. "You wanted me to choose, right? So, why don't I pick something else?"
For a moment, Daniel's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but then his lips twisted into a grin. He seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Pick whatever you want, princess."
Olivia took a deep breath as she scanned the remaining clothing options. She didn't want to give him an ounce of satisfaction by playing along with his twisted game, but she also couldn't afford to challenge him too directly—not right now.
Her fingers brushed over the fabric of a sleek silver dress with a high collar and a daring slit that ran all the way up the side, exposing a dangerous amount of leg. It was elegant, but undeniably bold, and the fabric caught the light as she held it up.
"This," she said, her voice clear and steady. "I'll wear this one."
Daniel's eyes swept over the dress, the flicker of amusement in them briefly fading before he nodded, as if he'd anticipated her choosing something like it. "Well, look at you," he muttered, stepping back and giving her the space to dress, his voice dripping with mock admiration.
Olivia felt a brief wave of relief, but she didn't let it show. She kept her expression neutral as she slid the dress over her body, the cool silk smoothing against her skin. The slit up the side was high enough to feel risky, but it also gave her a sense of reclaiming a sliver of control. The slit would allow her to move more freely, to kick if the opportunity arose. She'd chosen this dress with that in mind, knowing she needed to have some kind of advantage, no matter how small. This choice was one she could own.
"Any luck with the phone?" Elliot's voice was tight, barely masking the edge of panic that gnawed at him. He had pushed everyone hard, but there was only so much they could do without a solid lead.
The tech officer didn't look up from her screen as she spoke, her voice calm but clipped. "We're working on it. We've got her phone, but it's been disabled. We're trying to pull the last pings from the network—no promises."
Even with Olivia's phone disabled, there were still ways to trace her. He knew this. He had to hold on to hope. "Do we have anything from the cell towers?"
"Yeah, we got a few from earlier, but they're scattered. The phone was likely powered down or disabled just after she went off the grid, which means we're relying on whatever was left behind." She clicked a few more times, pulling up data. "We can see some rough locations from the towers, but it's not precise. We can't pinpoint her exact location right now, but we can get a sense of direction."
"Give it to me straight," Elliot demanded, trying to steady his breath. "What can we work with?"
The tech officer leaned forward, her eyes scanning the map. "We got a strong signal from a tower about four miles north of here—it's the last solid ping before the phone went dark. A few minutes later, there was a weaker ping from another tower. Based on the direction, it looks like she left the city."
Elliot cursed under his breath. "Out of the city? How far out?"
"About twenty miles, give or take. There's a lot of guesswork involved with tower data, but that's what we're dealing with." She paused, her face hardening. "Whoever disabled her phone knew exactly how to cover their tracks."
Elliot exhaled, his jaw tightening. "Keep pulling anything you can."
Why didn't she tell me?
Olivia wasn't careless, not with something like this. But then, the realization began to sink in, cold and heavy. She hadn't trusted him. Or maybe, more accurately, she hadn't wanted to.
Elliot had pushed her away. Dismissed her when she was brave enough to show him her heart. He could still see the flash of hurt in her eyes, hear her voice shaking when she'd tried to open up to him—not just as a partner, but as someone vulnerable, someone reaching out. And what had he done? Brushed her off. Called it bad judgment. Mocked her choices.
He'd made her feel small, unworthy. Failed her, not just as a partner, but as a friend. So now, of course, she'd chosen to do this alone. Why wouldn't she? Why would she trust him to have her back when, the last time she needed him, he couldn't even be bothered to listen? And now she was out there, facing God-knows-what, and all he had was this crushing uncertainty. Was she scared? Hurt? Fighting for her life somewhere, wondering why she ever thought she could count on him?
He turned sharply, heading for the door. He had to find her. Not just because she was his partner. Because she was his Olivia. Because she deserved better than what he'd given her.
Because if he didn't, he'd never forgive himself.
But as he reached for the door, the tech officer's voice rang out, sharp and insistent.
"Wait—hold up, I think we've got something."
Elliot spun on his heel, his pulse spiking. "What is it?"
The officer's fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "I've been digging through the data," she said, voice tight. "There's been interference, but I just pulled another ping. It's not as clean as we'd like, but it's solid." She zoomed in on the map, her brow furrowing.
"It's an older residential neighbourhood," she continued. "Narrow streets, older houses, not a lot of traffic. Someone's definitely been tampering with the signals—rerouting the pings to make it look like she left the city. But she didn't. The last trace we have puts her here."
Elliot leaned over her shoulder, eyes locked on the screen. The address triggered something in the back of his mind.
"Wait," he said, recognition dawning. "That address came up in our notes—Daniel's sister used to live there. He helped her move out a few months ago. The place has been empty since."
An empty house. No prying eyes. No chance of anyone hearing Olivia if she screamed.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Of course that's where he took her."
Elliot didn't hesitate. He grabbed his radio, his voice sharp. "We're moving. Lights and sirens. Now."
Olivia stood before Daniel, her expression as unreadable as possible. The dress fit her perfectly, the silk flowing over her body like a second skin. The slit ran high up the side, giving her an unexpected sense of freedom. It wasn't just for the allure; it was her ace in the hole.
She knew what he expected—more submission, more fear—but now, she'd decided to give him something else. Now, she was going to fight back.
Daniel was watching her closely, his gaze sweeping over her form like he was assessing a piece of property. His lips curled into a grin. "Not bad," he said patronizingly. "But I think we can do better. You still haven't earned my approval."
That was when she saw it—the opening. He was standing too close, his body angled toward her just enough that his side was exposed.
She moved faster than he could react. With a quick flick of her ankle, she drove the heel of her bare foot into his groin with as much force as she could muster. His eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat as he staggered back, hands instinctively clutching at his lower body.
Before he could recover, she was already shifting her weight, her body poised in a stance that was fluid yet precise. A moment of pure focus, and then she kicked high, her foot slamming into his face.
Daniel collapsed backward, his hands shooting up to his face in pain, a mixture of rage and disbelief contorting his features. He wasn't expecting this—he'd underestimated her again.
But before she could savour the moment, he reached for something from his belt. She barely had time to register the gleam of metal before a sharp, searing pain shot through her body. Her muscles froze, her breath hitched in her chest as the taser jolted through her.
Olivia's muscles spasmed involuntarily, her body a prisoner once again to the sharp jolt of the taser. The electricity shot through her like a vicious current, and before she could even think to fight it, her body locked up, unable to respond. The pain was blinding, but what was even worse was the sensation of complete helplessness—the knowledge that her body had betrayed her in the worst way.
She felt the warmth before she could fully comprehend it—an unwelcome sensation trickling down her legs. Her bladder released involuntarily, the humiliation of it crashing over her as the warmth spread, dampening the fabric of her dress.
She barely heard Daniel's low chuckle.
"Is that how you wanted it?" he asked, his voice a mix of mockery and satisfaction. "Tried to change the game on me, but look where it got you."
Her vision blurred, her body still twitching with the aftershocks. Every nerve screamed for respite, but there was none.
Her body seized violently as another sharp wave of electricity tore through her, this one more controlled, more deliberate. The pain was unbearable, overwhelming every sense until the edges of her vision darkened, and her mind slipped into silence.
When Olivia came to, the first thing she noticed was the faint scent of soap. Her skin felt unnaturally clean, scrubbed raw in places. Even her hair, damp and tangled against her neck, carried the floral traces of shampoo. She blinked, trying to piece together what had happened, her body once again sluggish and unresponsive.
This room was dim, lit by the warm glow of a lamp on the far side. She realized she was lying on a soft surface—a bed, freshly made with crisp, white sheets. Her silver dress was gone, replaced with an oversized shirt that draped loosely over her frame.
Panic surged as she struggled to sit up, her muscles still aching from the earlier shocks. As she lifted a trembling hand to her hair, her gaze caught on something across the room—a sleek black chair with a porcelain basin attached, the kind found in hair salons.
Flashes of sensation flooded her mind—the tilt of her head against cool porcelain, the steady stream of water cascading over her scalp, fingers massaging shampoo into her hair.
Her breath hitched, the fragments of memory slotting into place with suffocating clarity. He had bathed her. He had washed her hair.
A shadow fell over her, and before she could react, he was there, guiding her up from the bed with an almost startling tenderness. Her legs wobbled beneath her, weak and unsteady, but his grip was firm.
The world swayed as he pulled her upright, her legs refusing to cooperate. Every step felt disconnected, as if she were floating just outside her own body, trapped in the hazy aftermath of too many volts tearing through her nervous system. Her limbs were sluggish, her fingers tingling with the aftershock. Even breathing felt strange, too shallow, too fast, like she couldn't quite convince her body it was safe to inhale.
She barely registered the plush stool beneath her until he was guiding her down onto it, his hands firm but gentle, always in control. The cool surface of the vanity in front of her steadied her swaying vision, though it did nothing to calm the pounding in her skull.
The mirror reflected a ghost.
Pale skin, hollowed-out eyes, lips pressed together so tightly they were bloodless. Her damp hair hung in limp strands over her shoulders. Thoughts slipped through her grasp, her mind sluggish, unable to hold onto anything but the burning knowledge that she was here, and she was his.
She flinched as he moved behind her, but her body barely responded beyond the smallest twitch. He was touching her hair again, his fingers threading through the strands with practiced ease. She wanted to pull away, to recoil, but her body was too weak, too worn down by pain and exhaustion to do anything but sit there, rigid, frozen.
The brush moved through her hair in slow, deliberate strokes. She could hear it, soft, rhythmic, a whisper against her scalp. She focused on that sound, anything to ground herself, anything to stop her mind from spiralling.
Then came the blow dryer. The warm air fanned over her skin, and the hum filled the space. His face was close—too close—watching her through the mirror with an unnerving, quiet focus. She refused to meet his gaze.
He curled the ends of her hair with a flourish, twisting the strands into something soft, elegant...something that didn't belong to her. By the time he was finished, the woman in the mirror looked unfamiliar, as though he had reshaped her into a version of herself she had no say in.
Daniel stepped back, his eyes sweeping over his work with quiet satisfaction. A sculptor admiring his masterpiece.
"There," he murmured. "Perfect."
Olivia sat on the edge of a plush chair, the outfit he had forced her into—a tight, black corset dress—clinging to her form.
The cameras mounted around the room were perfectly positioned, their red lights glowing like tiny eyes, unblinking and invasive. The knowledge that she was being watched, recorded, made her skin crawl. The vulnerability was part of his game, she realized, part of the punishment.
"You're still not getting it," Daniel said, his voice laced with irritation as he stepped closer. "Your face—it's all wrong. Do you really think anyone wants to see you look like that? All sullen and angry?"
Olivia swallowed hard, her throat dry as sandpaper. She forced herself to hold still, her eyes passing briefly to the taser on the table. He noticed, of course, and a cruel smile tugged at his lips.
"Let's try something else," he continued, gesturing at her with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Smile. A real one, not that fake crap you just gave me. Think of something pleasant. Like...how lucky you are to be here with me."
Her skin prickled, but she obeyed, pulling her lips into something that barely passed for a smile. It felt wrong, forced, and she knew instantly it wasn't enough.
Daniel's brow furrowed, his gaze hardening. "No, no, no. That's not going to work." He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. "Relax your eyes. Soften your mouth. You're supposed to look...grateful."
The word dripped with condescension, and Olivia's fists clenched at her sides. She adjusted her expression just enough to appease him, the barest hint of compliance. Her lips curved upward, a shadow of what might pass for gratitude, but her eyes stayed flat, cold.
"Better," he muttered, though the edge in his voice suggested he wasn't fully satisfied. "At least you're trying now. Let's keep going. Think coy. Something playful. Like you're enjoying this."
She fought the urge to spit at him. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, her expression just barely shifting to match his demands. It was wooden, lifeless, but it was enough to keep his anger at bay—for now.
Daniel stepped back, observing her with a critical eye, his arms crossed. "See? That wasn't so hard. It's all about attitude, Olivia. Maybe someday you'll understand that."
His fingers brushed the edge of her corset, and she recoiled instinctively, but he was quick to catch her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His hand slid down her arm, almost tenderly, as if he were touching something precious, something that belonged to him now.
The cameras clicked quietly in the background as if agreeing with him.
"Where are you going with all this?" Olivia finally asked, trying to keep the edge of her voice sharp. She didn't want him to think she was folding, that she was giving in. "What's the endgame here? You going to sell the videos of me to someone else? Or is this just your idea of fun?"
Daniel chuckled softly, his fingers brushing the edge of her corset again, sending a wave of revulsion down her spine. "You think this is about showing you off? Sharing you with the world?" His tone was condescending, almost amused, as though the very idea was beneath him.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "No, Olivia. This is for me. All of it."
Relief flickered, fragile and fleeting, at the implication that he didn't intend to sell or share what he'd taken of her. As far as she could tell, nudity or explicit content didn't seem to be his goal—at least not yet. That should have brought some comfort, but it didn't.
The thought of him indulging in those images and videos alone, replaying them in private, made her sick. It was grotesque, more dehumanizing in some ways than if he had used them for profit. This wasn't about money or fame; it was about control, about possession.
Daniel pulled back just enough to study her face. "It's about proving that I own you. That I can make you do anything I want. That no matter how strong you think you are, in the end, you'll break for me."
Olivia's jaw tightened, and she forced herself to remain still. He wanted her fear, her submission—but he couldn't have her mind. While he spoke, she focused on the cracks in his armour, the little ways he revealed himself without realizing it. She would remember every word, every weakness he exposed.
For now, she did what she had to do: stayed quiet, stayed alive.