Okay.

I was so fucking screwed. The bathroom was bigger than my entire apartment, it was luxurious and all but there were no windows.

It had a huge bathtub with expensive smelling soaps arranged in a wicker basket on a shelf. Turkish towels were stacked on a rack and a huge mirror took over one wall. The room was panelled with silver-grey tiles. The shower was impressive. High tech. Sad that I wasn't planning on staying for long.

The luminescent keypad was glaring at me. One word and I would be free. Just one word. I was out of guesses. The password could literally be anything. I couldn't even calculate the number of combinations let alone guess them.

I needed a weapon of some sort. I had stupidly dropped my knife in my car. Could I break the mirror? No. I wasn't strong enough. I doubted the Mafia would be too scared of a tiny girl armed with a shard of glass. And at the rate things were going, the chances of me hurting myself in the process of breaking the mirror was significantly higher than me breaking out.

There were no cameras in the bathroom, thank god, though they formed the main décor of the bedroom.

Perverts with trust issues. I waved my special finger at the camera.

I had been pacing for nearly an hour. Frustrated. I had tried whatever I thought of but the door stayed locked. At one point I even typed in 'PowerPuffGirls.' Ugh. Maybe I was going mad.

I let out a shriek of frustration and plopped down on my bed, shaking. What is even going on!?

I heard a beep from the door. Someone was coming. I stood up and grabbed the lamp by the bed.

It was Adrian DeLuca.

He was still dressed in the sharp dark suit. His soft brown hair was messier than before. I couldn't deny that my traitorous body was insanely attracted to him. Any girl would be, with that face. He was a hottie. He was also a psychopath so that did kill the vibe.

"Do you like your new home?" He asked in that deceptively gentle voice of his.

I snarled.

He raised a dark eyebrow. The corners of his sensual lips twitched with amusement.

This would be a lot easier if he wasn't so damn hot.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said.

"For a genius at psychology you're awfully bad at reading people." I snapped. Whenever I read books in which the hero/heroine backsasses the villian, I used to think they were stupid. In all honesty, I could relate now. It stopped you from feeling weak, even if it pissed of a dangerous person, and becoming weak was not an option.

"Who told you? Antonio or Damien?" He questioned.

"Can't recall."

"Hmm."

"What do you want?" I demanded as he came closer to me. I held the lampshade up.

"I want you to drop the lamp. It was quite expensive and you'll break it. A valiant effort, but I don't have much confidence that it will help you against a gun." He said coldly.

Valid point. I dropped the lamp on the floor. A loud clang resonated in the room as it hit the granite. Ah, the sweet sound of a thousand dollars hitting the ground. Adrian winced and I felt myself smile.

"What else do you want?" I asked in a monotone.

He stared at me with his steel grey almond eyes, framed with dark lashes.

"You really have no clue. Do you?" He whispered, more to himself than me.

"About what?" I prodded.

Unexpectedly he looked up and smirked.

"About something you shouldn't know either way."

"How do you know I'm innocent?" I asked out of sheer curiosity. The phrase curiosity killed the cat suddenly made sense to me. Crap.

"Not that I did whatever you think I did." I quickly amended.

"Because I studied psychology? And because if you knew you would've guessed the password, although 'PowerPuffGirls' does tell me a lot about your mental state." He answered.

I fought back a snarl. Didn't work.

"Then let me go!" I demanded.

"No." He said curtly.

"Why not!?" I demanded.

"Because you were rude. And you mean something to Di Angelo."

"What does Dylan have to do with any of this!?"

"He cares about you." Adrian said. I immediately felt guilty. He smiled at me expression. The bastard.

I was so going to make his life hell.

He turned to leave.

"Your belongings are in the drawer. You're quite talented, by the way."

He'd seen my sketchbook. Shit. It was the most personal part of me and he'd seen it. The one thing I kept hidden from everyone and he knew it. I felt so vulnerable and exposed. I was devastated, shattered. The sketches weren't his to see! He had no right. Tears pricked my eyes.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

I turned around, away from him.

A cold hand with slender pianist's fingers gently caught my wrist. I didn't look back. He let go and I heard him type the key and slam the door.

When I heard his footsteps receding I allowed my tears to fall. That man was pure poison. I hated him.

Damien walked in with food a while later. He took one look at me and his expression softened. Did I look that pathetic?

He kept the silver tray and the glass jug of water on the coffee table and walked into the bathroom. I heard water filling the bathtub. He was out seconds later.

"Freshen up, Chevron. You can eat later."

"Lunch or dinner?" I asked. My voice was hoarse from crying. I had lost track of time.

"Dinner. I'm sorry I forgot to get you lunch." He said, apologetic.

I nodded and turned away from him. The keypad glowed in the dark, taunting me. I had turned off all the lights except for the lamp.

Damien covered the keypad with his body. Careful, so I couldn't see the password. I could see it glow brightly in the dark of the room.

When he was gone I felt panic paralysing my limbs. The wall was closing in on me. I couldn't breathe. I thrashed out. I needed fresh air. There were no windows. I was sweating. Was I crying again? Maybe it was the sweat. I forced myself to get up and switch off the lamp, allowing the darkness to engulf me in its comforting embrace.

I slowly drifted asleep with the keypad blinking.