Zachary didn't offer a direct answer. He simply turned his gaze back to the window, rhythmically spinning his phone in his palm as if weighing a heavy decision. As the passing streetlights intermittently illuminated his sharp features, his expression remained an unreadable mask of cold calculation.

Ben waited in the heavy silence, knowing better than to interrupt.

After what felt like an eternity, Zachary finally spoke. "Let her reveal it herself."

"Understood." Ben nodded solemnly.

Inside the reinforced room, Charlotte clung to a thinning shred of hope. She didn't believe Zachary would truly imprison her. She convinced herself he was merely playing a cruel game to scare her into submission—surely he would return to release her any moment. After all, they had shared a night of intense passion just twenty-four hours ago.

However, the night passed in a soul-crushing, uneventful silence.

Charlotte fell into a muddled, feverish daze. When she finally drifted awake, she had lost all sense of time. The room remained as quiet and indifferent as a tomb. The calm confidence she had started with began to fray at the edges, replaced by a gnawing dread.

Nearby, Luna was spiraling. She vacillated between hysterical sobs—cursing Hector’s cold-heartedness—and sudden, violent outbursts directed at Charlotte. She would scream about "shameless wenches" and charge forward to attack, only to be restrained by the weary arms of Amanda and Simon.

Trapped in this chaotic cycle of abuse and confinement, Charlotte’s physical and mental stamina reached a breaking point. Her thoughts were consumed by the safety of her children. She dragged herself to the steel door, banging her fists against the cold metal and crying out Zachary’s name until her throat was raw. She screamed at the security camera in the corner, begging for a response, but the red light merely blinked back at her, silent and unblinking.

Another day bled into night. Luna eventually fainted from sheer exhaustion and lack of sustenance.

Amanda and Simon, now truly desperate, grabbed Charlotte’s arms, shaking her and demanding she "fix this." Their violent grip tore at the untreated wound on her shoulder, causing it to seep fresh blood through her clothes. Dehydrated, starved, and battered by Luna’s relentless ranting, Charlotte finally hit her threshold. Her vision blurred, a cold sweat slicked her skin, and she collapsed onto the sofa in a dead faint.

Half an hour later, the heavy steel door finally groaned open.

Charlotte was trapped in a nightmare. In her dream, a massive lion stood over her, its hot breath fanning her skin. It sniffed her body and began to lick her wounds with a sandpaper tongue, as if savoring a meal before the first bite.

The terror in the dream made her tremble uncontrollably until she jolted awake, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was drenched in sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

In the dim, clinical light of the room, she felt it again—that sensation of being watched by a predator.

She turned her head instinctively, and a shiver raced down her spine as she scrambled backward on the bed.

"Finally awake?"

Zachary was sitting on the sofa, elegantly stroking his chin as he watched her with a dark, focused intensity.

Charlotte clutched a pillow to her chest, her lungs burning as she tried to gather her wits. Once the fog of sleep cleared, her fear transformed into a flash of raw fury. "F*ck you! Why would you do this to me? How could you?!"

"Did you not stay in there long enough to learn your lesson?" Zachary raised an eyebrow, his voice smooth and devoid of remorse.

Charlotte froze, the fire in her dying instantly. She didn't dare utter another word.

Zachary stood up and approached the bed with slow, predatory grace. Charlotte recoiled, trying to merge with the headboard, but Zachary reached out and gently encircled her ankle. With a single, effortless tug, he pulled her toward him across the mattress.

It was exactly like her nightmare. She was being pounced on by a beast, forced to stare into the face of her own destruction. She felt as though she was about to be devoured.

"Does it hurt?"

Zachary’s voice was as soft as moonlight as he touched the bandage on her shoulder. He stroked the area where the wound lay hidden, but the gesture felt inexplicably terrifying—less like a comfort and more like a threat.

Charlotte didn't respond. She could only stare at him with a fractured, complicated expression. She couldn't wrap her head around how a man could shift his soul so effortlessly. One moment, he was the passionate lover; the next, he was a ruthless warden.

Which one was the mask? Or were they both the real him?

"You have to listen to me..." Zachary leaned in, his luscious lips brushing against her cheek as he whispered into her ear. "Do you realize that I could know every single one of your secrets within ten minutes of giving the order?"

He pulled back just enough to pinch her chin between his fingers, his thumb gently, almost lovingly, stroking her lower lip.

"But," he murmured, his gaze locking onto hers, "I am giving you the chance to choose. I want you to tell me yourself."