Episode 3: THE HOUSE OF THE POWER ADDICT

The luxury car came to a smooth stop in front of a modern mansion, surrounded by a high fence and dozens of CCTV cameras watching silently from every corner.

Nina glanced out the window as the automatic gate slowly opened, revealing a three-story house glowing faintly in the twilight.

“What kind of place is this?” she whispered, but Rayyan, who was driving calmly, didn’t answer.

The CCTV cameras swiveled as if welcoming their arrival. A security guard bowed respectfully without a word as the car rolled past the gate.

“Don’t look back,” Rayyan said sharply before stepping out of the car, his voice a clear warning.

The house looked expensive but cold and silent—as if it were uninhabited, a prison wrapped in luxury. The spotless glass walls gleamed, yet no laughter echoed through the halls, no signs of life stirred.

“Why does this house… feel like a museum?” Nina murmured to herself.

The marble floor reflected their shadows, swallowing Nina’s anxious footsteps. Rayyan led the way ahead, refusing to answer her questions. Every door was tightly shut, hiding secrets behind their heavy panels.

Rayyan escorted Nina inside with few words, only signaling for her to follow closely and quietly. He moved slowly, motioning for silence.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” Nina asked, voice trembling.

He said nothing, only glanced back at her with sharp eyes. She followed, trying to memorize every detail of their passage. Her heart pounded—she walked in step with a man whose motives remained a mystery.

The house staff, dressed in uniforms, were silent and obedient to Rayyan’s every command, creating an atmosphere thick with tension. Two women greeted them at the door with deep bows.

“Show her to guest room A5,” Rayyan ordered, and they moved without a word.

Nina tried to say hello to one of them, “Hi… can I—” but the woman passed by without a glance.

“They won’t answer if I’m around,” Rayyan said dismissively. The silence weighed heavily, as if everyone feared saying the wrong thing.

Nina was led to a spacious room, furnished with basic necessities but without any lock on the inside. The room was neat and pretty, yet an unsettling feeling crawled along the walls.

“Can this door be locked from inside?” Nina asked, twisting the handle. Rayyan looked at her without emotion.

“No need. No one will bother you.”

She didn’t believe him. Slowly closing the door, the luxury around her felt like a beautifully decorated trap.

On the table lay a small note, handwritten in neat sharp letters. It listed three simple rules: Don’t resist.

Don’t run.

Don’t lie.

Nina read it over and over, trying to grasp the hidden meaning behind these harsh commands.

“Only three rules? But all of them… are prohibitions,” she whispered.

She hesitated to tear it up, but fear held her back. “If this is a warning, what happens if I break even one?” her mind whispered anxiously.

Minutes later, Rayyan appeared, settling into a chair with an air of quiet authority.

“You’re safe… as long as you follow the rules,” he said calmly.

He hadn’t knocked before entering, his face calm like a master claiming his domain. Nina stood stiffly, clutching the note behind her back.

“What rules? I don’t understand…” her voice quivered.

Rayyan smiled faintly, “Understand it or not, you will obey.” The chill in his voice made Nina feel as if she had signed an unwilling contract.

There were no physical threats, no rough touches—yet Rayyan’s words cut deep, precise and calculated. Each sentence was measured, but beneath it lay a sharp, hidden meaning.

“People like you learn fast when they’re handled well,” he said, locking eyes with her.

 Nina bit her lip, struggling to keep the growing fear from showing. “Why me? Why not someone else?” she asked, daring to speak.

“Because you don’t know your own worth yet,” Rayyan replied quietly.

Nina asked, “Why am I here?” but Rayyan only smiled cynically, “Because I chose you.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief at the simplicity of his reason.

“What do you mean ‘chosen’? I’m not an object,” Nina snapped angrily.

Rayyan chuckled softly. “But you’ve become part of my game.”

“I’m not a toy,” she insisted firmly.

“We’ll see who plays who,” he answered, then stood and left her alone.

The first days passed in confusion. Nina was given no specific tasks, only told to remain there. Time crawled, each ticking second mocking her patience. She paced the room, sometimes sitting by the window counting birds.

“I feel like a prisoner, but in a golden cage,” she muttered. No activities, no distractions—only swirling, tangled thoughts. She began keeping small notes in a diary she found tucked in a drawer.

She was not allowed outside, had no phone, and was served only by an old housemaid. Every meal was silently delivered; the old woman bowed her head and said nothing.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Nina asked once. The woman shook her head gently, placed the tray down, and walked away.

“You’re scared of him too, aren’t you?” Nina whispered, but received no answer. Now her only company was her own inner voice.

Rayyan appeared at unpredictable times—sometimes to eat with her, sometimes just to watch silently from afar. Nina never knew his schedule.

“Can I eat by myself?” she asked when he sat across the table.

“I like watching you eat. You look calm. But not for long,” he replied. Sometimes he only stood by the door, watching without a word. His presence was like a shadow—silent but suffocating.

Nina felt watched every minute, as if every step was measured and recorded. She noticed tiny dots near the ceiling—hidden cameras.

“Eyes everywhere,” she whispered, covering her mouth with a pillow. Whenever she talked to herself, she wondered if Rayyan was listening.

“How can I run if every move is tracked?” she thought, starting to write notes instead of speaking aloud to avoid being overheard.

Gradually, she realized this was not merely punishment for debt—it was a power game, and she was a pawn. Rayyan never touched her, but controlled every breath she took.

“He’s not just a debt addict. He’s addicted to control,” Nina wrote in her diary. Everything felt orchestrated, as if she were stuck in a pre-written script. She began to suspect it was connected to her father’s past.

“I need to find a way out, not just survive,” she whispered to herself.

When Nina tried to rebel by refusing food, Rayyan came himself with a meal, sitting quietly and waiting.

“Trying to starve yourself?” his voice broke the silence. Nina didn’t answer, staring out the window instead. He placed a hot plate on the table.

“Eat. If you get sick, I’m the one who suffers too,” he said calmly. She finally gave in, chewing slowly,

“I’m not hungry. But I don’t want to lose.”

“Don’t waste your time being stubborn. I’ve tamed wilder humans,” he said with quiet confidence. Rayyan leaned back in his chair, calm as ever.

“I’m not a wild animal,” Nina shot back, sarcastic.

“Humans can be tamed too. The question is… how long do you want to fight?” Nina stared, refusing to show weakness.

“I’ll stay myself, no matter how long you hold me.”

Nina felt trapped—not by iron chains, but in a psychological snare that slowly drained her spirit. Her voice softened, her movements grew cautious.

“I don’t want to become a puppet he shapes,” she wrote in her diary. But she admitted her mind was more confused each day, fear tightening its grip. Nightmares plagued her—Rayyan’s voice screaming her name in the dark.

“He doesn’t lock my body. He locks my mind,” Nina whispered.

On the third night, she heard faint screams from a room below—a rare moment when Rayyan’s composed facade cracked. The screams were short but sharp—a man’s voice. Nina stood by the door, heart pounding as she eavesdropped.

“Who’s hurt? Who else is in this house besides him and me?” Glass shattered, Rayyan shouted angrily at someone—his calm replaced by fury. She wrote quickly in her diary,

“There’s something darker here than I imagined.”

The next day, Rayyan appeared as usual, acting like nothing had happened. His face was calm, his smile polite, dressed impeccably.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as if the screams never echoed.

“You… aren’t angry about last night?” Nina tried.

“Probably just your nightmares,” Rayyan replied, raising an eyebrow. Nina dared not ask more, but suspicion burned stronger than ever.

That night, Nina wrote quietly in her secret diary:

“He doesn’t touch me… but he’s starting to touch my soul in ways I hate.” Her hand trembled slightly, less steady than before.

“He knows how to make me feel weak without even touching me.” She hid the diary inside a crooked empty picture frame hanging on the wall. Turning off the light, she stared at the ceiling, hoping her dreams would carry her far away—even if just for a moment.

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