Chapter 345

The air seemed to freeze in an instant.

Vincent's entire demeanor shifted, hardening intoice. The very first thought that flashed through Hannah's mind upon waking was how to erase every trace that tied her to him.

A wave of fierce, offended anger surged through Vincent, followed closely by something heavier, darker-an unspoken fear.

"No." Vincent's voice cut through the silence, cold, edged faintly with hostility.

Hannah's lips twisted into a sharp, mocking smile, her eyes slicing into him with glacial disdain. "No? Do you honestly want me to bring a child into this miserable place?" Her tohe dripped with scorn,every word sharpened to wound.

"And what if I do?" Vincent slammed the soup bowl onto the bedside table with a dull, echoing thud. He leaned in, caging her against the mattress with his arms braced on either side. "I want you to bear my child."

It was his plan-to bind her to him irrevocably with a child. He had never once regretted taking her away from that damned wedding. And he had no intention of ever letting her go.

"Bastard!" Hannah's fury exploded at his shameless confession. She raised her hand to shove him away, but he caught her wrist with effortless strength.

Ignoring her curses and frantic struggles, Vincent lifted the bowl again, pressing it firmly against her lips.His command came low and unyielding. "Drink."

Hannah jerked her head aside, lips sealed tight in silent rebellion.

Vincent studied her defiance, his gaze darkening, a dangerous edge settling over him. His grip on the spoon tightened, knuckles whitening, his voice falling into a menacing whisper. "Not drinking? Fine."

He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "I don't mind feeding you myself."

Hannah recoiled, knowing all too well this madman was capable of following through. In the end, under the weight of his relentless stare, though her heart screamed in protest, she gave in.

She reached out-not for the spoon, but for the wvarm bowl itself, snatching it from his hand with a burst of pent-up rage. Tilting her head back, she drank it down in one defiant gulp.

The next second, she slammed the empty bowl on the table with a sharp, ringing clatter.

Vincent's eyes flickered as he caught theflicker of pain buried in her forced calm, a pang he had not expected to feel. But that fleeting ache dissolved quickly, replaced by the grim satisfaction her compliance stirred.

Straightening to his full height, his tone returned to measured calm, as though the earlier confrontation had never occurred. "Good. Lunch will be delivered on time. And remember, I'll be watching you eat."

With that, he picked up the tablet from the sofa and strode toward the door.

The heavy metal door closed behind him with a sound too soft for its weight, followed by the sharp click of the lock.

Once again, Hannah was alone.

She sat for a long moment, scanning the lavish room, her resolve crystallizing into a single thought-she had to escape.

At lunchtime, the heavy door slid open.

Vincent stepped inside, carrying a tray of food.

The lunch was even more extravagant than breakfast, prepared with deliberate care.

Hannah sat in the single chair by the window, swallowed up in his oversized black shirt. She didn't resist intensely as she did this morning.

When Vincent placed the meal before her, she didn't look at him. She picked up her utensils and ate in slow,measured bites-obedient, mechanical,detached.

Vincent watched her in silence, his lips gradually loosening from their tense line. She finally ate on her own accord. This small act of submission eased the tension in his chest, if only a little. He needed her alive,healthy, and at his side.

Hannah forced each bite past the nausea curling in her stomach. She reminded herself again and again-she had to preserve her strength if she wanted any chance of escaping.

For days, she maintained this facade of compliance.

Then one day, Hannah broke the pattern. She lifted her gaze and asked Vincent to join her.

They ate together quietly, no words exchanged, until Hannah had nearly finished her plate. Setting down her utensils, she dabbed the corner of her lips with a napkin. Her eyes lifted to his, her voice soft,carefully laced with pleading. "I want to go for a walk."

Vincent's gaze sharpened, cutting into her,though he said nothing at first.

Hannah met his eyes without wavering, her tone gentler, tinged with submission. "Couldn't I stroll for a bit with you?"

It was the first time she had suggested spending time by his side, even if only for a walk. Something inside Vincent softened at the rare gesture.

After a tense pause, his deep voice rumbled. "Half an hour, then."

Hannah nodded gently, her tone still light, still yielding. "Okay." Her chest loosened with relief. This was it-the first step toward freedom.