Page 53 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
The response is immediate:Understood. Security perimeter around property maintained. All business matters contained until your return.
Perfect. Everything proceeding according to a plan that's now evolving, adapting to new variables without losing sight of the ultimate goal. Christmas Eve will bring the proposal I've been planning for months. Christmas Day will cement her transformation from reluctant captive to willing partner.
I move to my study, unlocking the hidden wall safe with a few flicks of my wrist. Inside, nestled among legal documents and emergency cash, sits a small velvet box. I remove it, opening the lid to reveal the ring I commissioned three months ago: a platinum band supporting a central diamond surrounded by smaller stones in a pattern that mirrors the rose tattoo on my hand.
The perfect Christmas gift for my perfect possession. I trace one finger over the diamonds, imagining how they'll catch the lights from the Christmas tree as I slide the ring onto her finger on Christmas Eve. Traditional carols playing softly in the background, the scent of pine and cinnamon in the air, and Kyra, bound to me through the most conventional symbol of possession our society recognizes.
I've planned every detail of the proposal. The exact placement of candles. The precise selection of music. The champagne isalready chilling in the wine cellar. Even the words I'll say as I place the ring on her finger have been carefully crafted for maximum psychological impact. A promise of protection that doubles as a warning. A declaration of love that ensures she understands the finality of her situation.
Two more days until Christmas Eve. Two more days of careful preparation, of watching her continue her performance while I perfect mine. Then, as snow falls outside and holiday lights twinkle within, I'll claim her completely.
I close the ring box, returning it to the safe. Then I check the security system—perimeter alerts, camera feeds, signal jammers all functioning perfectly. No matter what Kyra might attempt tonight, she remains contained, controlled, exactly where I want her.
As I prepare for bed, I pull up the security feed from her room on my tablet. She sits at the window, phone in hand, desperately seeking a signal that doesn't exist. The determination in her expression, the rigid set of her shoulders—she hasn't given up. Still believes she can escape the web I've spent three years weaving around her.
Beyond her, the small Christmas tree I placed in her room glows softly, another element of the holiday atmosphere I've carefully constructed. Every room in this cabin has been decorated with attention to creating the perfect Christmas setting—the backdrop for her complete surrender. The holiday that celebrates birth will mark her rebirth as mine.
Her persistence makes her ultimate surrender all the more valuable. Breaking a spirit like hers—brilliant, resilient, unyielding—will be my crowning achievement.
I switch to the night vision camera as she finally gives up, setting the phone aside and preparing for bed. The green dress puddles at her feet, revealing the matching lingerie beneath.
As she slips between the sheets, I notice the tension in her body, the way she curls protectively around herself. Physically safe but mentally at war, planning her next move in a game she can't possibly win.
Sleep will not come easily to her tonight. Good. Let her mind race with possibilities, with plans that will never materialize, with hope that will make tomorrow's revelations all the more devastating.
Christmas Day will bring the final transformation—Kyra's first day as my future wife, her complete surrender wrapped in holiday tradition.
I close my eyes, anticipation warming me more than the cabin's heating system. I've always loved Christmas—the traditions, the symbolism, the careful balance of light in darkness. This year, the holiday takes on new meaning.
This year, Christmas celebrates my greatest acquisition.
Chapter fifteen
Kyra
The phone in my hand is useless. Completely, utterly useless.
I've been at it for hours, since before the sun crested the mountains, systematically working my way through every corner of this luxurious prison. The bathroom, where I balanced precariously on the edge of the clawfoot tub. The kitchen, where I climbed onto the marble countertops. The guest bedroom with its vaulted ceiling. Even the narrow balcony outside, where the bitter December air bit through my thin sweater as I held my phone skyward like some desperate modern prayer.
No signal. Not a single bar. Not even the faintest flicker of connectivity.
I sink to the floor, my back against the cold wall, and allow myself one moment of pure, undiluted despair. A sob tears from my throat, raw and wounded. Three days in this cabin. Three days of pretending. Three days of Victor's careful manipulations and my own body's betrayal. And now the crushing realization that I am completely, utterly trapped.
"Enough," I whisper, wiping away tears with trembling hands. "Enough games."
I push myself up, new resolve hardening within me. If I can't escape, I can at least confront my captor. Force him to show his true face rather than the charming mask he's been wearing.
The hallway is silent as I make my way to Victor's study. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, each step bringing me closer to a confrontation I should have initiated the moment I realized the truth.
I don't knock. The heavy oak door swings open under my hand, revealing Victor at his desk, silver-streaked head bent over what appears to be financial documents. He looks up, surprise flickering across his features before settling into that carefully controlled expression I've come to recognize as his default.
"Kyra." My name in his mouth still sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "I was just about to come find you. I thought we could—"
"I know everything," I interrupt. "I know there's no signal up here. I know Aaron isn't coming."
I expect denial. Excuses. Perhaps even anger at being confronted so directly.
What I don't expect is the slow, satisfied smile that spreads across his face.
