The doctor and Lola were there waiting for when she opened her eyes. She woke up to an IV through her arm replenishing her with much needed electrolytes and other nutrients no thanks to being dehydrated. Which explained why she felt so weak and exhausted.

The doctor advised her to rest and eat properly. She'd been on bed rest for the entire day yesterday with Lola fawning over her and making sure she ate and drank enough per Cristiano's orders and the doctors.

He visited her—Cristiano. With a cold, flat emotionless expression.

The once concerned Cristiano she saw the night before vanished. He came by only to warn her she was not permitted to go around and search the castle on her own.

"You are not to be outside these walls at night. There will be no outings, no visiting, no contact with anyone without my permission. Furthermore, there will be no bothering me, my quarters, My staff..." He went on and on looking at her expectantly waiting for her acknowledgment.

He marked off the living area, kitchen, and a couple of hallways. Everything else was off limits. Little did he know she was bad at obeying rules. His list infuriated her. His cold eyes and flat tone fueled her determination to leave.

She hated feeling restricted–enjoying the freedom to do what she wanted, when she wanted. However, she kept her mouth shut when she really wanted to tell him to go to hell.

He confused her, and frightened her just a little bit.

Her thoughts flash back to when he held her and carried her to bed. The terrible thing was that she liked him touching her. The warm look he sent her just before she passed out had its own effect. Leaving Jasmine feeling as though the rest of the world were somehow fading away until there was no on but the two of them.

Maybe she was making it up. Too delusional that night to even think straight. She could have sworn she sensed the simmering potency of tightly contained emotions emanating from him.

If he lost control what would he do?

Jasmine shook her head at herself. She was not making it up. His lure was too powerful, the attraction too intense for her to deny or ignore.

One thing for sure, is the man he projected on the outside was different than the man he kept hidden on the inside.

She sensed a core of goodness beneath all the darkness residing in him. That darkness repelled her yet he attracted her on a gut level far outweighing any other emotion and it scared her to death. For all his cruel words, and her fear of what he wanted, she liked the way he made her feel. Shamefully, she admitted it all boiled down to her hormones.

Her stupid hormones battling her rational sense of pride. But if she was brutally honest, his concern that night produced a small flicker of comfort somewhere deep inside her.

However, as much as she was attracted to his lure, she despaired of the ever-present connection she experienced whenever he was near. There was something that reached inside and stroked her soul, as if the energy she felt vibrating from him was a silken thread that found a part of her inner being and swaddled it. It was unnatural, these emotions. Yet, it was proving to be almost impossible to remain calm and immune to him. A part of her fought him and another set of yearnings was brought to life within her–yearning she had successfully repressed through the years.

She had always been so independent and always in control for so long, that comfort had been absent from her life. Her parents were far away living their life. Her sister found the love of her life and Zayn was always busy doing what he always did without including her that life felt lonely. Sometimes in the middle of the night it had even felt scary.

Jasmine repressed a shiver as his face swam before her—glittering dark eyes, protective strong arms, the scent of his skin. . .

She knew her weaknesses, and she had a feeling that Cristiano Russo would prove to be her strongest one.

And if that wasn't enough make her run in the other direction she didn't know what would. Because if she relinquished all control of herself, lost touch with reality and left vulnerable to slip away beneath his domination, she'd never be able to live with herself.

She'd be no man's prisoner.

She'd find a chance to escape.

And this time, she wouldn't just run off. She'd figure out a plan, warn her brother, notify her parents and let Cristiano waste his life on stupid childish grudges. She kicked herself for not saying anything before. Maybe the turn of events would have turned out differently. But she was so focused on protecting them all from Cristiano's threats and wrath, she was willing to fight him on her own.

Now her fate was in his hands and she wasn't waiting around expecting him to grow a conscious out of the blue and let her go. If he expected her to just sit there and do nothing, and leave her fate, Sammy's fate and Zayn's fate in his hands, he had another thing coming. She couldn't stay here And had no intention of abandoning Sammy.

She would have to bid her time. Let him believe she was scared and weary. Let them all believe she was a harmless, weak female. It was the only way to get the personal guard watching outside her room at all times off her back.

It took only seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours in which she showed them what a nice, quiet compliant person she was and fooling them all, from the Italian robust cook to the youngest maid. Even the guard stationed outside her bedroom door all times of the day saw her as low maintenance.

She never complained. Never said anything and appeared as harmless as a kitten. She took her meals on the terrace in her room which she barely ate from. Although the maids smiled their approval at her robust appetite after finding the served plates nearly licked clean. They did not know she cleared the food with tissues and threw them in the trash or flushed them down the toilet.

She was too tense, too miserable to eat but she needed get on their good side and win them over. All she did worked in her benefit. A guard no longer stood outside her door. The maids no longer locked the door. Once she was sure nobody would bother her, left alone, she spent time searching through the room and try to uncover a weapon. But the more she searched, the more she realized there was nothing that she could use to defend herself with.

Jasmine stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror. She looked like a ghost. Pale, with dark shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes she turned away from the mirror with a tired sigh. An hour later, she showered, in comfortable clean clothes–jeans, shirt and the same flats–the only flats amongst an assortment of high heels. She brushed her long golden brown hair until it tumbled softly over her shoulders. Dropping the silver–edged brush, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

If only she had some sort of weapon to help strengthen her, give her a sense of security and confidence she had been lacking since entering the castle. Her heart was racing, her eyes wild as she studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was terrified of being discovered but was certain if she didn't attempt some sort of escape she'd go crazy and grow increasingly anxious and frustrated. She was starting to feel like a tiger trapped in a cage.

She opened her door, sighing in relief finding it unlocked. Looking first left, then right, she didn't want to encounter Cristiano unexpectedly or the staff. The walls pressed in with claustrophobic intensity as she quietly snuck out of her room and closed the door behind her. The hallways were empty as she tiptoed down it. She checked each corridor before sneaking downstairs, moving soundlessly, sighing in relief that the stairs didn't creak under her feet.

In truth, she was planing on searching for Sammy's whereabouts. She had to locate him first. Ignoring Cristiano's warning, she was desperate to find him and make sure he was all right like her captor assured her he was, which Jasmine did not believe. It would do her little good if she was able to escape, yet unable to find her friend. She knew it would be tricky but she was fairly certain that she would be able to do it.

Whipping her head around, looking left or right, she found the lavish foyer empty. The castle was a lot like her captor–imposingly big and grand. Jasmine didn't have a chance to explore the whole castle but she was sure it was three stories with a west and east wing. The warm light of the chandeliers gleamed against polished wood floors. She continued to hurry down the steps and came to an abrupt halt noticing one of the maids practically gliding towards thick double doors.

One hand clutched the banister in a death grip as the other squeezed her shirt desperately. But to her relief, the girl never noticed her, even when she was sure the maid would be able to hear her heart running a marathon in her chest.

Jasmine watched with wide eyes as the maid entered carrying a tray, leaving one of doors partly ajar. Stepping nervously across the marble floor, hearing the faint echo of her steps, her shoulders tensed deciding to tip toe. She looked up at a soaring chandelier illuminating the sweeping staircase and darted to the side along the wall incase someone happens to pass by. She stood behind a half dressed Greek statue, close to the door the maid entered.

A crazy feeling of dread mingled with a wild anticipation raced through her as she stood outside realizing it was a study.

Cristiano's study.

Jasmine looked behind her one last time before she found herself in front of the door. She blinked twice at what she saw, peeking one eye through the crack in the door. The office was full of books lining shelves that reached the ceiling. A dark imposing desk was huge, sleek and stood behind a wall of windows. In the corner of the room was a black safe the size of a refrigerator. A sitting area consisting of a sofa and two arm chairs surrounded the warmth of a large fireplace.

Cristiano was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, holding the telephone receiver with one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other. The maid, a Russian girl named Nadia, who she'd seen around the castle, set a drink on the table beside him and his mouth quirked briefly in thanks. His attention was instantly back to the phone.

"It's me."

The line crackled. The other man's voice came through so clearly that Jasmine, although listening through the crack could hear it. He was speaking in Italian and Jasmine couldn't understand a word.

Cristiano leaned against the sofa back and attempted to loosen the knot of his tie. The maid, to Jasmine's surprise, reached over and did it for him, unfastening the top three buttons of his shirt. She did it with a natural ease of familiarity that Jasmine felt anger at the gesture.

Cristiano paused and glanced at Nadia. There was enough snap in his response to terminate the discussion with the person on the other end of the line. The young blond haired girl stood in front of him. He pulls her onto his lap, and she giggles as Jasmine looked on with wide eyes. The girl met his kiss halfway, her lips parting almost instantly to know the full possession of his mouth, sensual and stimulating. His hands tugged the blouse of her uniform free of the waistband and began unfastening the buttons.

His fingers entered the shadowy curve between her breasts. Jasmine wanted to look away but she was shocked all the way down to her feet as the scene unfolded before her. In the next second, her breasts were freed as his mouth burned its way down the girls ivory throat. Nadia's hand curled into the springy thickness of his devil's black hair, her hands pressing his head to her.

She moved closer to him, urging him closer, and brushed her hardening nipple against his mouth lightly. He took it hungrily and sucked hard, as though starved for her. Nadia crooned with pleasure, as she gave him her other breast and he drank greedily.

Jamsine's fingernails clawed the door as she grasped it in a deathly grip. She couldn't breathe beyond the tightness in her chest. Anger, pain, and fury spun through her like an out of control storm. Her stomach rolled with the urge to vomit. Revulsion filled her.

Her hands clenched into fists. The echoing sounds of the women he bedded filled her ears. Their moans, groans and the shouts when they orgasmed consumed her. He was nothing but a sex-crazed maniac.

A look of determination crossed over her face. She refused to be upset by the knowledge that Cristiano was with other women. But she was and it made her sick. She was sick in the head for being attracted to such a sick monster. She let it build, fueling her rage and drive to escape. She had to escape him for he was corrupting her. He was involuntarily chipping away more and more of the barriers she set against him. She was allowing him to get to her and she couldn't afford it.

She had to leave.

The sky outside the glass doors of his balcony was ink black. A crash of lightning illuminated tress whipped by the wind. A violent burst of light was followed by a roar of thunder that rumbled to shake the ground and rattle the glass in the windows. Rain lashed the panes, driven by a savage wind.

She stepped away from the door. Slipping behind the Greek statue once more and hiding as the sounds of murmurs broke the silence. She hoped and prayed it was large enough to conceal her. Jasmine willed her fluttering heart to slow as she held her breath to keep her ragged breaths from escaping past her lips. She remained frozen, her nerves frayed as she watched, peeking passed the wide hips of the statue as three men emerged from a door across the hallway and closed it. One of them carried a tray and the other two had guns strapped to their waists. They were laughing softly at something one of the men said.

Jasmine looked back the way they came. Once they were out of sight, she emerged, retracing their steps back. The door they emerged from lead somewhere and from the looks of the tray–they were feeding one person. And she had a strong feeling that one person was Sammy.

The prisoner.

She creeps slowly and stood before the door. Hastily, she glanced behind her and turned the knob. It opened. She was met with stairs–smooth concrete that spiraled downwards and walls made of brick. Jasmine could scarcely see through the darkness, leaning against the wall, staring down the entrance. Tentively she took step by step as sconces came into to view helping light the way. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, feeling a rushing sense of time running out. She quickly descended the steep, rounding stone stairs. They seemed endless and her leg muscles tensed as she took one at time, fearing she'd trip and alert whoever may be at the end.

Jasmine's heart hammered, she could barely breath. The dense air nearly chocked her. It smelled muggy, thick and moldy as she neared the bottom. Nothing but stone walls surrounded her as she took the last step, using the walls as her anchor. There were no windows. She blinked several times to focus in the dimly lit tunnel with a curved ceiling.

It was the dungeon, deep below the castle.

Iron-like doors positioned every few feet amongst one wall. As she creeped forward, her body glued to the wall, she came to the first cell. Taking a deep breath, she pivoted her body and slanted a look inside. The cell was empty. She moved to the next cell. That one too was empty and dark. She couldn't see anything or anyone inside.

The sound of voices coming from the far end of the tunnel made her stop and hold her breath. Ahead, there was a door, a large wooden one, and Jasmine watched in horror as it opened slowly. With sweating palms, she calculated the odds of successfully running in the direction she came. But she would be noticed immediately.

They were coming. She knew she could not remain where she was for more than a few seconds longer.

Jasmine swallowed a cry of panic and tried the second cell's door. It creaked open as the voices grew louder, echoing off the walls. She clammed up, hoping, praying they didn't hear the squeaking hinges and gently, bracing herself, closed the iron door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Jasmine flattened her back against a shadowed wall, hands outspread, and waited in the dark like a frightened kitten. She continued to pray, shaken, trying to gather her nerve, her stomach in knots. She would have cried, but she was too terrified. The men continued to talk and their footsteps pounded the brick floor. They were speaking in rapid Italian. She couldn't guess what they were saying, but their tones sounded alarmed and tense.

A voice sounded through the walkie talkies positioned at their belts.

"Velocemente!" The voice said over the transmission. "Velocemente!" (Quickly)

The men however responded with, "Stiamo arrivando!" (We are coming)

Jasmine didn't recognize a word except 'arrivando'. It closely resembled the word 'arrive' in English. She realized they were expected to be somewhere. Closing her eyes, she pressed her body so tightly against the wall as they passed, she could have blended in and became one with the stone.

A bead of perspiration ran down her cheek, tickling her, but she was too scared to move an inch.

Once the voices and rapid footsteps faded up the stairs, Jasmine's courage faltered. But this was her only chance to find Sammy. She had to. Gathering confidence, each movement was torturous with her effort to be silent, slowed by her tremors of fear.

The dark oak door, branded with iron, from which the soldiers emerged came closer into view as she approached. She prayed more men weren't there to see her as she darted down the tunnel, stealing a fleeting glance down the path as she went. She marched on with stiff, jerky strides. When she reached the end, she grimaced, fighting a silent battle for the courage to look around the door as she hauled it open.

Clear!

As she passed, she looked over her shoulder one last time and entered, closing the heavy door behind her softly. Her heart almost burst when she saw her friend.

"Sammy! Oh my God, I never been so happy to see you!"

Sammy was nothing but a shadow, flung carelessly into a corner and laying on a cot. He groaned, and Jasmine wanted so badly to touch him, to see if he were real that she extended one arm through the bars and strained to reach him.

"Sammy! Wake up! Sammy!" She whisper shouted, waiting impatiently until he noticed her. "Samuel!" She tried again, louder, hoping his full name would gain his attention.

"What?" He grumbled, impatiently. "Not now Mama! How many times have I told you that flats don't go with that ugly-ass dress!"

He shifted on the bed, facing her with a frown etched on his face. She realized he was dreaming.

"Samuel!" She whispered again.

"I said, ain't cleaning my room! I'm taking a bubble bath! What can a bitch do to get some peace around here!"

"Sammy it's me! Jasmine!" She tried again.