The Island Cage
1415 Words
Zayn Specter had built his empire on control — of his mind, of his surroundings, of himself.
But tonight, control had abandoned him.
The evening dinner had ended hours ago, and still, he couldn’t drive her from his thoughts. Lana Pearson.
A woman who should have meant nothing. A woman who, by all logic, he should despise.
He’d told himself that she was dangerous — a manipulator, a liar, someone his father should never have crossed paths with.
But the truth clawed under his skin: she fascinated him.
The more she denied any affair, the more her eyes flashed with indignation, the more he felt something inside him tighten — not anger, not entirely. Something rawer.
Something that made his pulse unsteady and his body betray him.
He laughed bitterly at his own reflection in the dark window.
He could have any woman he wanted. Models, heiresses, actresses — women who knew the rules, who never dared to challenge him.
And yet here he was, pacing his bedroom on a private island, his jaw clenched, his blood humming, because of her.
Because of the one woman he shouldn’t want.
He tried to focus. He opened his laptop, forced his eyes on the screen. Numbers. Contracts. Deadlines. All blurred into nothing.
Finally, with a curse, he slammed it shut. His body felt too tight, too charged… since he met her he was in a constant state of semi-arousal.
The pool. He needed the pool.
Water always cleared his thoughts — the rhythm, the cold, the silence. Maybe it would cool the fire she had lit in him.
Outside, the night was sharp and endless, the moonlight scattered across the waves like shards of glass. He dove into the pool without hesitation, the chill biting into his muscles. Stroke after stroke, he cut through the water, trying to outswim the thoughts that refused to leave him.
But even here, she followed him.
Her voice, her defiance, the stubborn lift of her chin, the way she’d looked at him with that maddening mixture of fear and strength.
What the hell are you doing to me, woman?
When he finally stopped, his chest heaved, droplets running down his skin as he stood at the pool’s edge. He raked a hand through his wet hair and exhaled hard, ready to call it a night.
That’s when he saw it.
A faint light through the glass corridor.
Movement.
Someone was inside his office.
Zayn’s instincts sharpened in an instant. He moved quietly, the soft slap of water from his shorts the only sound as he approached. And when he reached the doorway, his jaw clenched.
Of course.
Lana Pearson.
Her silhouette was outlined by moonlight, delicate but determined. She was holding the phone — his phone — pressing numbers with shaking fingers.
He could have spoken. He could have stopped her immediately.
But for a long moment, he just watched her, torn between fury and something far more dangerous.
Finally, his voice cut through the silence.
“You really thought you could sneak away?”
She froze, shoulders tense. Then she turned, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The sight of him — half-dressed, water still tracing down the planes of his chest — made her eyes widen, and Zayn saw it. The flicker of awareness. The quickened breath.
After their tense exchanges, when the sound of her footsteps faded, Zayn pressed his palms against his temples.
He had crossed every line he’d ever drawn for himself.
He’d dragged her here, held her on this island, demanded her compliance — damn it… he actually kidnapped her.
He stared out into the dark sea. The horizon was calm, indifferent.
“What the hell have I done?” he whispered.
--
Lena barely slept that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him — Zayn — standing in the pale silver light, water running down his skin, his eyes burning through her.
The tension of that moment still pulsed under her skin. The memory of being cornered, of his voice — low, rough, dangerously calm — made her heart hammer even now.
By morning, her body felt heavy, her mind clouded with exhaustion and fear.
But fear wasn’t going to save her. She needed a plan.
As the sun rose over the horizon, painting the ocean in molten gold, Lena dragged herself out of bed and dressed quickly. She caught her reflection in the mirror — pale skin, dark circles, eyes far too alert — and forced herself to take a deep breath.
It was another day. Another try.
If her previous escape plan hadn’t worked, she would have to be smarter.
Someone on this island had to have a way to reach the outside world.
Marla, maybe. The woman seemed kind, practical. And, most importantly, she had access to things Lena didn’t.
The villa was already alive with quiet activity when Lena stepped into the sunlit breakfast hall. The scent of roasted coffee and fresh fruit filled the air, and for a moment she almost felt normal.
Until she realized Zayn wasn’t there at the breakfast table.
Relief washed through her like a tide breaking free. Her muscles loosened; her lungs worked again.
Good. He’s gone. She didn’t want to see him. Not after last night.
She took a small plate and forced herself to eat — a few slices of melon, toast, and coffee. She needed her strength, even if her stomach felt like it was lined with knots.
Marla entered moments later, checking on the table. Lena swallowed hard and decided this was her chance.
“Marla,” she began, keeping her tone light, “I… actually forgot my phone. Would it be possible to borrow yours for just a minute? I just need to check on something.”
Marla paused, a faint line forming between her brows. She smiled politely, but there was an undertone Lena didn’t like — careful, professional distance.
“I’m sorry, Miss Pearson,” she said. “But we’re not allowed to have personal phones here.”
Lena blinked, the words not registering for a second. “You… what? No phones?”
Marla shook her head. “Private mobiles are forbidden on the island. Mr. Specter prefers it that way.”
Lena’s chest tightened. “But—what if there’s an emergency? Something happens?”
Marla smiled again, though it didn’t reach her eyes this time. “We have an internal communication system. Radios, short-range only. There’s always a line open to the main security post. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe here.”
Safe.
The word burned.
Lena tried to keep her face composed. “So… the island isn’t connected to the mainland at all?”
“Not directly,” Marla admitted. “It’s a matter of privacy and security. You can imagine, with Mr. Specter’s position… the risks of hacking, spying, or unwanted attention are constant. These precautions are for everyone’s protection. In the end, he is one of the most rich people in the world.”
For a second, Lena couldn’t even answer. The irony was almost unbearable.
Protection. Right.
What about protection from him?
She forced a tight smile. “I see. That makes sense.”
Marla seemed satisfied and moved on to check the coffee pot. Lena sat still, her spoon untouched beside the untouched toast. Her thoughts spun fast and hard.
No phones. No signal. Only walkie-talkies with limited range.
It hit her like a weight in her chest.
She wasn’t just trapped by circumstance.
She was cut off.
Even if she somehow slipped past the staff, even if she reached the dock — there would be no one to call. No way to send a signal.
Her hands curled into fists on her lap.
Damn it.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming.
From the open terrace, the sea shimmered beautifully, innocent and blue. To anyone else, it would look like paradise.
But to Lena, every soft wave, every glitter of sunlight was just a reminder — she was stranded.
Think, Lena. Think.
She couldn’t give up. She wouldn’t.
No matter how beautiful this prison was, it was still a prison. And Zayn Specter, no matter how powerful, how magnetic, how confusingly human he sometimes seemed — was still her captor.
And she swore to herself, staring out at the endless water — she would find a way out.
Even if she had to swim through hell to get it.
- Writer
