She gets captured

Lara’s body hit the cold concrete floor with a dull thud, her breath leaving her in a sharp exhale. The room was dimly lit, the hum of old machinery buzzing somewhere in the background. Her wrists were bound behind her, tight enough to cut circulation, but not enough to break her. Not yet.

She blinked, still half-dazed from whatever they had **** her with. Her vision swam, shapes shifting before snapping into focus. The first thing she saw was The butler , the ever-composed butler, standing by an old wooden chair, casually slicing the cane seat out with a small, razor-sharp blade. The fibers snapped with each careful stroke, the precision in his movements unnerving. He wasn’t rushed. This was routine.

Her shredded clothes pooled beside her, reduced to nothing but useless scraps. She was utterly bare, the cold air biting at her exposed skin. Yet, despite everything, she remained silent, her breathing controlled. She would not give them the satisfaction of fear.

The butler turned to her, eyes raking over her form—not with lust, but with something far more clinical. Evaluation. He exhaled through his nose, adjusting his cuffs before slipping on a pair of black rubber gloves.

"You've taken good care of your body." His voice was smooth, almost polite. "Such a waste."

Lara didn’t respond. Instead, she shifted slightly, testing the restraints. Still firm. No slack. Damn.

With a silent motion, the two guards hoisted her up and set her down on the altered chair. Her legs were spread slightly as they bound her ankles to the legs, her posture **** into a position of vulnerability. She felt the rough edges of the torn cane against her thighs.

The butler retrieved something from a nearby table—a rectangle of smooth bamboo—and placed it deliberately on her lap. His gloved fingers trailed lightly over the wood before tapping it twice, as if to remind her it was there.

Lara’s body language shifted, just barely, but he caught it. His lips twitched into something resembling amusement. They both knew what that was for.

He stepped closer, his presence imposing, his breath warm against her cheek. His hands, still gloved, ran over her shoulders, down her arms, as if inspecting her. Then, without warning—he pinched her nipple between his fingers. Hard.

A sharp inhale. Her body tensed, but still—no sound.

The butler tilted his head. "Ah. There she is."

Lara finally lifted her gaze to his, eyes sharp despite the haze of lingering ****. Defiant. Unyielding.

He smiled. "Let’s talk, shall we?"