It had been three days since Daphne Garza was basically detained in a mock-up hospital room.

The open and overlooking view from the floor she was on had helped her become aware of her surroundings. The guy that she had met on the very first day of being conscious here was lenient in a way.

Bryon Markins.

She tried several times to talk to him again, but he refused to have a little chitchat anymore.

Daphne did not know what happened.

She just could not help, but feel worried for his sake. He might find it annoying and unnecessary, so she came up with her own terms to somehow pacify the discomfort she was feeling in his place.

There was no clock or any device that would inform what time it was, yet the arched windows in the room were enough for her to watch each sunrise and sunset that went by. And in those three days, Bryon would occasionally visit the room without saying a word.

There was also a time that she asked him if he was the person who kept bringing her food.

He did not answer, and she kind of expected that already. However, the look on his face gave him away. He found the question comical—as if she was a complete fool for even thinking about it.

Today, he appeared again.

Bryon Markins never knocked, and Daphne already got used to getting surprised by his sudden appearance.

Nevertheless, this day was a bit different.

She was really looking forward to his visit because she never saw even his shadow yesterday. She felt anxious—thinking that something wrong had occurred, so she prayed that he would come see her today.

Her stay in the isolated room was terribly lonely after all.

It was no different from the cellar where she was kept in the past.

She had a bed, but the sheets were cold. The room was actually beautiful, but she was alone most of the time. The overlooking view from where the room was apparently located was stunningly gorgeous; it was perfect—she could see from up there the sun, the moon, the stars, the blinding waves of the blue ocean which also reflected the calm and flawless, azure skies, and the wealth of the blue-lilac flowers of Jacaranda, yet Daphne never felt fulfilled.

She would admit that the guy was terrifyingly bizarre.

He owned a handgun, but never pointed it to her.

She felt happy that Bryon was nowhere near the personality of that ‘Celestino’ person. He never talked that much, and she had no plans to blame him for that. If it was his decision, she would respect that—even if it meant she had to deal with this sadness a little bit longer.

Daphne had never lost hope.

She knew that her father would one day find her, rescue her from the hands of the unknown.

She just had to be patient.

It might take time, but she would never lose herself to despair.

That was a promise she made to herself.

“What are you doing?” Bryon asked when he noticed that the girl had not moved from the spot she was in since he entered the room.

Her eyes watered in an instant. “You are here.”

“Of course, I am here,” he said, his forehead knotted. “What are you doing?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing a little upon taking in her outward form. “What are you crying for?”

“You are safe.” She let out a choked sob.

Bryon looked bewildered.

He remained silent after a few seconds.

“What do you mean?”

She took a few little steps toward Bryon which actually had the guy startled. What could be this girl planning?

“Where are you going?” He could not hide the confusion that was starting to spread across his face.

Daphne stopped right in front of him, inspecting each and every corner of his features. He was not limping when he burst into the door, so she figured that his body was okay. There were no visible scratches on his face. The only thing that she had found uncanny was his hair.

He did not put any hair gel today?

She took one step forward once more to thoroughly study him.

Bryon’s nose flared up angrily. He shoved Daphne away, the edge of the bed catching her bum when she fell down. He turned his back, and ruffled his hair.

The girl’s shocked face contorted into a soft smile. Now, that was his usual self—irritable and unfriendly.

“I have not seen you yesterday,” Daphne mused in a sad whisper. “I am just happy that you are here today.”

“You are not my mother,” was his quick response, his tone harsh, but he did not raise his voice either.

She hummed softly, and gave him a small nod. “I do not recall giving birth to you as well.”

Bryon turned to her in a flash, appalled. “Do not play smartass with me.”

Her lips pursed into a thin line. “I am not playing smartass with you.”

“What do you want?”

“Are you mad?” she asked, confused. He seemed exceptionally snappy today.

He groaned, bringing his hand up to rub at his temples. “If only I am permitted to kill you right now.”

She gasped at his boldness. “I-I am a hostage. You do not kill your hostage.”

He glared at her. “I know that.”

Daphne looked away, sniffling softly. “I thought something bad happened to you, and the idea that no one would come visit me had truly scared me.”

“Why are you getting emotional over something so simple?” Bryon scolded. “I am not your lover. Therefore, it is not my obligation to return to you.”

Daphne’s cheeks heated up, and when she looked up at him to utter her rebuttal—she caught her breath.

Bryon’s face was red, but he did not look furious this time.

Was that the face of embarrassment?

“B-bryon…”

He stilled when he heard his name. “We are getting out today.”

Her hesitation quickly evaporated into the air. “We are?” she whispered, shocked.

Bryon nodded slowly. “I am expecting you to be on your best behavior.”

Daphne could not contain her happiness, so she helped herself up.

It was too late for Bryon to react when she spread her arms open to embrace him. Just when she thought she was going to rot away in isolation and anguish, he promptly came right on time, and this time around—she knew she was saved.

“Thank you so much,” she cried into his chest.

Bryon did not budge, and had not returned the hug.

“My hunch was correct from the beginning. You are indeed annoying.”

I have my answer with me now, Father.

Maybe, at the back of my mind, what I truly value is control.

Still, nothing could ever hold a candle to freedom—and that was what Daphne craved the most.