Whisper of the Sun

Chapter 2

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"Drink," he ordered.

"Is it poison?" I asked suspiciously.

"No," he said firmly. "It’s just water to help with your nausea. Take a sip whenever you feel unwell."

I hesitated, then took a small sip. The taste was ordinary, just water, no hint of poison. And, to my surprise, it started to help.

It had been about an hour-long drive, and I felt exhausted. I hadn’t even had time to drink water. When we finally arrived, I stepped out of the car, my eyes still covered by a blindfold.

“You can move your hands freely, but don’t remove the blindfold. It’s for your protection,” he said calmly.

There was no choice but to follow his instructions. We climbed a set of stairs, passed through one door, and then another. Finally, he removed the blindfold. I stood in a large room filled with sharply dressed, intimidating men, all watching me.

The man who brought me here gestured and announced, “Here she is.”

One of the men, tall with graying hair and wearing a plain white T-shirt, stepped forward.

His presence was commanding. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Valerie Harper,” I replied hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to my captor. “This has to be a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake, boss. She’s the one,” the man insisted.

The tall man looked back at me, his expression skeptical. “You’re the writer?”

I froze. “How do you know that? I write under a pen name,” I stammered.

“Details,” he said dismissively, his tone sharp. “So, you wrote those books?”

“Yes, I write books,” I mumbled, unsure how to respond.

“Not just books. Those books—the ones about... what people do in intimacy.” His words lingered uncomfortably in the air.

“Yes... I do,” I admitted, feeling more insecure than ever.

“This has to be a mistake,” he muttered, shaking his head. “How could you be the one behind those books?”

“I’m sorry,” I said weakly, not knowing what else to say.

He scoffed. “I knew there had to be some mistake. This can’t be real.”

“Those books are fiction, sir. They’re purely fantasy,” I explained, my voice trembling.

“So, you’ve never seen the things you write about? Never done them yourself?”

“No, sir,” I answered quickly. “Can I leave now?”

He turned away, pacing the room as the others watched silently. At that moment, the driver who brought me here also entered the room.

“How do you even know about these things?” the tall man asked again, visibly agitated.

“I just imagine them, sir. None of it is real.”

“And you made a fortune from your imagination?” he asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“Sir, if this is about the money, just tell me directly,” I replied, trying to steady my voice.

“It’s not about the money... or maybe, in some way, it is,” he admitted. Then, after a pause, he added, “I’m a movie producer. That kind of movie. And your imagination—your twisted, vivid mind—must be brought to life. People want to see what you’ve written, not just read it.”

I froze, unsure how to respond.

“I brought you here with a business proposal in mind,” he continued, “but now I’m not so sure.”

“Of course, sir. No problem. I can leave immediately if you feel this was a mistake. I completely understand,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.

He studied me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before turning his back to me again. The silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to say, and the others in the room seemed frozen, standing stiffly like characters in a mafia movie, afraid to make even the smallest gesture.

“Listen,” he finally said, his voice cutting through the tension. I need you to train my actors to do the things in your books.”

"Sir," I started cautiously, "I have to admit, I don’t have any experience with that. Honestly, I wouldn’t even know where to begin when it comes to training someone. Sometimes I revisit my manuscripts because I find some parts unrealistic. I’m truly sorry, but I don’t think I can assist. I hope you understand."

“Of course, you can help,” he replied sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you will help.”

“No, sir, please,” I protested, my voice shaky. “You can’t force me. Even if I tried, you’d only end up disappointed with the results.”

“I don’t care,” he barked, his voice rising. “You’ll make it work.”

I froze, unable to respond. His demand pressed down on me, and I stood there, speechless.

"You will start tomorrow," he insisted once more.

"Sir, I must decline completely. I apologize, but you can’t force me into this," I replied firmly.

"It’s not for nothing," he said, scribbling a number on a piece of paper and sliding it across the table.

I froze, staring at the figure in disbelief.

"Sir, this isn’t about money," I said, my voice steady. "I simply can’t train someone for... something like this. My work is purely imaginative. I write fiction—stories inspired by ideas, not lived realities. I am a writer and a businesswoman who delivers what people want to read. But I have no experience, no knowledge of how this works in real life."

"I don’t care about your thoughts," he said coldly. "You’ll do it for me. Understood?"

"Sir, I don’t know how else to refuse you politely. Please understand—I am incapable of this," I pleaded, hoping he would finally listen.

"Make it happen," he demanded, his tone final.

"And if I refuse?" I asked, irritation clear in my voice.

"Boys," the man said with a sharp command, and suddenly, everything was set in motion. The one who had kidnapped me restrained me, his grip so tight it hurt when I tried to struggle. As I fought to break free, more men appeared, and in seconds, they had stripped me of my clothes. They forced me onto a couch, one of them undressing to simulate an act that made my stomach churn. Cameras flashed repeatedly, capturing everything.

I tried desperately to hide my face, turning away, but they exposed it within moments.

"Enough," the boss's voice cut through the chaos, firm and commanding. "Get dressed, you bitch," he ordered.

Under the harsh glare of studio lights, I scrambled to gather my clothes and dress as quickly as possible. My hands trembled as I pulled on the fabric, but before I could compose myself, the man who had kidnapped me shoved me forward, back into the presence of the boss.

He sat comfortably in a large armchair, his expression calm but unnervingly cold. His piercing gaze locked onto mine as if stripping away any defenses I had left.

"You’re free to leave now," he said casually, though his words carried a sharp edge. "In seconds, these photos will be online. They’ll reveal your identity, destroy your business, and leave your son so humiliated he’ll want to bury himself in some Antarctic tunnel. Or," he paused, letting the threat linger in the air, "you can cooperate with us, and we’ll make sure this little... misunderstanding never sees the light of day."

"How long should I work?" I asked.

"You see? I knew you were business-oriented," he replied, a faint smile on his lips.

"Twenty men, four weeks. The business numbers you saw. You won’t leave here—you’re my guest now. For five days, you’ll train each of them; on the sixth and seventh days, I’ll assess their skills and decide who stays and who goes. We’ll discuss the finer details tomorrow, just the two of us. For now, enjoy your stay."

My guardian stepped forward, gently placing a hand on my back to guide me out of the room. I couldn’t speak—the words were trapped in my throat, sealed by fear and disbelief. He led me upstairs and stopped in front of a door. Opening it, we entered a spacious room.

"This will be your apartment," he said, his tone calm and warm, almost disarming. "Come in, don’t be afraid. This is a business of pleasure." He gestured around the room. "There’s your bathroom, bedroom, and even a balcony if you need fresh air. I’ll say this as a friend—I know you’re scared, but don’t try to escape. We have cameras everywhere, and the only thing you’ll achieve is getting yourself hurt. Please, cooperate. You’re my responsibility now."

He paused before continuing. "I’ll bring up your dinner shortly so you can settle in. And I must apologize—there aren’t any clothes for you here yet, but I’ll make sure you have what you need tomorrow. We weren’t expecting to accommodate a woman like you."

With that, he left, leaving me to fully grasp the weight of my situation. He had brought dinner, but I couldn’t eat it. Instead, I sipped water and buried myself in the massive, comfortable bed. Exhausted and riddled with headaches, I tried to sleep, but no relief came. The sunrise caught me awake.