The twenty-four-year-old was thrown inside a locked bedroom by her stepmother and abandoned to a man old enough to have fought in wars she had only ever read about.

Twenty minutes later, she was running barefoot during a thunderstorm.

“Have you seen her? Did anyone find her?”

“No, ma’am. She headed to the back road.”

Rain pelted the earth hard enough to make the distinction between sky and land disappear. The mud from the rain stuck to Elena Vargas’s legs as she limped behind the property, struggling for breath that wouldn’t cooperate. Her silver dress, so elegantly selected by her stepmother for the evening’s “business dinner,” was now tattered around her, dripping wet and stuck to her skin like a second layer of skin.

She had a bruise on her cheekbone. The shape of a ring was still visible beneath the swelling. But she kept walking.

Not out of the belief that she could get away. Just because stopping felt even worse.

Behind her, beams of flashlight shone through the trees.

“Elena!”

Her whole body froze.

This wasn’t a plea. It was the voice of someone who was suddenly losing control of a high-stakes situation.

“Get back here before you make things worse!”

Isabel Vargas rarely spoke in such terms unless she was too angry to pretend to care anymore.

Tonight had cost her dearly.

But an hour before that, she was standing smiling among rich guests under sparkling chandeliers, touching Elena’s shoulder softly while talking about business deals and family ties. For everyone in the house, Isabel seemed graceful. Refined. Devoted.

For Elena, Isabel was a monster hiding behind a smile.

“You could save this family, Mr. Becerra,” she murmured, fastening Elena’s necklace. “It is your turn now to cooperate,” she told Elena.

And then she bolted the bedroom door from the outside.

When Elena resisted, Isabel slapped her so hard that her world spun. Elena wept, but Isabel reassured her that gratitude looked better than fear. And when Oscar Becerra untied his tie and poured himself a glass of wine next to the bed, Elena noticed that the bathroom window was cracked open against the storm.

Instinct took over.

She climbed out into freezing rain and dropped nearly eight feet into the mud below.

The branches clawed her arms as lightning crashed around her head as though buildings were falling. The sounds of voices remained behind her. Searching men. Men who had been well-paid enough not to have to ask any questions.

Then headlights appeared through the rain.

A black vehicle pulled from the darkness and sped down the wet highway without making a sound. Luxurious. Unattainable.

Elena walked right in front of it.

“Please!”

The brakes screamed.

The car halted just inches away from her knees.

Nothing happened for what seemed like eternity. Rain fell against the windscreen. Steam rose from the hood. Panic tightened its grip on Elena’s throat as she stared blindly through tinted glass.

She then went to the passenger side window and pounded it with both fists.

“Please, help me! Don’t leave me here!”

Matthew Carranza raised his head slowly from the backseat of his limousine.

It was clear that he wasn’t the kind of person who liked to be interrupted. He wasn’t used to anything out of the ordinary happening. Least of all, to someone barging into his night. Power emanated from his figure; calm eyes peered out of an intimidating face, dressed in a well-tailored suit. The glow of a half-finished telephone conversation flashed across the device in his hand.

The power seemed as natural to him as his skin.

“Sir?”

Matthew did not respond right away.

His gaze scanned Elena closely: the bruise on her face, trembling hands, bloodstained feet on wet asphalt, panic so clear that it was obvious it wasn’t staged.

This was not some trickery.

Or some trap.

This was the truth.

The flashlight spots closing in on her from behind.

“Unlock the door,” Matthew whispered.

The locks unlocked.

Without delay, Elena stepped into the car, slamming the door behind her almost fast enough to cut off her own fingers. First, she felt warmth. Then, the smell of leather, cedarwood, and an expensive fragrance; there was another smell underneath all of this—that of authority.

The car drove off smoothly.

She did not dare exhale until the lights at the manor faded behind curtains of rain.

“She cannot take me back,” she said quietly, grasping the frayed material on her chest. “If they locate me, she will kill me.”

He shrugged off his coat and gave it to her, not uttering a single word. His fingers touched her arm, briefly.

Cold as ice.

His jaw clenched imperceptibly.

“Who?”

“My stepmother.”

The air in the car shifted, taking on another form.

“Tonight, she tried to sell me,” Elena said softly. “One of her business partners. She told me that after all she paid for my upbringing, there was nothing else left valuable except my body.”

Not even the driver could help but tense.

The sky outside was torn apart by lightning.

“After I turned down her offer, she slapped me. Then she locked us in the room and left me there with her.” Elena gulped nervously. “I managed to get out through the bathroom window. I’ve lost my phone. I don’t know where we are. I just kept running.”

Matthew observed her closely.

Still showing no emotion.

Yet he seemed to possess something else now. Something hidden. Dangerous.

But then Elena caught sight of headlights from behind them.

It was an SUV quickly approaching them.

“It’s them,” she said.

Matthew moved slightly towards the front seats. His voice was calm enough to be terrifying.

“Take Blackwood, instead of the highway.”

The driver did not hesitate.

Then Matthew stared straight at Elena.

“Get down.”

Elena dropped further into her leather seat as the SUV started catching up with them through the rain. Everything outside the car windows blurred into silver and black streaks.

Then she saw the cell phone.

The very last thing that appeared on Matthew’s screen before it went dark was the name Isabel Vargas.

She felt her blood run cold.

Matthew noticed that Elena saw the name.

And then there was a complete silence.

The SUV caught up to them.

Elena’s hand shot towards the doorknob involuntarily, yet before she could say anything, Matthew grabbed a slim black satellite phone and hit one button.

“Marcus,” he stated coolly. “Route Nine and Blackwood Lane. Patricia Salgado awaits roadside with a leather belt. Get her out of there.”

Elena went still.

“She calls the police,” Matthew continued, “make sure she remembers the upcoming audit into her logistics firm. If Becerra contacts you, give him twenty-four hours to liquidate his assets before I liquidate them for him.”

Then the conversation was abruptly ended.

Just like that.

No second thought, no shouting, no emotions displayed.

Yet it felt even more terrifying because of it.

She stared at him in shock.

He knew them.

Not casually. He knew them in the sense that he was one of those men operating in the same perilous realm as them. A realm in which dangers rang smooth and destruction occurred silently behind locked doors.

She wasn’t running away from danger; she was running away sideways.

The car raced even faster through the rain as Seattle faded away behind them in scattered bursts of light and darkness. Within the car, only two noises remained audible: the rumble of the engine and Elena’s irregular breathing.

Finally, Matthew turned towards her completely.

The dashboard light exaggerated the angles of his face, making him appear less human and more like someone chiseled out of material that could withstand fire.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Elena Vargas.”

He focused his eyes on her.

“Arthur Vargas’s daughter.”

It wasn’t a question.

Elena nodded. Her father passed away two years ago, leaving the shipping business under Isabel, along with any money and property that would have been Elena’s inheritance. Ever since then, Elena’s world became one of intimidation, manipulation, and abuse concealed from public eye.

Tonight, however, was the first time she had seen Isabel drop her act.

“Oscar Becerra was supposed to take care of her debts,” Elena whispered. “That was the plan.”

Matthew’s face didn’t move at all.

However, the atmosphere within the car seemed to become much thicker.

Much more tense.

Finally, Elena fell to pieces completely, crying and too exhausted to stay awake, as the adrenaline left her system.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Matthew stared at her silently for several seconds.

He showed no signs of pity or anything soothing in his expression.

Instead, he reached over, took a blanket made of heavy wool from somewhere, and threw it over her lap.

“Dry yourself off,” he replied calmly. “I don’t want any blood on my seats.”

The words were harsh, but the blanket was warm.

And for some reason, that scared Elena even more.

Two hours passed, and iron gates opened silently before them.

Beyond the gates, there loomed a huge cliffside manor made of black steel and glass that overlooked raging waters below. Flashes of lightning revealed huge windows, immense pine trees, and buildings so harsh they looked more like prison cells than homes.

The car rolled beneath a covered entrance.

A well-groomed driver was suddenly there holding an umbrella.

Matthew got out first, never once turning around.

And for one more moment, Elena just sat there inside the car staring up at the looming mansion through the downpour of rain.

But then it clicked her.

The nightmare wasn’t over.

It just changed owners.

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Bored Daddy

Love and Peace

Physical intimacy is usually perceived as nothing more than just an extension of romance or sexuality. A bonus feature. An optional part of love. But it rarely feels optional when it lacks.

For a lot of women, physical intimacy means a whole lot more than simply passion; it represents the very core of psychological security and stability in the relationship. Studies in couples’ counseling and neurology have shown that touch serves as one of the key ways in which people establish safety. When everything seems too stressful and unbearable, a pat on the back or holding hands at the movies serves as a proof that the affection is still there. And somehow, it makes things easier.

However, when moments like that slowly vanish, the emotional impact is too huge to ignore.

Perhaps one of the strongest emotional consequences of being deprived of sexual relations is that of rejection. Not outright rejection, but rather an indirect one, which makes the entire experience even more painful.

You ask for affection, but receive rejection instead, a tired sigh, a quick excuse, another postponed moment. And when this turns into habit the mind keeps asking all sorts of questions. “Am I unattractive now?” “Did something change?” “Are they losing interest in me?”

Even when the reason behind the lack of affection has nothing to do with attraction, the silence creates stories. Humans tend to seek answers, and in moments of emotional vulnerability, we rarely choose the kindest explanations for ourselves. This is where the seeds of self-doubt start taking root. And it doesn’t usually happen overnight, but gradually.

A woman might begin to examine herself in the mirror more often, comparing photographs from when she was younger to what she looks like now, and wondering whether she has lost her allure, excitement, and lovability. There are times when she sees things that did not bother her in the slightest before—she gained a little weight, developed wrinkles, or feels exhausted—and out of the blue, those changes feel enormous.

Physical intimacy should not define the value of an individual, but when it comes to romance, affection often becomes part of how love is understood on an emotional level. When touch disappears without discussion or reassurance, many women stop feeling chosen, and that’s when things start to change internally.

Loneliness begins to rear its ugly head in some rather odd ways as well, not that lonely feeling when you are by yourself, but the much more complicated feeling of loneliness when you lie next to another person and still feel emotionally alone.

The relationship itself will continue to work on all superficial levels; bills will be paid; meals will be shared; discussions regarding appointments, chores, jobs, or kids will continue as usual. Yet underneath it all, there is emptiness.

When there is lack of physical intimacy, there is a tendency for couples to gradually slip into what professionals refer to as transactional living. As noted by relationship specialists such as Dr. John Gottman, couples that do not interact through physical contact tend to get stuck in a “roommate phase,” where they manage responsibilities but not an emotional connection.

The warmth goes first, then vulnerability, and finally openness. Over time, even being affectionate might seem awkward because the emotional gap has grown so large.

And once distance becomes routine, reconnecting can feel strangely uncomfortable.

There’s another emotional consequence people rarely talk about enough: relentless overthinking. In the absence of any intimate conversations, the only thing that remains in place is doubt. A woman finds herself examining all the tiniest details of her partner’s behavior, from short answers, lack of eye contact, to different habits. All of a sudden, her mind begins to work as a detective looking for threats.

Fears can be irrational, but they can also prove somewhat accurate. Without comfort or conversation, however, it’s likely that fear will drown out the reality altogether. The mind churns continuously through the dark because unresolved questions don’t go away easily: “Are there other people?” “Is he dissatisfied?” “Is this a dying relationship?” “Did I see it coming?”

The insecurity tends to seep into everything. Sleeping gets harder. Concentration suffers. The mood shifts. Even experiences outside of the relationship take on weight because the lingering emotions follow wherever one goes.

And then eventually, the sadness takes form.

When what starts off as pain turns into resentment, particularly in a situation where emotions are continually being ignored or brushed aside, it can lead to a woman beginning to shut herself off from any more rejection. At first, she will try harder. Then she will make lesser attempts. Eventually, she will stop altogether.

This is problematic because the emotional pull-away doesn’t feel like a big deal when you’re actually doing it. It makes sense to do what seems safe and easy, rather than continue to experience disappointment. Not many relationships break up on the basis of yelling. Relationships break up on the basis of quiet moments where there’s nothing but emotional exhaustion and pretending that everything is okay because talking about the problem wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

However, the lack of physical intimacy does not necessarily imply that the love is dead.

Life itself is not as simple as online guidance suggests. There is stress, and there are diseases, insecurity, depression, tiredness, mourning, hormone imbalances, disputes left unresolved, busy timetables, and emotional fatigue. The literature in the Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy is unanimous in its assertion that such factors constitute the main cause of declining physical intimacy, indicating that lack of physical intimacy has nothing to do with the worth of the partner.

Sometimes people distance themselves physically due to their emotional exhaustion. Other times, they aren’t even aware of how detached they have become.

This is why communication is vital. It’s not threats, it’s not humiliation, and it’s not making someone feel exposed in a way where they must defend themselves. Gentle honesty creates an entirely different effect. “I miss you.” “I miss being close to you.” “I’ve been feeling lonely recently.” These phrases create opportunities rather than confrontations.

Since behind many conflicts regarding intimacy lies a deeper emotional need that must be recognized, people need comfort, acknowledgment, effort, and emotional validation.

Healing usually starts small, by sitting a little bit closer on the sofa, by holding hands once more, by hugging for a longer time, by eye contact during conversations.

Some couples just need to talk things out. Others may have to get professional help to fix their resentment, communication issues, or emotional disconnect that has been brewing over the years.Relationships are complicated because humans are complicated.

Love changes under pressure, and so do people.

But there’s a strong bond between emotions and touch in the lives of many women, regardless of whether people admit it or not. Sometimes, touch is able to say what words cannot – comfort, passion, security, affection, love. In its absence, relations may become emotionally cold even when there is no conflict of any sort.

This issue is important to be solved, not because sexual intimacy is all there is to it, but because the emotion of a relationship lies within these everyday gestures that couples take for granted until they are entirely gone.

The hand touching your own. A kiss at the threshold. The body coming nearer instead of moving away.

Simple things. Never simple.

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Bored Daddy

Love and Peace