I tell myself it’s strategy. Killing her would draw attention. She already made noise online. Removing her now would raise questions. Keeping her alive gives me control over the narrative. Over her.
That explanation holds for a moment, but not long enough.
The truth presses through, quiet but sharp. I want to understand her.
She put my name in her article because she believed she was right. Not because she wanted attention. Not because someone pushed her. She built something on her own and didn’t flinch. She didn’t even hide behind anonymous sources. She staked her own name on it.
Or so she says.
People in my world lie, beg, bargain, or posture. She does none of that. She walked into danger without knowing it and then refused to break when the danger stepped out of the dark.
I close her laptop and sit back, steadying myself before I open the surveillance feed.
The room I placed her in appears on the screen. The camera catches the far corner and the window beside it. She’s curled up there, knees pulled to her chest, chin resting against them. Her hair falls across one shoulder. She stares out at nothing, as if the whole estate isn’t closing in around her.
Her lips move.
She’s whispering something I can’t hear. Maybe she’s talking to herself. Maybe she’s trying to calm down. Maybe she’skeeping herself awake to avoid dreaming of what happened on that street.
Her shoulders shake once, barely visible, like she swallowed whatever fear tried to push through. She rubs her hands over her arms, slow and steady, then tucks them close again.
She looks small in that room. Not weak, just alone.
A tightness settles in my chest, slow and unwelcome. I shouldn’t feel anything watching her. I shouldn’t care if she cries or if she doesn’t. But the sight of her hugging her knees bothers me more than the article ever did.
She shouldn’t have to fight to stay steady. Not after the night she had. Not after being dragged off the street by men who weren’t even mine. Not after the fear she tried to hide in the car.
My jaw ticks once. I turn off the feed abruptly. The screen goes black and leaves me staring at my own faint reflection.
I shouldn’t care. I keep repeating it, but the words don’t settle.
She’s a risk I should’ve removed. She’s a danger I should’ve silenced.
Instead, she’s in the next room because I wanted her close enough to question, close enough to watch, close enough to understand. I brought her here rather than any of my safe houses. I refused to let my men go near her. I refused to let them touch her.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, hands clasped tightly. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the old lights.
This woman shouldn’t matter to me.
She already does.
Chapter Five - Clara
I wake up slowly, the kind of slow that comes after being dragged under something heavy. My eyes sting as I open them. For a second, I don’t know where I am. The ceiling above me is white and smooth, the light soft and unfamiliar. My mattress feels expensive beneath me.
I don’t remember falling asleep here… did he move me during the night? The thought makes my skin itch.
The room is beautiful in a way that sets my nerves on edge. Everything looks polished and deliberate. Deep gold curtains. Dark wood furniture. A rug that probably costs more than my monthly rent. It takes another few seconds before I notice the details that matter more than the luxury.
The windows have bars across them. Thin, elegant, but bars all the same. The door has no knob. My bag is gone. My phone is missing. The only thing left from my old life is the panic rising in my throat.
I sit up fast. My head swims. My breath comes too quick. I swing my legs over the bed and stand, forcing myself to stay steady as I walk to the nearest window. When I tug on it, it doesn’t budge. The bars are fixed from the outside. There’s no way to open it.
A tray of food sits on a small table near the bed. Eggs, fruit, a glass of water. I don’t remember anyone bringing it in. The idea that someone was in here while I was unconscious makes my stomach twist.
I check the nightstand drawers for anything helpful. Empty. The wardrobe is locked. The bathroom door opens, but it contains only a sink, a toilet, and a shower. No window. No phone. No weapons.
The silence in the room presses down on me until I can barely think.
