I didn’t move. My throat burned, my voice somewhere between a whisper and a rasp. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
The word safe sounded wrong in his mouth.
I stayed still.
His gaze flicked to the guards. “Untie her.”
They hesitated until he added, quieter, “Now.”
The one with the gravel voice who liked to whistle stepped forward and sliced the rope around my wrists. He wasn’t whistling now. The string of released tension made me wince. My skin was raw, wrists swollen. He didn’t apologize, but simply looked at me like I was another piece of logistics to handle. The same way all of these men had been treating me for days now.
“You can walk,” the man who had just bought me said. “Or I’ll carry you. Your choice.”
The exhaustion in my bones made the decision for me. I walked. I wanted to fight him, to run away, but all of these men in the room, except maybe the two accountants, would easily catch me. I did not have the energy to be caught again.
Outside, the night air hit like a slap. I inhaled greedily, desperate for the smell of something that wasn’t damp concrete. But the relief was short-lived because a car parked at the curb didn’t belong in this kind of world. Black, sleek, low to the ground. The kind of car men bought to announce their powerwithout saying a word. It was immaculate and probably cost more than my entire education.
He opened the passenger door and waited.
I didn’t move. “You can’t just-”
“Get in,” he said.
Three words. No threat. No raised voices. Just certainty.
I felt like a child around him. Despite not being tied up any longer, I knew I could not run away, and the helplessness made me want to cry out loud or scream. I did not know what I had been looking for in the ballroom when my gaze had landed on his face. But somehow, staring at his hardened expression had made me feel calmer. He wasn’t laughing like the others, and his eyes weren’t hungry. He almost looked disgusted with the whole affair, as if he, too, was not there out of his own will.
My legs obeyed before my pride could catch up.
Inside, the leather was soft, the air cold from the air conditioning, and the faintest scent of smoke clung to him when he got in beside me. He started the engine. It purred instead of roared. Everything about him was like that, quiet power and controlled violence.
I pressed my hands against my lap to stop them from shaking. “Why—”
“Don’t talk.”
Then shut me up.
The city lights flashed through the tinted windows, fragments of gold and red bleeding into the car. We drove for what felt like forever without any music or words between us. Just the hum of the road and my heartbeat tripping over itself.He didn’t look at me once. But every few minutes, I felt his gaze slide my way for at least half a second, sharp as a blade.
The silence started to choke me. “You paid half a million dollars,” I said quietly, staring straight ahead. “For what?”
“For you.”
It shouldn’t have sounded like that. Like possession. Like truth. For some reason, nothing about him terrified me. My kidnappers had scared me, even if I had refused to show fear, but this man beside me made me feel safe. It almost felt as if I was beginning to lose my mind after the kidnapping, but I could not justify my feelings. Everything felt muddled, and I no longer felt like I belonged in my own body. From my skin to the silk dress, which still clung to it, everything felt foreign.
“Why?” I asked instead, wanting to keep him talking.
His hand tightened on the steering wheel, the leather groaning under his grip. “You’ll understand soon.”
My pulse jumped.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“I don’t know yours either.”
“Ilana Walters.” I did not tell him my real name.Not yet. Not until I find out who he is.
