A chilling glint of amusement danced in his eyes, a cruel smile curling at the edges of his mouth. He looked at her not with fear or urgency, but with the detached curiosity of a predator toying with injured prey.
"Feisty, aren't we?" he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery and menace.
He stepped closer, the faint sound of his boots on the floor like a countdown to something terrible. His fingers tightened around the grip of the gun, a quiet but unmistakable reminder of who truly held power in the room.
Panic clawed at Hannah's chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She could feel her heartbeat hammering like a drum inside her ribcage, each beat reminding her how close she was to death.
She had no plan, no weapon, no hope—but she had her body and a flicker of defiance still burning inside her.
With a cry that was equal parts fear and fury, Hannah hurled herself forward. Her legs carried her on sheer adrenaline as she charged at him, reckless and wild. In a final act of raw desperation, she drove her foot into his gut with all the force she could muster.
Ivan grunted, momentarily caught off guard, and staggered backward a few steps. It wasn't a victory—just a delay. But in that brief moment, Hannah proved that even in the face of helplessness, she wasn't ready to die quietly.
"What a fierce little spirit you've got," Ivan muttered with a groan, a twisted smile still curling on his lips as he staggered back from the force of her kick.
There was a strange sparkle in his eyes—part amusement, part menace—like a parent indulging a child's tantrum, but with a dark edge that betrayed something more dangerous.
Hannah, though small and visibly exhausted, surged forward with all the strength she could muster, her hands clawing desperately for the pistol gripped tightly in Ivan's hand. But his fingers were like steel, unyielding and immovable. No matter how hard she pulled or struggled, she couldn't pry it from him.
Before she could attempt another move, Ivan retaliated with brutal precision. His foot slammed into her midsection, lifting her off the ground.
Time seemed to freeze for a heartbeat—then her body crashed into the cold, unforgiving wall behind her, the thud echoing through the room like a death knell.
"Oops—are you okay?" Ivan called out mockingly, tilting his head with a theatrical show of concern, as though he hadn't just hurled her like a rag doll across the room.
Pain exploded through Hannah's back and ribs as she slumped to the floor, the breath knocked from her lungs. Her vision wavered, and spots danced before her eyes.
Every nerve in her body screamed, but it was the mocking tone in Ivan's voice that stung the most—a cruel reminder of just how little control she had.
Still, she refused to stay down. Trembling, she pressed a palm to the floor, teeth clenched, trying to will herself upright despite the agony.
But before she could rise, a thunderous crack split the air.
The gun fired.
A single bullet pierced the silence, embedding itself in the ceiling. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, a raw burst of violence that shattered any remaining calm. Dust rained down. Hannah froze. Her heart stopped for a beat.
She couldn't move.
Her ears rang. Her body was locked in place.
Tears welled in her eyes, falling unchecked down her cheeks as her body shuddered with fear. Every instinct screamed at her to run—but her legs refused to respond. She was paralyzed, not just by the sound, but by the man who had made it.
Ivan's slow footsteps echoed menacingly as he approached. His expression was unreadable, but it was enough to paralyze her with terror. Her breath caught in her throat, and she didn't dare so much as flinch.
Every muscle in her body locked up, trembling violently as cold dread coursed through her. Silent tears began to stream down her cheeks, blurring her vision, but she didn't even raise a hand to wipe them away. She was frozen, pinned in place by fear itself.
Ivan tilted his head slightly, a sick smile curling across his face. "You look absolutely adorable like that," he murmured, his voice disturbingly calm, almost tender.
The soft clink of his boots echoed with each deliberate step as he slowly closed the distance between them.
Hannah's sobs, though muffled, seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. She could hear her own heartbeat thudding like a war drum and feel the sweat gathering at the back of her neck.
She wanted to run, to scream—but her body refused to obey.
"Unfortunately," he said with a mock sigh, "I don't have time to play tonight."
The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and for a split second, Hannah's fear morphed into something colder—dread of what might come next.
Ivan came to a halt, looming directly in front of her. His towering frame blocked out the dim light above, casting a long, ominous shadow over Hannah's trembling form.
She was curled up in the corner like a wounded animal, her body shrinking in on itself as if trying to disappear.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his arm and leveled the pistol at her head. The cold glint of the golden weapon gleamed menacingly as its barrel inched toward her temple.
"Considering this is your first offense," Ivan said, his tone mockingly gentle, "should I be merciful?"
His words were like poison wrapped in silk—smooth, but lethal. The false warmth in his voice only deepened the terror coiling in Hannah's gut.
She knew better than to trust any offer of compassion from a man like him. It wasn't mercy he was offering, it was another move in his cruel game, a chance to manipulate and torment her further.
Hannah's breath hitched sharply. Her entire body was rigid with dread. Her stomach twisted into knots, threatening to heave up its contents.
Every nerve in her body screamed for escape, but she couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She was utterly paralyzed, caught in the sights of a predator who enjoyed the fear in her eyes.
Dark, invasive thoughts clawed through her mind—visions of what he might do, of how this might end. Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out all other sounds.
The pressure of the gun barrel against her temple intensified, cold metal biting into her skin, anchoring her to the reality of the moment.
Her lips trembled as she finally managed to speak, her voice a fragile whisper that cracked under the weight of her desperation. "Please… I beg you… show me mercy…"
Her eyes, wide with fear and glistening with tears, locked onto Ivan's. Those beautiful blue-grey irises shimmered with anguish and hopeless pleading.
Her face was flushed, her cheeks stained with rivers of hot tears that flowed freely, unchecked. Every inch of her expression screamed one thing—she didn't want to die.
Ivan stared at her in silence, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk crept across his handsome yet menacing face—an expression that combined elegance with pure malevolence.
He looked like a villain out of a nightmare. He's charming, calculated, and utterly heartless.
"Give me one good reason to let you live," he said at last, his voice low and smooth. As he spoke, he pushed the muzzle of the pistol even harder against her temple.
He shifted his grip slightly, careful not to press the trigger by mistake—but the message was clear. He was in complete control.
Hannah's thoughts spiraled.
'What could I possibly say? Admit that I had no idea what he was accusing me of? He'd never believe that. He'd just think I was lying to save myself. And maybe I am—but did that even matter?'
Panic surged like a tidal wave inside her. She was trapped, drowning in a sea of fear with no shore in sight. Every breath was a struggle, every heartbeat louder than the last. Ivan's voice broke through her frantic thoughts like a blade slicing through fog.
"The clock is ticking, sweetheart," he said, amusement lacing his words.
'What am I supposed to say?!' Her mind screamed.
Then Ivan's tone changed—lower, sharper, and more commanding. "Perhaps you need a little motivation. I'll count to three. One…"
Hannah's heart nearly stopped. A bead of cold sweat slipped down her spine, her body frozen in terror.
"Two…"
Her mind went blank, logic vanishing under the pressure. Her mouth moved before her brain could catch up.
"I—I like you!" she blurted, the words tumbling out in a frantic stammer.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't clever, but it was the only thing her panic-stricken mind could grasp in that agonizing moment. Some desperate hope that appealing to his twisted vanity might buy her just a few more seconds of life.
***🦋***
Author's Note
Awww, don't cry, Hanny-boo~
So… what do you think of this chapter?
Ivan—this man with a charming smile and soft-spoken words—clearly isn't the gentleman he pretends to be. Beneath that carefully crafted mask lies something far more dangerous.
A manipulator, a predator, someone who seems to enjoy dancing on the edge of cruelty and charm. It's unsettling, isn't it? How easily someone can wear the face of kindness while holding a gun to your head.
Hannah's fear, her helplessness—it's something many of us can feel deep in our bones, even if we've never faced a situation quite like hers. That paralyzing moment when you don't know what to say, when every second feels like it might be your last… It's hard not to ache for her, even as the story pulls us deeper into the darkness.
Are you wondering what happens next? What decision Ivan will make… or how Hannah might find a way to survive, if she can?
If your heart's racing even a little, then you're exactly where you need to be. Keep reading—and prepare yourself. This story isn't done with you yet.
★★★★★
(Special Monologue, Chibi Version)
Ivan: Ho! Did you dare to slap me? You deserve to die!
Hannah: No! Please don't kill me~
Ivan: And why not? ( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)
Hannah: I like you ૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა.
Ivan: You like me?
Hannah: (,,>﹏<,,) nodding
Ivan: Then prove it.