The moment the words left her mouth, Hannah felt like she had stepped off a cliff—no wind, no ground, just the sickening drop of realization. The absurdity of what she'd just said slammed into her like a train.
She was certain now—her brain had been permanently warped, damaged, by her cousin's pile of sappy books, those frilly-covered romance novels with tanned men and submissive gazes.
Driven by love? What was she thinking?
This wasn't a story. This wasn't fiction. This was real, raw, and terrifying. Her life was on the line, and instead of pleading with logic or bargaining for her safety, she had leaned on romantic attraction.
There was no saving grace in what she had said. No clever ploy. No persuasive flair. Just… nonsense.
She could almost see her own obituary: "Died tragically after confusing kidnapping with courtship."
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at Ivan and saw his expression—stoic, unreadable, deadly. Of all the possible excuses, she'd chosen the one that would either amuse him or give him more reason to put a bullet through her skull.
"Sheldon, Sean, Shaine… this is it. I'm dead," Hannah thought, her pulse roaring in her ears.
Her inner monologue spiraled in frantic disbelief as the reality of her blunder sank in. In a moment that demanded her to be cunning, she had chosen to be melodramatic.
Of all the lies in the world, of all the strategies she could've employed, she had leaned into the trope of 'love at first sight.'
She wanted to scream at herself. Why—why—had she reached for that flimsy, ludicrous excuse? What twisted instinct had led her to believe that feigning affection could save her from the merciless man before her?
He had told her to give him a reason, a real, convincing reason, not to end her life right then and there. But instead of a reason, she had delivered him a joke.
Worried that the man isn't convinced enough, Hasnnah decided to just bite the bullet and keep going.
With her voice trembling and her mouth dry, she doubled down, though her body screamed at her to shut up.
"It's... because you're incredibly attractive," she muttered, her voice cracking at the end.
"You walked in, and I panicked. I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean any harm, I just… I just thought you were very handsome," she added, not sure what else to say.
The silence that followed her words was suffocating. Then—something shifted.
Ivan's smirk widened, an unmistakable glint of amusement lighting up his eyes. It wasn't kindness. It wasn't mercy. He was intrigued. Dark, dangerous intrigue.
Without a word, Ivan lowered the gun and placed it on the table neatly. Deliberately ensuring that it's close enough for him to pick up and use whenever he pleases.
Seeing him drop the gun, relief swept over her, shaky and fragile, like a thin layer of ice over dark water. She exhaled, but only halfway—she knew better than to relax.
Slowly, he approached again. Ivan crouched before her like a man examining something broken, something pathetic. His hand reached out, and before she could flinch, his fingers grabbed her cheeks—firm, unyielding.
He tilted her face up until her eyes were forced to meet his.
"You like me?" he asked. Not curious. Not surprised. Almost bored. As if he already knew the lie before it was said. She hesitated, then nodded—barely able to move her head from Ivan's tight grip.
"Yes," she whispered, the word feels like ash on her tongue.
"I think you're... handsome," she lied. It wasn't a total lie; Ivan is handsome. But the fact that she's lying about her liking him doesn't change.
Unbeknownst to her, a new smile made Ivan's lips curl. This one is devoid of amusement. There was no warmth, no teasing spark. Just something colder. Something far more dangerous.
It is a smile that told her he had just decided something, and whatever it was, it would change everything.
"Tell me," he said again, his voice smooth and merciless, "is falling for me a better option… than falling into the grave?" he asked.
His words hung in the air like smoke, dark and suffocating. Before Hannah could respond, Ivan pressed forward, his eyes narrowing, his presence growing heavier with each breath.
"Do you understand what you're getting into? Falling for a person like me isn't a choice—it's a sentence. Once you're mine, there's no turning back. No mercy. No escape. Are you sure that you would want to choose that over death?"
Hannah's throat tightened. Her instincts are screaming for her to run, to fight, but her limbs are paralyzed by intimidation, fear, and fascination. His intensity was like a storm, and she felt like she was already drowning in it.
"For the last time, sweetheart. Think carefully with your pretty little head. Would you die? Or be mine?" he asked, giving Hannah one last chance.
The way Ivan posed the question carried a chilling implication—answer to his liking, and perhaps she'd live. The possibility was thin, but it was there, flickering like a match in the dark.
Hannah could feel the noose tightening, not around her neck, but around her choices. Everything in her screamed that this was a trap, that he wasn't some prince that she could fall for, but a nightmare wearing the face of a man.
She didn't want to die—not here, not now. The raw instinct to survive screamed louder than her terror. Out of desperation, she clung to a single, desperate thought.
Live today—fight tomorrow.
If she could just make it through this moment, if she could play the part and keep him satisfied, then maybe—just maybe—there would be time to find a way out. Time to seek help. Time to escape.
As long as her heart kept beating, as long as she stayed alive and breathing, there was hope. And right now, hope was the only weapon she had.
Her voice cracked as she tried to cling to something—anything—that would keep her alive.
"No... I do. I like you. I really like you," she said again and again, her voice trembling but persistent, as though repetition could turn her fear into conviction. As though it might convince him... or herself.
Ivan studied her with unsettling calmness, a slow grin creeping across his lips, like a predator savoring a wounded animal.
"Then you've made your choice," he said softly, almost lovingly. "You've stepped into the fire. Don't cry and expect it to be kind when you get burned."
He leaned in so close she could feel the heat of his breath, the menace in his words curling around her neck like a noose.
"Now," he whispered, voice dark and seductive, "prove to me you mean it."
***🦋***
Author's Note
Whoa… did anyone else's heart just stop for a second? Cause I'm sure Hannah's heart did. One moment, he's pointing a gun at her, and the next, she's choosing him over death—and actually confessing her feelings?!
Talk about a plot twist no one saw coming. Is she finally safe from death, or is this just the beginning of something far more dangerous? Keep reading to see where this twisted, thrilling romance goes next—and don't forget to drop a vote if your jaw hit the floor like mine did!