Ethan sat alone in his office, the dim glow of the desk lamp highlighting the sharp angles of his face. A half-burnt cigarette rested between his fingers, smoke curling lazily in the air. His expression was cold, his mind restless.
"I'll kill you, Ricargo," he muttered to himself, his voice low, heavy with rage. "Your cunning games have crossed the line."
The vibration of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He answered with a sharp click.
"Sir," a voice said on the other end, "we've successfully managed the shipment to the U.S. But some of our VIP clients want to discuss matters with you directly."
Ethan smirked, exhaling a long trail of smoke. "Tell them I'll meet them next week. I still have important business here."
He hung up without waiting for a reply.
A knock came at the door. One of the maids entered cautiously, her eyes lowered.
"Sir," she said softly, "the lady has woken up. She keeps screaming and throwing tantrums."
Ethan stubbed out his cigarette, rising from the chair. Without another word, he left the office and made his way down the hall. His footsteps echoed against the marble floor, heavy with an unspoken tension.
When he reached Larah's room, he paused. Her voice carried through the door—angry, desperate, panicked.
"Where am I?! Let me out! I want to leave!"
Ethan pushed the door open—only to be met with a flying glass bottle. It struck him on the side of his head with a sharp crack.
Larah froze, her eyes wide. The bottle slipped from her hand as she realized who she had just hit.
"I-I didn't mean—ugh! Where am I?!" she stammered, fear lacing her voice.
Ethan remained calm. He turned to the maid. "Leave us."
When the door clicked shut behind her, Ethan picked up the broken bottle and set it on the table. His gaze shifted back to Larah, who was trembling yet ready to bolt for the door.
She made a run for it. But Ethan was faster. He caught her easily, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and forced her back onto the bed.
"Let me go!" Larah screamed, thrashing in his grip.
But Ethan pinned her down, his hands locking hers above her head, his body hovering over hers. She was trapped beneath him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"What are you doing?!" she shouted, glaring at him with a mixture of fear and defiance.
Ethan's voice cut through the chaos, deep and sharp. "Do you not understand the situation? If I let you go, they'll kill you. Do you want that?"
"I don't care!" she yelled back. "I just want to leave! Get off me!"
Her struggles were desperate but futile. He was too strong, his presence overwhelming.
"Stop fighting!" he barked. "You're already involved! The men who tried to kill me that night—they've seen you. They know your face. You helped me, and now you're their target too."
Larah's eyes glistened with tears. Her chest heaved as sobs began to break free. She had only been trying to do her duty as a nurse, nothing more. She hadn't asked for this nightmare.
Seeing her tears, Ethan's grip softened. He released her wrists and slowly pushed himself away, giving her space. Larah curled up on the bed, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
Ethan sat beside her, silent. For a man feared by so many, he suddenly looked… human.
"Don't touch me!" Larah snapped when he reached out, shoving his hand away. "Leave me alone!"
Her thigh throbbed with pain. She had moved too much during the struggle, reopening the wound from the basement. Blood seeped through the bandage, staining the sheets.
Ethan noticed immediately. His voice dropped, calm but firm. "You're bleeding again."
He called for the maid, ordering fresh bandages and antiseptic. When she returned, he dismissed her with a nod.
"I'll treat her myself."
The room grew still as Ethan approached her again, medical supplies in hand. Larah flinched when he sat beside her, her body stiff with distrust.
"Stay away," she warned, her voice trembling.
"Stay still," he countered, his tone firm. "Your wound is worse than it looks."
She tried to slap his hands away when he reached for her thigh, but he caught her wrists with practiced ease. His touch wasn't violent, but unyielding.
"Enough," he said, locking eyes with her. "I don't have the patience to argue."
Reluctantly, Larah stilled. She winced as he peeled away the old bandage, revealing the raw, bleeding gash beneath. The memory of the basement hit her again—the mocking laughter, the bat slamming into her leg. Tears pricked her eyes.
Ethan worked quickly and carefully. His hands were steady, precise, not at all what she expected from a man who carried a gun. He cleaned the wound, rewrapped it, and secured the bandage tightly.
Larah finally exhaled when he finished, though her body remained tense.
"Why am I still here?" she whispered, her voice fragile. "Can't you just let me go?"
For a moment, Ethan didn't answer. He stood, gathering the used bandages. His back was to her when he finally spoke.
"You'll be safe here," he said flatly. "That's all you need to know."
And without another word, he walked to the door.
Larah stared at him, her heart racing. "Wait! Answer me!" she cried.
But he didn't look back. The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving her alone in the silent room.
She sank back against the pillows, clutching her leg. Frustration burned inside her chest, mixing with fear and confusion.
"What the hell is happening to me?" she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.
For the first time in her life, Larah realized she was no longer in control. She was trapped in a dangerous game she didn't understand, with a man whose world was built on blood and secrets.
And she was at the very center of it.