The moment they gestured toward the car, I knew I couldn't outrun them. The street was too quiet, too empty, and the way they carried themselves told me one thing clearly: if I ran, I wouldn't get far. My instincts screamed at me to bolt, to fight, to do anything other than step toward that car. But reason—the sharp, cold voice of reason—told me otherwise.
So I forced myself to stay calm. With my chin slightly lifted, I walked forward and slid into the car as though I had a choice. My heart was thrashing against my ribs, desperate to leap out of my chest, but on the outside I made sure I looked composed. If I showed them fear, they would feed on it. If I showed them weakness, they might exploit it. So I stayed quiet, watching their reflections in the tinted glass as the car purred to life and pulled smoothly away from the curb.
The city blurred past the windows, neon lights melting into the darkness as streets grew emptier and emptier. I pressed my palms against my knees to stop them from trembling, thinking not about the strange men in suits surrounding me but about my father.
Would he notice I wasn't home? Would he wonder where I had gone? I thought about the breakfast I had left him that morning, the small routine that made him smile faintly despite everything. Would he sit there tonight, staring at the door, waiting for me? Or would he simply assume I had gone to Kiara's again, not knowing that his daughter was being driven away to an unknown fate?
I clenched my jaw and turned my eyes toward the road. Whatever happened, I couldn't allow these men to see how terrified I truly was. I had to wear calmness like a mask, even as sweat gathered at the back of my neck, sliding beneath my collar.
The drive stretched on longer than I expected, every second pulling us farther from everything familiar. The busy hum of traffic faded into silence, the glow of streetlights replaced by the long shadows of trees and empty stretches of land. My mind whirled, crafting scenarios faster than I could control them. Were they kidnappers? Hired by someone? Did they plan to sell me? Kill me? Dump my body where no one would ever find it? Each thought was worse than the last, and I gripped the seat tightly, fighting to steady my breathing.
Then, almost suddenly, the road bent, and before us rose something I never could have imagined.
A mansion.
No—"mansion" wasn't even the right word. It was a fortress, a palace, an entire city enclosed within massive stone walls. Bright floodlights illuminated its towering gates, which stretched up into the night sky like the entrance to another world. The car slowed as we approached, and before I could blink, the enormous iron gates opened automatically, soundless and smooth, as though they had been expecting me all along.
My breath caught in my throat.
The driveway wound past manicured gardens and fountains that sparkled beneath the glow of lanterns. Every detail screamed wealth, power, and authority. It was the kind of place I had only ever seen in movies, the kind of home that seemed untouchable to people like me.
The car came to a stop in front of the main entrance, a set of grand double doors carved from dark wood and framed by marble pillars. My reflection stared back at me from the polished metal handles, pale and wide-eyed.
"Out," one of the men said simply. His tone wasn't cruel, but it left no room for refusal.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, my mind racing. Should I run now? Try to escape through the gates before they closed? But as I glanced around, I noticed security cameras perched on nearly every corner, red lights blinking. Guards in uniforms were stationed discreetly along the walls. There was no escape—not here.
I stepped out of the car, my legs stiff, as though they didn't belong to me.
One man in particular drew my attention. He stood a little taller than the rest, his posture straighter, his aura commanding. He didn't speak often, but when he did, the others listened. His presence was different—calmer, more controlled, yet infinitely more intimidating. Something about him made me think he was the one in charge.
"This way," he said. His voice was deep, steady.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and followed his lead. My thoughts spun wildly. Were they planning to kill me here? Was this mansion just a gilded cage for victims? Would I vanish into its halls, never to be heard from again? My imagination painted terrifying images of shallow graves hidden in the gardens, of screams muffled by these stone walls.
The man in charge—Luke, as I later learned—walked confidently toward the massive doors. For a moment, I lingered behind, frozen by the weight of dread pressing down on me. My shoes felt glued to the marble steps.
Then he paused, turned back, and looked directly at me.
"Miss Daria," he said, his voice gentler this time. "Please, this way."
The way he spoke my name startled me. There was no threat in his tone, only patience, almost like he understood my fear. That alone made my heart skip, though not in relief—more in confusion.
Before I could protest, he stepped closer, his expression unreadable but not unkind. He placed a hand lightly on my shoulder, nudging me forward—not harshly, not forcefully, but firmly enough that I understood resistance was pointless.
So I walked.
The doors opened, and the sight that greeted me inside left me speechless.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life.
The entryway alone was larger than my entire house. Crystal chandeliers cascaded from the ceiling like waterfalls of light. The marble floor gleamed, reflecting the glow of golden wall sconces. Paintings stretched across the walls—masterpieces that probably cost more than I could earn in ten lifetimes. Plush rugs softened each step, and the faint scent of roses drifted through the air.
I stopped in my tracks, my jaw slack, completely lost for words. My eyes darted from one magnificent detail to another, unable to settle on just one.
For a moment, I forgot my fear.
It felt like stepping into a dream—a dangerous, surreal dream.
"Miss Daria?"
Luke's voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked rapidly, realizing I had frozen again, my mouth open like a child seeing candy for the first time. Heat rushed to my cheeks, embarrassment flooding me.
When I looked up at him, something unexpected happened. He smiled. Just slightly, but it was real. It softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost human, almost approachable. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—he wasn't my enemy.
He nodded toward the grand staircase. I forced my legs to move again, each step echoing loudly in the vast hall.
As we walked deeper into the mansion, my thoughts began to settle. Maybe I should have asked more questions earlier, when the car first pulled away. Where were they taking me? Who had sent them? Why me? But fear had swallowed my voice, locking the words in my throat. Now, as Luke guided me deeper into this palace, something in me stirred. He didn't feel as cold as the others. He seemed… different.
And maybe that was why, realizing all of this, I finally decided to ask Luke since he seemed friendly to me.