Naomi
My fingers flew, pulling and tugging at the sleek, modern handles of his desk drawers. Nothing. Nothing but stupidly expensive pens and notebooks. "It should be here, he put it here," I kept mumbling, the words a frantic, desperate whisper.
"It has to be...?" My heart was a wild bird beating against my ribs, each empty drawer sending a fresh wave of panic through me. This was a stupid, dumb plan. A complete waste of time.
I abandoned the desk and practically ran to the tall, black filing cabinet, my back completely turned to the door. I started yanking the drawers open, the screech of metal on metal was loud. Papers spilled out, folders scattered, but my eyes were scanning, searching. I was so focused, so deep in my frantic, stupid search, that I didn't hear him approach.
"Ahem."
The sound was a deep, low rumble right behind me. I froze. Every single muscle in my body locked up. It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water directly into my veins. I knew that sound. I knew that voice. Oh, crap. Oh, crap, crap, crap.
My body started moving on its own, a slow, horrifying turn. My neck felt like it was creaking. I didn't want to see. I wanted to keep my back to him forever, but I had to look.
He was leaning against the doorframe, looking calm, almost bored, which was a million times scarier than if he'd been yelling. In his hand, he held something small and dark. My eyes struggled to focus, my brain refusing to process what it was seeing.
"Looking for this?" he asked, his voice a low, casual murmur.
And then it hit me. No. No freaking way. It was my phone. My actual phone, the one he'd taken from me, the one I thought was locked away in that drawer. He'd had it the whole time.
He knew. He knew everything. The look on my face must have been a picture, a perfect, stupid portrait of a trapped idiot. All that sneaking around, all that thinking I was so clever, and he was just letting me run around his little trap. The ground didn't swallow me. I just stood there, my eyes wide, my face draining of all color, a silent scream of horror frozen on my lips.
Xavier
I watched her on the small screen for a full minute, a smirk playing on my lips. The little bird was actually in my nest. I left the ground-floor taking the private stairs up two flights. The house was silent, a sleeping beast, but I could hear her the moment I reached the second floor. The frantic rustling of papers, a soft, desperate mumble.
I opened the door using the biometric scanner, without a sound. The thick, plush carpet swallows my footsteps, making me a ghost in my own office. She's a fucking disaster zone. Papers are scattered on the floor around her, the filing cabinet drawers are hanging open like gaping wounds. She's on her knees, rummaging through a stack of files, muttering to herself like a crazy person. "It should be here... he put it here..."
What a fucking idiot. Did she really think I'd leave anything of value just lying around for her to find? Did she think this was a game?
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms, just watching the pathetic shit show. It's almost sad. Almost. But the sheer arrogance of it, the belief that she could outsmart me, is fucking hilarious. I've had enough of this. Time to let the rat know the trap has sprung.
"Ahem."
The sound cuts through the silence like a whip. She freezes, every muscle in her body locking up. It's beautiful. The slow, turn, her face a mask of terror. She looks like a deer that's just heard the hunter's rifle click.
I hold up her phone in my hand, letting it dangle from my fingers. "Looking for this?" I ask, my voice a low, casual purr.
Her eyes, wide and panicked, finally focus on my hand, on her phone in my hand. I see the exact moment her brain connects the dots. The hope she's been nursing for weeks drains from her face, replaced by a look of such horror it's almost exquisite. It's the look I've been waiting for. The moment her spirit shatters. It's better than I could have ever planned. I'm going to enjoy this.
**
Naomi froze, her entire world shrinking to the small, dark object in his hand. Her phone. How? The word screamed in her mind, a frantic, silent question. How? How did he get it? I saw him put it in the drawer. I saw it. Her mind reeled, trying to piece together a reality that was shattering around her. He hadn't just caught her; he had been playing with her all along.
He turned it on, the screen flaring to life, casting a cold, blue glow on his sharp features. He took a step into the office, then another, his movements slow and deliberate, a predator savoring the final moments of the hunt. With a soft, definitive click, he closed the door behind him. The sound of the lock engaging was the loudest, most terrifying sound she had ever heard.
He strolled further into the room, his eyes still on the screen, a flicker of amusement in their depths. "Hmmm," he hummed, a low, thoughtful sound that made her skin crawl. "Several missed calls from your sister."
He said the words so coldly, but a smirk of amusement grew over his face. It was a look of such cruel satisfaction that it made Naomi's blood run cold. This wasn't just about her anymore. He was bringing Anaya into this.
He was using her sister, the one person she had left in the world, as a weapon against her. The horror of it, the sheer, calculated cruelty, was a physical blow that stole the air from her lungs. She was well and truly trapped, and now, so was the person she loved most.
"Interesting enough," Xavier began, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he casually tossed the phone from one hand to the other, "I remember myself saying you won't be needing this anymore." He gestured to the device with a dismissive flick of his wrist, as if it were a piece of trash he had seen fit to pick up. "But ironically, you didn't get the message." He stopped tossing the phone and gripped it tightly, his knuckles turning white. "So much so that you broke into my fucking office."
His smirk widened, a chilling, predatory display of amusement, but Naomi could feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface. It was there in the slight tensing of his jaw, in the cold, hard glint in his eyes that the smirk couldn't quite hide. It was an undertone of fury, a volcano of rage waiting to erupt, and he was enjoying the suspense of the countdown.
The air in the office grew thick and heavy, pressing in on her from all sides. The locked door was no longer just a barrier; it was the wall of a coffin. He wasn't just angry that she had broken in; he was furious that she had dared to defy him, and he was savoring every second of her terror before he delivered the punishment.
He looked at the phone screen again, giving it his full, undivided attention, like a man savoring fine wine. He swiped through it, his thumb moving with a lazy, deliberate slowness that was designed to torture.
"Several messages too," he said, his voice a low, venomous whisper. He began to read, his tone a mocking spin-off of a concerned sister.
"'Hey, how are you doing? Are you okay? Why aren't you calling? Is everything okay there? Is he treating you well?'" He read each message, his smirk growing wider with every word of love and concern he twisted into a weapon.
He looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin as if composing a great work of art. Then, his fingers began to move across the screen.
He read out loud as he typed, each word a carefully aimed dart dipped in poison. "'Fuck you. This is all your fault. I hate you. It should've been you.'" He said the words with a cold, detached clarity, as if reading a grocery list.
"And sent," he announced, his voice ringing with finality.
He turned the phone around, holding the screen out for Naomi to see. The message, displayed in a clean, white bubble, was a final, devastating blow.
Naomi stared at the words, her mind refusing to process them. A gasp of horror escaped her lips, a sharp, choked sound that echoed in the silent, locked office. It was the sound of her last lifeline to the world, to her sister, being severed by a monster.
Once satisfied with the devastating impact of his digital cruelty, with a look of cold, final victory on his face, Xavier tossed the phone. It wasn't a careless drop; it was a violent, deliberate act. The small device flew through the air before smashing hard against the stone wall.
"No!"
The scream was torn from Naomi's throat, a raw sound of pure anguish. She watched, horrified, as her last connection with her sister shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, falling to the floor like a dead star. The plastic, the glass, the screen that had held Anaya's face and words—it was all just shattered now.
He hadn't just destroyed a phone. He had shattered her only connection to the outside world, to the one person who loved her. And he had done it while simultaneously driving a poison-tipped dagger into the heart of that relationship.
The message he sent would live in Anaya's mind, a seed of doubt and hate planted by the devil himself. Naomi was not just a prisoner; she was now, in her sister's eyes, a monster who blamed her for everything.
The weight of that double betrayal, the loss of her phone and the corruption of her sister's love, sent her crashing to her knees, a silent, broken doll amidst the ruins of her hope.
The slow, deliberate sound of one person clapping echoed in the office, a mocking, solitary applause that was more chilling than any shout. "I have to say, I am quite impressed," Xavier said, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he began to walk toward her. His steps were unhurried, each one a measured beat in the terrifying symphony of her downfall.
He stopped directly in front of her, a towering figure of shadow and menace. "No matter how many times I look at the security feed, I still can't figure it out," he lied, his voice dripping with false curiosity. "How did you get the combination?"
He crouched down, bringing his face inches away from where Naomi was kneeling, her body trembling amongst the shattered remains of her phone. The scent of his cologne, clean and expensive, filled her senses, a suffocating reminder of his power.
"Do enlighten me," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous hum that vibrated through her very bones. "Humour me, really. How did you do it?" His face was so close now she could see the tiny, cold flecks of silver in his grey eyes, see the amusement dancing in their depths as he savoured her terror.
"Xavier..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper, his name a desperate, final plea in the face of his overwhelming cruelty.
The effect was instantaneous. The smirk vanished from Xavier's face, replaced by a thunderous frown. The amusement was gone, replaced by a cold, terrifying fury.
He grabbed her by the neck, his grip like a band of iron, and lifted her with one arm, her feet dangling helplessly off the floor. He slammed her against the wall, the impact knocking the air from her lungs and sending a small shower of dust raining down from the ceiling.
"Who told you the fucking combination?" he shouted, his voice no longer a low murmur but a husky roar that echoed through the office.