Chapter 2

Mirabelle's POV

The car didn't stop at a house. It stopped at an iron gate with a huge mansion behind it.

 The gates opened by itself without a sound, as the car drove up a long, smooth driveway lined with trees. 

I pressed my face to the cool glass, my breath fogging it. The place was silent, no traffic, just the sound of birds.

The silence in the car was thicker than the tint on the windows. I couldn't stand it.

"What does he want with me?" My voice was steady, as I stared at the back of the driver's head.

“You'll find out,” the man with the scar beside me didn't even turn.

"Is he going to kill me?” This time, he glanced over, his expression unreadable. 

"If the boss wanted you dead, Miss Brown, you'd already be in the river. He wants you alive for now."

But his words did nothing to calm my nerves.

My mind was a trapped animal, circling the same, terrible question; “Why did he let me run?”

But the answer was waiting behind these walls. He hadn't let me go. 

“The memory flashed; his gaze sweeping the terrace, pausing for a fraction of a second on the flower arrangement where I hid.

 He hadn’t missed me. he’d just chosen to collect me later, on his own terms,” I signed, my hands massaging my forehead softly.

I was still lost in my thoughts, as the car door opened, while the man with the scar stood waiting.

"Inside, Miss Brown,” his voice was flat, as he stretched his hands to the mansion’s door.

My legs felt shaky on the ground, the mansion loomed over me.

 The front doors were made of heavy wood, as they opened before we reached them. A man in a suit stood inside. He did not speak, just nodded to the men.

They led me through the entrance hall, as my shoes sank into a dark rug. 

A huge staircase curved up to the next floor. Everything was shades of black, gray, and deep blue, while a chandelier like frozen rain hung above.

 The scent of rich cologne filled my nostrils.

They stopped at a set of double doors, as the man with the scar knocked once.

"Enter,” the voice was calm and unhurried.

He opened the door and stepped aside, as I walked in, while the door shut behind me.

It was an office, large room with walls of marble. A massive wood desk with only a computer and a file stood near windows that showed the gardens. 

The only color was a small blue sculpture on his table. By the right was a black leather chair, close to it was a glass cabinet that held bottles of expensive wine.

And there he was, standing by the window. He turned around after some time. He wore a charcoal suit with white shirt with the three first buttons loosened, showing his masculine figure. 

His hair was sleek, pulled back, as his green lazy eyes held my gaze. His eyes moved over my coffee shop uniform to my messy dark hair, and then my face. 

Anger bubbled in my chest, as it burned away some of the fear. My stubbornness took over, it was my flaw, it made me speak when I should stay silent.

"You have no right," my voice didn't shake.

“No right to what?” He said, his deep baritone voice echoed round the room, as he raised an eyebrow.

"To bring me here, to threaten my family. I saw what you did, but I didn't tell anyone. I won't."

He walked toward me, his slow steps eating up the vast expanse of the marble floor. The grand room, which had felt so cold and empty, suddenly felt suffocatingly small, as he leaned against the edge of the desk as he folded his arms. "Your word is not enough."

"It has to be!” I took a step forward, although my courage was thin, but I clung to it.

 "You can't just… you can't do anything to them. They have nothing to do with this."

"I decide what I can do." His voice was quiet, as it filled the room.

"Then call the police. Have me arrested for something I didn't do, but leave them alone."

"The police are not an option. You are a witness, Witnesses are liabilities. Liabilities must be managed,” he said, as a faint smile touched his lips.

“Manage me then, not them,” my voice was low but steady as I clenched my fist at my sides.

"That is the idea." He pushed off the desk, as he began to walk toward me in slow steps.

"You have two choices, Mirabelle. I have considered them carefully,” his deep baritone voice echoing round the room.

My heart began to pound again as I stepped back but he kept coming. 

“I don't want your choices,” my anger was fading, replaced with cold dread.

"You have them regardless,” he stopped a foot away from me, and now I could smell his expensive cologne.

My shoulder blades touched the cool marble of the wall. 

“Oops…there was nowhere else to go,” I signed.

He looked down at me. His green eyes are sharp and calculating. 

He reached out, his fingers were long, as he moved slowly, giving me time to flinch, but I did not, instead I held still, refusing to show more fear.

His fingertips touched my jaw. They were warm.and gentle, but he applied a slight pressure, lifting my face until I had to look directly at him.

"Your fa

mily dies in front of you," his baritone low and steady.

"Or you be my girlfriend for a year.”