chapter six

Where are these people taking me? Where am I?

I'm scared. Who are they, and what do they want from me?

I hope this isn't one of Lilly's silly pranks or some dumb way to surprise me. I'm really scared. I can't call for help or even speak. I'm tied up and unable to move.

The room feels suffocatingly hot, the air heavy and dry like a locked attic. It smells faintly of metal, dust, and something sharp—maybe cleaning chemicals. The walls around me are bare concrete, streaked with old water stains, and a single bulb flickers overhead, throwing long shadows across the floor.

Oh God, please protect me, I whisper through uncontrollable sobs.

"Take the blindfold off," a man's deep voice orders.

Bella's heart races as she hears the command. Rough fingers tug at the cloth, and light slices through the darkness, stabbing at her eyes. She blinks several times before the shapes around her sharpen.

Three men stand before her, all dressed in black suits that fit too perfectly to be ordinary. They're tall—six feet, maybe more—and each carries a different kind of menace.

The one in front, Ace, has sharp blue eyes and a calm, unreadable expression, the sort of man who gives orders without raising his voice.

Beside him, Kane, broad-shouldered and cold-faced, watches her with the impatience of a soldier used to obedience.

And a few steps back stands Vito, slightly younger, his dark eyes curious rather than cruel. Still, there's a hardness there too.

They look almost charming, even handsome, but to Bella their faces glow with danger.

She can't beg for mercy—she doesn't even know how to form the words. Her throat locks, her chest trembling. She just stares at them, her eyes red and swollen with tears.

Ace steps closer and peels the tape from her mouth with unexpected care. "I won't hurt you," he says quietly. "Calm down."

Bella lets out a shaky breath, fear written all over her face. Who are these people? What have I done for them to bring me here? What is this place?

"Well, she's awfully quiet," Kane mutters, folding his arms. "Most people would be screaming by now. Are you not scared of us, little one?"

"Enough," Vito says flatly. "She's mute."

Kane scoffs. "Mute? What does the boss want with a mute girl?"

"I don't know," Ace replies. "But orders are orders."

Bella's stomach twists. Kidnap me? The words echo in her mind. Who would want to hurt me? I haven't done anything wrong.

"Get the girl some water," Ace says at last. Vito nods and steps out.

The silence that follows feels endless, broken only by the hum of the flickering light. Then Ace's phone buzzes. He answers immediately.

"Sir," he says.

"Is the job done?" The voice on the other end is smooth and cold—Riven.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Ace will deliver your payment. Send me a picture of the girl."

"Yes, sir."

Ace lowers the phone, angles it toward Bella, and snaps a photo. The flash cuts through the dim room, making her flinch. He sends it, then ends the call without another word.

Vito returns a moment later, holding a small bottle of water. "Here's the water, man."

Ace took the bottle and offered it to Bella. Fear was written all over her face.

She was so parched, but what if it was poisoned? she thought, panic pricking behind her eyes.

Bella shook her head as Ace held the water to her lips.

"Look," Ace said quietly, eyes never leaving her face, "if you don't drink now, you might not get another chance for days. If the boss wants something, you'll be thirsty for a long time. So please — drink." His voice was low, almost gentle, but there was steel under it.

Bella stared straight into his eyes, searching for any sign of a lie. Ace cleared his throat and brought the bottle closer. Parched, she had no choice. She drank.

To her surprise, the water tasted clean and cool, almost fresh, and it slid down her throat like a small mercy.

"Dude, why are you being nice to her?" Vito snapped from the doorway, impatience cracking his tone.

"I'm not being nice," Ace replied coldly. "I'm following orders. If she dies, we die — and so do our families." The words landed like a blow. Bella choked on the last swallow.

She set the bottle down and stopped crying. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot and raw. Her chest tightened as she struggled to steady herself, the fear coiled like a spring inside her.

Back at Riven's office, Mr. White dropped into his chair with a hard thud, veins standing out at his temples, anger flaring in his eyes.

"What do you want? Money? How much?" Mr. White demanded, his voice rough with irritation.

Riven leaned back, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Money? I make a hundred times what you do. You think I need your cash?" He let the question hang, then added, cool as ice: "I could shut down your business in a blink remind you who holds the power here. I am the alpha in this game."

Mr. White's jaw clenched. "I don't need your money," he snapped. "But to achieve my next goal, you will agree to one thing: you will make sure I marry your daughter."

"And what makes you think I'll sell my daughter to you, Riven? I'd rather die," Mr. White snapped, every syllable edged with cold fury.

Riven chuckled, low and humorless. He stepped closer until the distance between them felt like a noose. "Mr. White," he said, voice velvet over steel, "this isn't a negotiation. It's an offer with a deadline."

He let the words hang, then leaned in, eyes glittering with lethal calm. "Tomorrow evening, she becomes my wife. Refuse me, and by sunrise you will watch everything you built wither away your businesses, your allies, your name. I won't crush you in one blow; I'll dismantle you bit by bit until you have nothing left to bargain with. Do you understand what that means?" His tone was quiet, intimate the kind of voice that makes threats feel inevitable.

Without waiting for an answer, Riven tossed a thin stack of papers onto the desk contracts, deeds, signatures already prepared, legal traps dressed as benevolence. "Sign those, and you gain protection, influence, a seat at my table. Refuse, and you lose everything familiar to you. I give you one night to choose. After that, your choice will be made for you."

With that, he snapped his black coat around his shoulders and turned. His steps were measured, dangerous. As he reached the door he paused, his hand on the handle, and looked back with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Decide wisely, Mr. White. Power is a language. Learn to speak it or be swallowed by it."

He left, the door closing on the echo of his departure. Mr. White was left staring at the papers, hands trembling. Rage flared inside him sudden, hot, helpless. In a blind, furious motion he shoved the desk; it rocked and then tipped, scattering papers like fallen leaves across the floor. The sound of his anger filled the room, but outside, Riven's silhouette already disappeared into the city night.

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