Chapter 2

The blade was half-wrapped in a black leather sheath, showing only a narrow strip of gleaming metal.

If I hadn't been rummaging so frantically, I'd never have noticed it.

I crouched there, forgetting to breathe.

The fortune-teller's prophecy slithered up my spine like a venomous snake and coiled around me once more.

"Babe, come here."

Jameson lifted a corner of the blanket and patted the bed beside him.

The lamplight bathed half his face in a warm glow.

But the sweeter he acted, the colder I felt.

There were only two of us in this room.

The shuttle had stopped running hours ago. No one could get in, and I couldn't get out.

If he really was the man from the prophecy, tonight was the night I'd die.

I forced myself to stay calm and pretended to call my best friend.

Then, keeping my eyes on Jameson, I tried to sound as casual as I could. "Nell, did you just call me?"

I paused, deliberately drawing out my words.

"Oh, you're coming to see me later? But isn't the shuttle out of service? How are you getting here?"

A few more seconds passed. I let my voice trail off, my eyes locked on Jameson without blinking.

"I see. Okay, I'll wait for you."

When I hung up, the back of my shirt was soaked through.

I figured if Jameson knew someone was coming, at least he wouldn't dare make a move for now.

That would buy me time to find a way out.

"Pfft—"

A soft laugh came from behind me.

Jameson tilted his head, looking at me with a half smile.

"Babe, ten minutes ago I got a text saying the storm knocked out cell service. So how exactly did you make that call?"

His voice was soft and light, like a feather brushing past my ear.

But to me, it landed like a thunderclap.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

My brain didn't even have the strength to think. Only one thought remained: run!

I spun around, yanked the door open, and bolted out barefoot.

A thud sounded behind me—Jameson was coming after me!

At some point, half the lights in the hallway had gone dark. I stumbled across the carpet, unsteady with every step.

The suite was a standalone building, completely private.

When Jameson booked it, I'd gushed about how romantic it was—a whole world to ourselves, where no one would bother us.

Now I finally understood what it meant to dig your own grave.

I rushed downstairs. The lobby was empty.

The pool glowed an eerie blue, the gym equipment loomed in the shadows, and the lights over the bar were still on, but no one was there.

The staff had gone home long ago.

I threw myself at the front door and yanked it with all my strength. Damp, misty air rushed at me, and only then did I remember that just outside the door was a stretch of pitch-black water.

This luxury suite had been built on an island in the middle of a lake. The only way back to the main building was by shuttle boat.

Jameson had spent a fortune booking a place cut off like a deserted island—all so he could kill me.

He really wanted me to die here!

All the strength drained out of me. I staggered back two steps, and a piercing pain shot through me.

I looked down. At some point, I'd sliced a gash in my calf, and blood was trickling down to my ankle.

Ignoring the pain, I slipped deeper into the lobby, pulled open the door of a storage cabinet, and squeezed myself inside.

It was cramped. I curled up as small as I could and held my breath.

In the darkness, all I could hear was my own heartbeat and the thunder rumbling outside.

Footsteps echoed through the lobby.

One step. Another. Another.

Getting closer and closer.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, not even daring to breathe.

Sure enough, Jameson's footsteps stopped right in front of the cabinet where I was hiding.

In the deathly silence, I heard a soft sigh.

That familiar voice, pressed right up against the cabinet door, slid coldly into my ears. "Such an obvious trail of blood... So this is where you've been hiding."