Ch-12

•~•~ Aziel’s POV

A thick cloth covered my eyes, pressing uncomfortably against my skin. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but the air in the car smelled stale—thick with tension.

I had no idea where they were taking me, how much time had passed, or how many turns the car had made. The only thing I knew for sure was that the silence was killing me.

For what felt like minutes—or maybe hours—not a single one of them had spoken. No threats. No taunts. Just silence.

Something cold and ugly twisted in my gut, but I kept telling myself this was just a test. Repeating it over and over. But deep down, doubt gnawed at me.

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Sixteen Hours Ago…

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With everything she had been through in the last five years—the woman it had turned her into—I knew Irene wasn’t the type to back down easily.

Not in her plan for revenge against my family, and certainly not after witnessing her supposedly crippled husband standing without aid.

I needed to stay ahead of her. Always. If I was going to protect her this time, I had to know her plans before she acted on them.

That was why I bugged her phone.

It wasn’t hard. A tiny device, barely the size of a button, slipped neatly between the case and the phone’s back.

I did it on our wedding night. It was the perfect time. After all the sex we had, she had fallen fast asleep—just like she always used to. I guess some things never changed.

Leaning back in my wheelchair, I listened. The audio played through the earpiece in my ear—soft, but clear enough to make my fingers tighten into a fist.

"If I put him in a situation where he has no choice but to get up and run, he will," she said. "And I’ll have my proof."

Proof?

My fingers twitched against the wheelchair’s handle. Proof—to expose me or to confirm her suspicion?

For the past month, every second has been about survival. This wheelchair was my escape—a way to step back from playing the role of Nathaniel Grant. I couldn’t let her take that away.

At least not yet.

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Present

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I had been calm when I was kidnapped—too calm—because I thought this was just a test.

But the moment Number One mentioned being hired to kill me back at the house I was being held in, the fear I hadn’t felt before crashed over me like waves against the shore.

Since then, none of them had spoken a word to me.

The silence had only stretched from the moment they shoved me into this car. And in that silence, my mind spun with possibilities.

What if Irene found out I knew her real identity—maybe from that anonymous caller? After all, they had threatened to involve her in their plans the last time we spoke. What if they convinced her to have me killed to protect her secret?

Or maybe this was still a test.

Maybe Number One had just been trying to shake me, to see if I’d crack. Surely, he wouldn’t go against his orders and kill me for real… right?

The car lurched to a stop.

Before I could react, rough hands yanked the blindfold off with an abruptness that made me flinch.

"Careful," I muttered, my voice unsteady despite my effort to sound indifferent.

As my vision adjusted, I looked up and met the hollow, empty eyes of Number Four’s skull mask.

“I’m already crippled—are you trying to make me blind too? That’d make me even less appealing to my wife.”

Number Four let out a low chuckle, his amusement laced with something dark.

"Wouldn’t worry about that," he said. "With what’s about to happen, you won’t have to think about whether or not you'd be appealing to your wife anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I tried to sound defiant, but the fear crawling up my throat made my words tremble.

"Are you going to kill me now?" My voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it echoed in the silence of the car. "We were getting along fine. What the hell do you want from me?"

Number Four hesitated. For a moment, I thought I might get an answer—but then he grabbed my collar and yanked me forward, hurling me out of the car.

I ignored the instinct screaming at me to move my legs and brace for the fall, so the sudden force sent me sprawling onto the hard ground, my body hitting the dirt with a dull thud.

Pain shot through me, sharp and immediate. I gritted my teeth. “Hey, a little help here,” I grunted.

Almost immediately, hands clamped onto me—Number Two and Number Four on either side, gripping me under the arms and lifting me like dead weight.

The ground beneath me was rough. Gravel and dirt scraped against my legs, sharp edges cutting through the fabric of my pants.

Every pull sent fresh pain shooting up my skin, but I bit down on my lip and bore it. I had to.

Ahead, Number One and Number Three walked in silence, their boots crunching steadily against the ground.

"Hey—where the hell are you taking me?" My voice cut through the night.

No response.

I yelled again, my tone sharper, more desperate. "Damn it! Talk to me!"

They ignored me and kept walking as I was dragged across the rough terrain like a sack of cargo.

Dust and grime clung to my pants, my arms aching under their grip.

“Hey! Number One!” I shouted again.

He stopped abruptly.

“You fucking piece of—” he muttered under his breath, irritation sharp in his tone.

Then, in one fluid motion, he turned, pulled out a gun, and aimed it right between my eyes.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." His voice was as cold as ice. "Or I’ll decorate this ground with your brain."

I always thought I was brave. Scratch that—I am brave. But with a gun pressed to my head and the awareness that anything could happen in a second, whether by accident or intention, I think even the bravest person would feel fear.

I clenched my jaw and gave a stiff nod.

"Come on. Move it. We don't have all night," Number One said to his men before turning and continuing forward. We followed behind.

Then, I heard it—a low, distant rumble.

The sound grew louder, deeper. A metallic howl cutting through the silence.

My breath hitched. A train.

Were they taking the train somewhere?

My heart pounded as the rumbling intensified.

The suspense was killing me. I felt like the protagonist of some sick horror movie—the kind where the audience wasn’t sure if I would survive until the end credits were shown.

Then, I saw it.

And my blood ran cold.

The tracks stretched into the darkness—rusted and overgrown.

Weeds crawled through cracks in the pavement, barely illuminated by the dim glow of the moon.

Everything about this place felt wrong. Fear bubbled up from my stomach like poison, but I forced it down, clenching my jaw.

Number One turned to me, "Mr. Grant," he said mockingly, gesturing around. "Welcome to Gare de l'Étoile Perdue."

I stared at him, brows furrowing. "Huh?"

He tilted his head slightly, and even behind the mask, I could tell he was smiling. "This is where you die… Of course, this is my employer’s wish. I’m simply carrying it out.”

For a second, my mind went blank. Then, like a dam breaking, everything clicked at once.

The train. The location.

This had to be the situation Irene was talking about with her father—a situation that would force me to get up and run.

Unless... she had changed her plans and actually ordered for me to be killed here, just like Number One said.

Fuck.

For someone who was supposed to be ahead of her, I was completely unprepared for this.

Number One gave a slight tilt of his head—a silent command.

Before I could react, Number Two and Number Four tightened their grips and dragged me toward the tracks.

“No—stop! Let fucking go of me!” I yelled, struggling, resisting, but still forcing myself not to use my legs. I couldn't break character now.

They flung me down onto the cold metal. My body slammed against the rails, steel biting into my skin.

Then they turned.

Walked away.

“Hey!” My voice cracked with desperation. “Come back here! Don’t fucking leave me here!”

They didn’t look back.

A deep, rumbling vibration spread through the ground.

The tracks trembled beneath me.

The air shifted, carrying the distant sound of a fast-approaching train.

My heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

This wasn’t a test to make me break my act—this was a fucking execution.

And then I saw something.

A figure.

They stood near the remains of the old platform, half-hidden in the shadows of a crumbling pillar.

The dim lighting swallowed their face, but the way they stood—still, watching—made my blood turn cold.

Irene?

The deafening roar of the train pulled me back to my reality.

It was so fucking close now, thundering toward me at a speed that left no room for escape.

And yet… I didn’t try to stand and run.

I just braced myself for the impact.

If my life was what Irene wanted… then she could have it.