5. HE AIN'T A KILLER

SPENCER HAYES'S POV

I pound the pavement, my feet echoing off the alley walls. My heart races, threatening to burst from my chest.

Dmitri's face haunts me—his eyes, once warm and familiar, now cold and calculating. The gun glints in the dim light, and the victim's cry still resonates in my mind, silenced forever.

I dart between trash cans and crumbling brick walls, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Fear claws at my throat, suffocating me.

What if Dmitri finds me? What if he kills me too?

The thought propels me forward, and I push through the panic.

I must escape.

Before Dmitri finds me again.

My phone weighs heavy in my pocket, tempting me to call Oliver.

But what about Dmitri?

No.

I can't risk it.

Not yet.

I burst out of the alley onto the main street.

Crowds swirl around me, faces blurring.

I melt into the chaos, losing myself.

But the fear lingers.

Dmitri's eyes watch me.

From every corner.

Every shadow.

I quicken my pace, weaving through pedestrians.

Can't shake the feeling.

I'm being hunted.

And Dmitri is the predator, and I am his prey.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I dare not look back.

For fear of what I might see.

I spot Oliver across the street, his familiar figure a beacon of safety.

I rush toward him, my legs trembling.

"Oliver!" I call out, my voice laced with panic.

Oliver's expression changes from calm to concerned as he takes in my frantic state.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" he asks, grasping my arm.

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal.

"Nothing much...," I lie, shaking my head.

Oliver's eyes narrow.

"Spencer?" he presses.

I force a weak smile.

"Just need to get out of here."

Oliver studies me, then nods.

"O-Okay."

He leads me to his sleek black sedan.

We drive in silence, the city blurring outside.

Oliver's penthouse looms ahead, its sleek glass and steel façade a sanctuary.

We step inside, the soft hum of the air conditioner enveloping us.

Oliver guides me to the living room.

"Sit down," he says.

I collapse onto the couch.

Oliver hands me a glass of water.

"Drink."

I obey.

Oliver sits beside me.

"You're shaking," he observes.

I nod.

"Scared?" he asks.

I nod again.

Oliver wraps an arm around me.

"You're safe now."

But am I?

Dmitri's face still haunts me.

The knife.

The victim's cry.

I push the memories away.

For now.

I just need to feel safe.

Oliver's presence provides a fleeting sense of security.

But the fear lingers.

Waiting to pounce.

"Oliver, can I stay here?"  I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Oliver's expression softens.

"Of course, Spencer," he says. "You can stay as long as you need."

I nod, relief washing over me.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Oliver's arm tightens around me.

"You're welcome," he says. "You're safe here."

I lean into his side, letting his warmth envelop me.

For the first time since witnessing Dmitri's crime, I feel a glimmer of peace.

But the fear still lurks, waiting to resurface.

"Oliver?" I ask, my voice hesitant.

"Yes?"

"Will you...keep an eye on me?"

Oliver's gaze intensifies.

"Always," he promises.

I nod, feeling a sense of security.

But the shadows outside seem to grow longer.

As if Dmitri's watching.

Waiting.

Patient.

Oliver's phone buzzes, breaking the silence.

He glances at the screen.

"Annika," he says, answering.

"Hey, where are you?" Annika's voice echoes through the speaker.

Oliver's expression turns cautious.

"I'm...at my penthouse," he replies.

"What are you doing there?" Annika asks.

Oliver hesitates.

"Just taking care of some things," he says vaguely.

Annika's tone shifts to concern.

"Is everything okay?"

Oliver's eyes meet mine.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he assures.

Annika pauses.

"Have you seen Spencer? He has been missing for, like, 2 hours. He is not even picking up my phone. There is no trace of him."

"He is with me."

"Oh okay, I'll come over," she says.

Oliver's grip on my shoulder tightens.

"No, Annika, it's—"

"See you soon," Annika interrupts.

The line goes dead.

Oliver's expression turns uneasy.

"Annika's coming," he says.

My heart sinks.

What if Dmitri finds out?

What if Annika discovers my secret?

Panic sets in.

"Oliver, what do I do?"

.

.

.

The doorbell rings, breaking the tension.

Oliver rises.

"I'll get it," he says.

He disappears from view.

Moments later, Annika bursts into the living room.

"Oliver!" she exclaims.

Then her eyes lock onto me.

"Spencer!" she squeals.

Annika rushes toward me.

Envelops me in a warm hug.

"Hey, bestie!" she says.

I hug her back.

I felt a mix of relief and anxiety.

Annika pulls back from me.

She examines my face like a cat examining her small kitten after she got a few scratches.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

Concern was etched on her features.

I force a smile.

"Nothing," I lie.

Annika's eyes narrow.

"Spencer?" she presses.

Oliver reappears.

"Annika, let's sit," he suggests.

Annika's gaze lingers on me.

Then she nods.

We sit.

Annika is between Oliver and me.

"Spill," she says.

"Whatever's bothering you."

"I saw Dmitri kill someone," I blurt out, my voice trembling.

Annika's expression changes from concern to shock.

"What?" she whispers.

Oliver's eyes widen.

"Spencer, are you sure?" he asks.

I nod.

Annika's face pales.

"That's impossible," she says.

"Dmitri would never—"

"He did," I insist.

Annika's eyes flash with defensiveness.

"My brother is not a murderer," she says firmly.

"There must be an explanation."

Oliver leans forward.

"Annika, Spencer saw—"

"He's the COO of the Romanov Empire," Annika interrupts.

"He's always in danger."

"Maybe it was self-defense," she suggests.

I shake my head.

"It wasn't," I say.

Annika's expression softens.

"Spencer, I know my brother. He's not capable of—"

"Annika, listen," Oliver intervenes. "Spencer saw what he saw. We need to investigate."

Annika's eyes narrow.

"Fine," she says.

"But I know Dmitri. He's not a killer. It must be self-defense."

The room falls silent.

Tension hangs in the air.

Annika's words echo in my mind.

Self-defense?

Is it possible?

Or is Annika in denial?

I glance at Oliver.

His expression was unreadable.

But his eyes tell a different story.

Doubt.

Uncertainty.

The truth remains elusive.