The Prisoner

Chapter 4

The click of the gun’s hammer being pulled back echoed like a thunderclap in the tiny motel room.

Julian’s eyes didn’t leave mine. They were devoid of the warmth I had seen just four weeks ago in my bed. Right now, looking at this bruised, bleeding, terrifying man, I finally understood why the business world called him the Devil of Wall Street.

"Julian, please," I begged, my voice cracking. I kept my hands up, pressing my back against the peeling wallpaper. "You’re hurt. You need a hospital"

"Shut up," he snarled. The venom in his voice made me flinch.

He took a slow step forward. The two armed men in the doorway remained perfectly still, statues of violence waiting for a command.

"I trusted you," Julian whispered, the words dripping with a dark, dangerous quiet. "I let you into my life. I let you see the things I hide from the rest of the world. And you smiled at me while you slit my throat."

"I didn't know about the bomb!" I cried out, tears finally breaking free. "I swear to God, Julian! He told me it was just a corporate hack! He said nobody would get hurt!"

"He?" Julian’s head tilted slightly, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Who is he, Elara? Or is that even your real name?"

"My name is Elara Vance. That’s the truth."

Julian sneered, glancing at the shattered remains of my motel door, then down at the burner phone I had dropped on the carpet. He snapped his fingers. One of his guards stepped forward, picked up the phone, and handed it to him.

Julian’s eyes scanned the screen, reading the text from Victor. I watched his jaw clench, a muscle feathering furiously beneath his ash-covered skin.

He didn't say a word about the text. Instead, his gaze shifted back to the bathroom counter.

To the two pink lines.

He lowered the gun, though his grip on it remained white-knuckled. He walked past me, so close I could smell the metallic tang of his blood mixed with smoke. He picked up the plastic stick.

For ten agonizing seconds, the silence was absolute.

When he turned back to me, something fundamental had shifted in his expression. The raw, unhinged fury had been replaced by a chilling, absolute possession.

"Is it mine?" he asked. The gravel in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

"Yes," I breathed, wrapping my arms defensively around my flat stomach. "But you can't—"

"Mine," he repeated, cutting me off. It wasn't a question anymore. It was a decree.

Julian tucked the pregnancy test into his suit pocket. He raised a hand and wiped a smear of blood from his own temple, never breaking eye contact.

"Take her," Julian commanded his men.

Panic seized my chest. "No! Julian, wait! You have to listen to me! My sister"

"You lost the right to speak to me the moment you wiped three billion dollars from my legacy," Julian said coldly, turning his back on me. "Sedate her."

I lunged forward, but hard hands grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back. A sharp pinch bit into the side of my neck.

"Julian!" I screamed, fighting against the heavy, dragging sensation that instantly flooded my veins. "Please!"

He stopped at the doorway and looked over his shoulder. The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole was the ruthless, hollow look in the eyes of the man I loved.

"Welcome to hell, Elara," he whispered.