Chapter Five: Attacked

Tech Mall was insane.

Not crowded.

Not noisy.

Insane.

The entire VIP floor had been cleared before they arrived.

Security guards stood at every entrance.

Employees moved around carrying tablets and communication devices

.

And somehow, everyone looked nervous.

Leila stepped out of the elevator and looked around.

She almost commented on it.

Almost

.

Then she remembered the car ride incident.

The silence afterward.

She pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Some humiliations needed time before she could be loud again.

This morning, she had used up every last reserve she had.

So she followed.

Quietly.

They entered a private showroom.

Rows of colorful, elegant dresses stretched across the room.

Every single one looked expensive enough to pay her tuition for three years.

A woman in a black suit approached immediately.

"Miss Leila."

She smiled politely.

"We'll begin now."

Leila nodded and followed her.

She kept her eyes forward.

Away from him.

She had spent the entire elevator ride staring at the wall for the same reason.

The less she looked at Zane Rogers, the less she had to think about the fact that she had vomited in his car less than two hours ago.

Don't think about it.

She thought about it.

Her face burned quietly as she disappeared behind the changing curtain.

Three dresses later, she was exhausted.

The technician frowned at his screen.

"The signal keeps dropping."

Leila disappeared behind the changing curtain again.

Ten minutes later, she came back out.

Another dress.

Another problem.

"The tracker isn't reading."

She looked at the ceiling.

"Maybe the tracker doesn't like me."

The woman in the suit chuckled.

A few bodyguards did too.

Except Zane.

He didn't look up from his tablet.

Good.

Fine.

She preferred that.

The less attention he paid to her, the better.

She had given him enough to remember her by today already.

An hour passed.

Then another.

The designer was exhausted.

Even the technicians looked tired.

Finally, one of them lifted the last garment bag.

"The final dress."

Leila narrowed her eyes.

"You said that about the previous one."

"This one is different."

"That's exactly what you said before."

"Please just try it."

She sighed and disappeared behind the curtain.

Five minutes later, she stepped out.

Silence.

The room went oddly calm.

Even Leila noticed it.

The dress was gray.

Not boring gray.

Silver-gray.

The fabric hugged her waist before flowing smoothly down her body.

Simple.

Elegant.

Dangerous.

The kind of dress that didn't need attention to get it.

Leila slowly turned toward the mirror.

Even she had to admit it looked beautiful.

She held onto that thought for a moment.

She needed it.

After the morning she'd had, she needed one thing — just one — to go in her favor.

Then she glanced toward him.

He was still staring at his tablet.

She looked away immediately.

She wasn't going to say anything.

She wasn't.

But the silence stretched.

And the technicians kept glancing between them.

And nobody moved.

She cleared her throat.

"Excuse me."

He didn't respond.

"Mr. Rogers."

His head lifted.

His eyes landed on her.

The tablet lowered slowly.

For one second.

Then two.

Then three.

Something unreadable crossed his face.

Gone immediately.

"Perfect."

Leila blinked.

Perfect.

One word.

Three hours of standing half-dressed in front of strangers, and that was all she got.

She told herself the irritation in her chest was about the word.

Not about how his voice had changed when he said it.

Not about the way her pulse did something stupid in response.

She turned back to the mirror before her face could betray anything.

The technicians practically celebrated.

One of them checked the monitor again.

"Signal is clean."

Leila folded her arms.

"Three hours for one word," she muttered. Mostly to herself.

"Four if you keep talking."

She pressed her mouth shut.

She was not going to argue with him.

Not today.

Today, she had already lost enough dignity for one lifetime.

She turned back toward the mirror.

As she adjusted the fabric near her waist —

A sharp beep echoed through the room.

Everyone froze.

The technician looked down.

The signal monitor flickered.

"What happened?" Zane's voice cut across the room.

Leila looked down.

"I touched it."

"The tracker shifted."

"Can you fix it?"

Before anyone else could answer, she heard footsteps.

Steady.

Deliberate.

Coming toward her.

Her shoulders stiffened before she even turned around.

"I'll do it."

Of course.

She kept her gaze forward.

This is fine.

This is professional.

This is just a tracker.

He walked over.

Close.

Too close.

"Hold still."

His fingers found the side of her waist.

Professional.

Steady.

Focused entirely on the hidden device.

That's all this is, she told herself firmly.

He is fixing a tracker.

You are doing a job.

You are being paid ten million dollars to stand here and not embarrass yourself again.

The technician continued talking.

Something about signal frequency.

Something about calibration.

The words faded.

Because his hand was still there.

And her brain had stopped cooperating.

She was aware of his fingers through the fabric.

The steadiness of them.

The fact that this same man had watched her destroy the interior of his car in complete silence and still said almost nothing about it.

She didn't know whether to be grateful or terrified.

Stop it.

"You moved."

Leila looked straight ahead.

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't move."

A tiny smirk appeared at the edge of his mouth.

Gone almost instantly.

But she saw it.

And she felt her stomach flip in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with nausea this time.

Which was somehow more unsettling than all of it.

"Stop arguing."

She said nothing.

Which was its own kind of victory.

His fingers adjusted something beneath the fabric.

The technician looked at the screen.

"Almost there."

Neither of them moved.

The room felt smaller than it had a minute ago.

She felt his gaze before she confirmed it.

She looked up.

He was already looking at her.

Their eyes locked.

Look away, she told herself.

She didn't.

He is your employer.

This is temporary.

You do not know this man, and he does not know you, and the last thing he saw you do was —

Then —

BOOM!

The glass exploded.

The sound hit her before the panic did — a wall of noise that wiped everything clean.

Leila's ears screamed.

The showroom tilted.

Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the nearest surface without thinking.

The first bullet shattered the glass wall behind them.

She felt the pressure of it.

Not the bullet.

The air.

The way the room moved around it.

The second shot came immediately.

BANG!

His body jerked.

Blood spread across the sleeve of his suit.

Her stomach dropped.

The world shrank to one sharp point.

Red soaking through dark fabric.

Her lungs forgot what they were for.

No.

The thought came before she could stop it.

Raw.

Irrational.

Completely unprofessional.

Not him.

Everything erupted.

"Sir!"

"Move!"

"Get down!"

Bodyguards flooded the room.

Employees dropped to the floor.

Weapons appeared from nowhere.

A bodyguard grabbed him immediately.

"You've been hit."

"It's nothing."

"It's a gunshot wound."

"Find the shooter."

His voice remained cold.

Calm.

Like he wasn't bleeding.

The room descended into chaos.

Men rushed toward the exits.

Others surrounded him.

One bodyguard grabbed Leila's arm.

Hard.

"This way."

"What —"

"Move!"

Before she could protest, she was being dragged away.

She looked back.

He was already gone.

Disappearing behind a wall of armed men.

Just like that.

The bodyguard shoved her through a side corridor.

Down a staircase.

Through a service exit.

A black SUV waited outside.

The rear door opened.

She was pushed inside.

The vehicle accelerated immediately.

Fast.

Very fast.

The mall disappeared behind them.

Leila stared through the window.

Her hands were shaking.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

And the mission hadn't even started yet.

She looked down at her trembling fingers.

Ten million dollars.

That number had felt like freedom a few days ago.

Now it felt like a price tag.

Someone else had put on her head.

The city blurred past outside.

Leila pressed her forehead against the cold glass.

The mission was still days away.

People were already bleeding.

Already hunting.

And the only question left was the one she couldn't shake.

What if she didn't make it out?