Chapter Eight

[Aurora's POV]

“Nope. Wrong person.” I quickly said it, already trying to close the door.

I didn't even wait for a response but just as the door was about to close, someone's leg got stuck between it. I froze. Slowly, I opened the door again and faced the man, already feeling irritated. “What?”

He didn't look bothered by my attitude. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something. A picture. He held it out toward me.

My heart dropped. I stared at the picture. Then at him. Then back at the picture. It was me.I'm so dead.

“Isn't this you?” he asked. “Miss Aurora Hayes?” I breathed out, knowing I was already caught. So much for pretending they had the wrong person.

“Okay…” I stared at him suspiciously. “What do I owe the visit?” I asked as I tried to sound confident, but honestly, I was starting to feel a little afraid.

I looked past him.

A black car was parked outside. The windows were completely tinted, making it impossible to see who was inside. Who were these people? And why were they looking for me?

“I'm Malcolm,” the man introduced himself. “Please come with us.”

I blinked.

"What?”

“Please come with us.”

“No.” I said it immediately. He looked at me not surprised at my answer like he expected it. People had started to gather, guess they all wondered what these mysterious men where looking for in this town.

What did he expect? That I'd just follow someone I'd literally just met? Absolutely not. What if they were kidnappers? Not like they looked like one. Or it could be worse?

I've lived long enough to know that following a group of strange men into a black car was definitely not something a sensible person should do.

I quickly pushed the door forward. He stepped back, allowing me to close it. I quickly locked it.

I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door. I moved toward the window and carefully peeked outside. The men were still there.

And the black car was still parked in front of my house.

Great. Just great. What had I done? I was troublesome, yes. I knew that. But as far as I was aware, I'd never offended any rich person.

At least, not that I could remember.

********

[Roman's POV]

After landing in this weird town, I realized they didn't even have an airport.

An airport. How was that even possible? So undeveloped.

We arrived at the so-called therapist's home, and my third-in-command went to meet her while I remained in the car. I couldn't see her face properly, but from what I could see from their interactions, she wasn't budging.

After she closed the door for the second time, she didn't open it again. God knows this is the calmest I've ever been. I had to remind myself that it was for my son that I was doing all this. Malcolm started walking towards me, but I didn't wait. I came down from the car.

“Stay back,” I said as I walked towards her door by myself. I knocked on the door. Of course, there was no doorbell. I waited for a few minutes, but there was no reply.

“I'm not going to apologize because there was nothing wrong with what happened. But I'm here as a client for my son. I need your therapeutic services.” Only then did I hear footsteps approaching the door. She opened the door slowly, then showed only her face, her body still hidden behind the door.

I must say, she looked really young. How old was she again?

“I'm on a break,” she said, she paused then breathed in like she was already starting to regret her actions.

“I don't think I've seen you before,” she said, but I kept my face neutral. She paused. “From where again?” I raised an eyebrow.

Now she was interested? “Moscow.” Her eyes widened. She scoffed.

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head as she attempted to close the door. I blocked it, which earned me a disgusted look. I didn't spare her a glance as I opened the door widely and let myself in.

“I didn't say you could enter. Get out.” She pointed towards her door as she looked like she was about to blow up, which made me smirk with satisfaction.

“You're fearless. That makes you the second person I've encountered today,” I commended her as I took in the appearance of her house. She didn't even look intimidated by me.

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused. I wouldn't want to scare her. Yet.

“Let's get to business, shall we?” I said as I got settled on her sofa. If I could call it that. She took a breath, trying to control her anger.

“I didn't say you could sit either,” she said, but sat down at the other end of the sofa, leaving a huge amount of space for more people to sit.

“Talk,” she said boldly, which made me almost smile.

“I have a son who has suffered from a traumatic experience.” I paused to look at her. She rolled her eyes. “For four years now” She palmed her head.

“How is that enough information?” she paused. “I need more details. Go on.” I breathed in, already frustrated by her attitude. I reminded myself one more time.

This is for Ronn.

“He was kidnapped when he was five years old for two months. According to the doctor, he was subjected to drugs and tortured. When he was rescued, he lost his ability to think. No one could go close to him without him breaking out. Even sometimes, I couldn't.”

As I finished, I noticed she was looking down.

And crying? God, women and their softness. I shook my head.

“Why that look? So now I'm weird for crying?” she asked, cleaning up her teary face. She walked into what I assumed to be a kitchen and came out drinking a glass of water. She calmed herself then looked at me. “So where is he?”

“He's not here,” I said. She looked at me confused.

“Then how do you want him to get treated?"she scoffed." Hope it's not what I'm thinking?” She stood up.

“I'd want him to be treated at my house.” She looked at me, bewildered. I'd be very crazy to leave my son with her in this cave called house.

“Leave my house,” she said, pointing at her door.