บททั้งหมดของ THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA : บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

AARONI walk into the grand home office. The door is heavy. It closes softly behind me. The room smells of old paper and leather. My grandfather is here in his wheelchair. His back is to me. He takes a stack of files. He wheels his chair. It rolls smoothly over the thick rug. He goes to a tall bookshelf. He reaches up. He puts the files on a high shelf. His movements are slow but sure. He is an old man. But he is still strong… and dangerous.He turns his wheelchair and looks at me. His eyes are sharp. They meet mine and he lets out a low grunt. It is a sound he often makes. It is a greeting. It is also a command. I stand still. I wait for him to speak. He does not speak. He just watches me. I clear my throat. I know I should speak first."Grandfather," I say. My voice is steady. I show no fear. I never do. "You called me. Why am I here?" I look around the room. I see no urgency. The house was normal and I didn’t get any other calls apart from that of his Secretary asking me to return

MIAI sit at my desk. Mr. Wilson’s office feels too quiet. The hum of the computer is the only sound. I stare at the screen. It shows an unpublished article. My eyes scan the words, but they do not register. My mind is filled with thoughts of Aaron and his engagement.He is getting married to someone else. The thought makes my stomach twist. I see her face in my mind. She is beautiful. She is elegant. She is not me. This news hit me hard. It was everywhere. On the news channels, in the papers, and on every gossip site. A sudden, public announcement. No warning. No explanation. Just a picture of their faces, their hands clasped. Everyone is talking about it. They’re the it couple in the country. My world spins out of control.Mr. Wilson clears his throat. We are currently reading celebrity articles, as everyone is interested in them. “Corvin,” he says. His voice is a low rumble. He points to the screen. “We need something fresh. Everyone knows about the engagement. The dress, the fami

AARONI watch Mia’s expression change from pure hate to concern then shock. In a matter of seconds, her head tilts, her eyes lose focus, a sudden, alarming blankness replacing their usual vibrant sparkle. “Mia?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended, a prickle of unease starting in my gut.She sways in a way that makes me stand alert. It’s too late to steady her with gentle hands. Her knees buckle before her body goes limp. The world tilts on its axis as I lunge, my arm shooting out, muscles screaming in protest as I anticipate her fall.I catch her, my hands a steel trap around her waist, pulling her flush against me just as her head lolls back. Her weight is suddenly dead in my arms, and for a terrifying second, I think she’s gone. Panic, raw and unadulterated, claws its way up my throat.“Mia! Mia, goddammit, wake up!” I bark, my voice strained, slapping her cheek, not too hard, just enough to shock her. Nothing. Her skin is cool, almost clammy against my palm. Her eyes remain shu

MIAThe world spins around me. My eyes flutter open and I’m staring at the ceiling of my room in Aaron’s house. The last thing I remember is the biting cold, the relentless downpour, and the heart-wrenching pain I felt as the phone slipped from my hand. “Mia… darling, it’s your mother.” His voice cracked. “They… they found her. At the office. In her cubicle, Mia. She’s… she’s gone.”Joe’s voice, broken and unfamiliar, still echoes in the hollow space behind my ears. Gone. My mother. Dead. The word feels foreign, an alien concept that refuses to root itself in my reality. I must have blacked out and Aaron whom I had been arguing with brought me back. A cold, hard knot forms in my stomach, tightening with every shallow breath. I push myself up, my limbs heavy as if weighted with lead. My eyes scan the room, frantic, detached. My hands, surprisingly steady, move to the backpack. I pull clothes from the dresser drawers, stuffing them haphazardly into the already full bag. T-shirts, jean

NATALIE I can’t believe I'm here right now.I stand among the mourners at Mia’s mother’s funeral. The air is heavy with the scent of lilies and unspoken grief, pressing in on me from all sides. A part of me, a small, shamed part, tries to conjure genuine sorrow, to feel the sting of loss for a woman I barely knew. But the truth is that my presence here is to solidify my relationship with Mia. This funeral is not about mourning; it’s an opportunity.The service, an endless drone by the pastor about how life is short and all that shit, finally concludes. People begin to disperse, their hushed condolences fading into the distant murmur. Back at Mia’s family house, everyone is all around talking and eating. That’s what funerals are all about. At least they had someone to mourn unlike me. I watch as Mia enters the house after a tall man in a leather jacket. I barely focus on him as my gaze zeros in on Mia.As I approach, Mia’s gaze lifts, meeting mine. A small, faint smile touches her lip