Nearly twelve hours had passed since Hannah was supposed to meet with the real Alfonzo—twelve long, silent hours since she was taken, and finally, she has woken up from her unconsciousness with a faint groan escaping her lips.
The sound echoed eerily against the bare, unyielding walls of the pitch-black room, making goosebumps appear on her arms.
Her head throbbed violently, each pulse sending a wave of nausea through her body. She felt as though a hammer had struck the back of her skull. Her limbs were heavy, her senses dulled.
Even opening her eyes took immense effort—yet when she did, there was no comfort in it.
Everything around her remained cloaked in total darkness. It was as if her vision had failed her, but she quickly realized it wasn't her eyes—it was the room. There was no light at all.
"Mmmm," she groaned in pain, breathing through her mouth, trying to keep it all in control.
Her body was pressed against the icy concrete floor, and its coldness seeped through the thin fabric of her clothes, sending violent shivers down her spine. Her fingers instinctively curled against the surface beneath her, trying to generate warmth, but it was useless.
Everything felt foreign and hostile. Panic began to rise in her chest, but she forced herself to breathe, to steady her nerves.
With immense effort, Hannah pushed herself up—first to her knees, then slowly to her feet. Her legs wobbled under her weight, weak from the lingering effects of whatever had knocked her unconscious.
Dizziness washed over her, and for a moment, she feared she might collapse again. Still, she pressed forward, driven by the gnawing instinct to survive.
Her breaths were shaky, shallow. She extended her arms in front of her, groping blindly in the darkness until her fingers touched something solid and coarse—a wall.
Using it as her guide, she began to inch along the perimeter of the room, each step slow and cautious.
Her hands slid over rough, cold surfaces—bricks? Concrete? She couldn't be sure—but there were no windows, no lights, not even a crack beneath a door to suggest the outside world.
The silence was deafening. There was no hum of electricity, no sounds of passing footsteps, nothing but the thud of her heartbeat in her ears and the uneven rhythm of her breath. And beneath it all, the creeping terror of not knowing where she was… or who had brought her here scares her.
The dread of encountering her captor clawed at her thoughts. What if he was just beyond the wall, waiting? What if this was only the beginning?
She stumbled when she took a step, barely catching herself just in time, her palm scraping against the rough surface.
A choked gasp escaped her lips. The pain helped her focus, briefly anchoring her to the present moment before the panic could take over again.
She pressed her forehead against the wall, trying to calm herself, trying not to cry.
'Think, Hannah. Think,' she mumbled to herself, knowing full well that she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not here. Not now.
"I can't keep panicking," she whispered shakily to the darkness. "I have to think clearly. I need to contact Sheldon. He'll come for me. He always does."
Clinging to that thought like a lifeline, she took another breath, deeper this time. Her fear hadn't vanished, but a small ember of resolve had begun to burn beneath it.
Now, she just had to find a way out before it was too late.
Fueled by a fragile surge of courage—more instinct than bravery—Hannah finally found what felt like a door at the far corner of the darkened room. Her fingers had brushed over smooth metal and a handle, cold and unyielding.
Hannah's fingers trembled as they wrapped around the cold metal doorknob. Her breath hitched in her throat. Every instinct screamed at her to stop, to retreat into the safety of the dark, windowless room behind her, but some desperate flicker of hope pushed her forward.
If there was even the smallest chance of escape, she had to take it.
With one final breath, she twisted the handle and shoved the door open, and almost immediately, a blinding white light flooded her vision.
She staggered backward, squinting furiously, her eyes stinging from the sudden contrast. For a moment, all she could see were blurred shapes and shadows—but then, as her eyes slowly adjusted with rapid, desperate blinks, the fog cleared and a picture that made her freeze appeared before her.
Just beyond the doorway was a larger room, with concrete walls dimly lit by overhead industrial lamps. At the center of it all sat a table, scattered with weapons of all kinds.
It varied from pistols, assault rifles, boxes of ammunition, and worse, her eyes caught the unmistakable silhouette of a grenade, several of them.
Three men surrounded the table, their postures relaxed but only in the way that wolves rest before a hunt. Hardened. Scarred. Dangerous.
One was cleaning a weapon, his movements swift and practiced. Another was counting bills. The third was the one speaking, gesturing toward a map spread across the table.
The scent of gunpowder and something metallic hung in the air like a warning. It was like walking into a scene straight out of a nightmare, which made Hannah involuntarily take a step back.
They hadn't noticed her at first—one was mid-sentence, speaking in low, calculated tones about "distribution routes" and "cargo drops"—but the moment the door creaked open and her shadow fell across the threshold, all three heads turned.
Their gazes hit her like a wave of heat—sharp, assessing, and instantly alert.
Hannah's breath caught in her throat. Her feet refused to move. It felt as though time had stopped as she stared at the armed men who now stared back at her, their expressions morphing from surprise to suspicion in an instant.
'What is this? Who are they? What are they planning?' Her mind raced in blind panic as she couldn't help but keep looking at the guns on the table.
Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs had locked in place. Her throat went dry as one of the men, a lean figure with cold eyes and a half-smile that didn't reach them, pushed himself up from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate.
His gaze lingered on her like a predator sizing up prey.
"Well, well, well… Who do you have here, Ivan?" he drawled, his voice laced with amusement as he approached her, though his eyes never lost their edge.
Hannah instinctively took a step back, recoiling toward the dark room she had just escaped, as if somehow it had become a place of safety compared to this.
Behind the man who had spoken, the other man was already on his feet, his hands lowering to his sides in a way that made her stomach twist—they were moving with trained efficiency. No panic. No surprise. Just readiness.
Her thoughts spiraled into chaos. 'What did I just walk in on? Are they arms dealers? Terrorists? Am I going to die just because I saw them? What if they're going to kill me to keep me quiet?'
The realization hit her like ice. Whatever this was, it was criminal. Dangerous. Deadly.
And now… she was a witness.
***🦋***
Author's Note
Oh no—just when Hannah thought she'd found a way out, she walked straight into the lion's den! She did so well escaping the dark room only to come face-to-face with her captor, and two more dangerous-looking men.
And had she expected what she saw? No! Definitely not! A table covered in guns, ammo, and who knows what else. It's no longer just a kidnapping—it's something far more dangerous.
What are they planning? And now that she's seen it… what will they do to her? Will Hannah find a way to escape this nightmare? Or has she just stepped into something even darker than she feared?
The tension's rising, and the danger is just beginning. Want to know what happens next? Then slide to the next page—trust me, you won't want to miss it.
Keep reading, brave souls—and happy reading to all you cuties! 💥💖📖
★★★★★
(Special Monologue, Hannah's Thoughts)
Okay, seriously, can we talk about the author for a second? Like—hello?! Is she secretly auditioning to be a villain in her own story or what? ಠ_ಠ
What did I ever do to the author to deserve this nonsense?! (╯°益°)╯彡┻━┻
And don't even get me started on the 'life-threatening situations' she keeps throwing me into like it's some kind of dark comedy.
What, no recovery time? No spa day? Not even a snack break?? (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻
I swear, if she puts me in one more high-stakes situation without warning, I'm going to start leaving passive-aggressive notes in the margins of this manuscript.
Like, "Hey, maybe don't let me almost die every three chapters? Just a thought ❤️."
Honestly, is this a romance or a survival horror? Somebody please confiscate this woman's keyboard before she puts me in a shark tank wearing a meat dress.
Anyway, that's it, your poor princess just wants to complain and vent about the wicked author.