The rain fell in sheets, relentless and cold, drumming against Evelina's umbrella with a rhythm that matched the hammering of her heart. The streets were slick, reflecting the harsh neon glow of the city in fractured shards across puddles that swallowed her reflection whole. Each step she took squelched in her soaked shoes, the damp chill creeping into her bones. The café had kept her later than usual, and she cursed herself for taking the shortcut through the side streets.
Evelina's bag dug into her shoulder as she tightened her grip on the umbrella, hood pulled low. "Just a little further," she muttered to herself, her voice lost in the roar of rain. The city seemed deserted, empty lamps flickering above, casting long, quivering shadows that made the streets look alive with shapes she couldn't name.
Then came the sound—a low, measured hum of an engine sliding over wet asphalt. She froze mid-step, ears straining. Only one car had dared to come this far. A black vehicle glided into view, its headlights cutting across the darkness like twin knives.
Her pulse quickened. Stay calm. She quickened her pace, trying to ignore the sound, trying to convince herself it was only coincidence.
But the car slowed behind her.
Her gut screamed at her. She broke into a run, the umbrella forgotten, arms flailing to balance against the slick pavement. Her shoes slipped in shallow puddles, sending up spouts of water. The sound of boots splashing behind her made her chest tighten with panic.
A hand grabbed her arm, iron-strong and unyielding. She screamed, twisting and kicking, nails raking against leather gloves.
"Quiet," a low, commanding voice hissed, like a blade scraping the air.
Before she could react further, a sting bit the side of her neck. Pain flared, sharp and burning, and then her vision blurred, the world tipping sideways. She stumbled, tried to scream again, but no sound came. Her legs betrayed her, folding beneath her.
The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was the silhouette of a man—tall, broad, impossibly still in the rain—and the black car waiting like a predator at the curb.
When Evelina opened her eyes, the world was muted. A faint gray light leaked through cracks in the heavy curtains. Her head throbbed, every heartbeat echoing in her skull. The air smelled cold and metallic, like rain mixed with dust.
She tried to move, but her wrists were bound together with coarse rope, biting into her skin. Panic surged, and she thrashed, yanking at the bindings. The sound of her own ragged breathing filled the small room, amplifying her terror.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The room was small, nearly bare. Walls of dark wood, a single bed with crisp, white sheets, and a heavy desk in the corner. The faint light from a single lamp cast long shadows that danced like living things across the walls.
Evelina swallowed hard, trying to steady her shaking hands. Where am I? Her mind raced. Her thoughts were still foggy from whatever had been injected into her—her limbs felt heavy, sluggish, almost foreign.
The door at the far end of the room was solid, made of dark, polished wood, with no windows. A lock gleamed faintly in the dim light. Locked. Her stomach dropped.
She tried to call out, her voice hoarse, cracking. "H-hello? Is anyone—?" Her words caught in her throat, swallowed by the oppressive silence. There was no answer. Only the distant rumble of thunder outside, punctuated by the soft tap of rain against the roof.
Evelina pressed herself against the wall, shivering, her mind trying to make sense of the nightmare. The man—the one in the black car—he had been… calm. Inhumanly calm. Strong. He hadn't spoken more than a whisper, yet his presence had filled her chest with ice. The world outside had felt like a blur of rain and neon, and now here she was, trapped, alone.
A soft sound made her jump—a creak, like the floor shifting somewhere beyond the bed. She strained her ears, heart hammering. Am I being watched?
Her eyes fell on the desk, and something made her pause. A small envelope lay on top, stark white against the dark wood. Trembling, she reached for it, pulling it closer. There was no writing, no stamp, only the faint scent of cologne she didn't recognize—sharp, intoxicating, dangerous.
She opened it. Inside, a single card: black, glossy, with gold lettering embossed faintly. "You belong to him now."
Her breath caught. The ink seemed to shimmer slightly, impossible to ignore. The handwriting—elegant, deliberate—made her skin crawl. Him? Who?
The thought of her family flashed across her mind, the debt her father had whispered about over late-night phone calls. Panic surged again. Had they…? No, she couldn't even think it. She was alone, truly alone.
She sank onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees, trying to keep herself together. Outside, the rain continued to fall, relentless and cruel, like the city itself was conspiring to swallow her whole. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the shadows on the walls seemed to stretch toward her, reaching, patient, waiting.
Her head drooped, exhaustion overtaking the remnants of her fear. But before sleep could claim her fully, a single thought clawed through the fog: The man who took me… he works for someone. Someone powerful. Someone everyone fears.
And with that thought, a shiver ran down her spine. Her eyes closed, not in relief, but in the resigned terror of someone who understood that her life had just been rewritten—by a hand far darker than her own.
To be continued…