●Sienna●
How did he expect me to sleep when he had a gun? It felt like he could pull the trigger the moment I closed my eyes. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he was trying to make it easier for me before sending me back to my maker.
He took a step forward and my body reacted before my mind could. I scrambled to the other side, dragging the duvet with me, my legs tangling in the sheets. I almost lost my balance and would have landed flat on my ass if I'd moved even an inch more.
He sat on the edge of the bed and the mattress dipped under his weight. My breath stuttered at the sound. His eyes never left me. Not even for a second. Every small movement of the gun in his hand made my body flinch. I squinted, braced myself, waiting for the bang that never came.
Then he moved it again, placing the gun on the bedside table. The quiet clink of metal against wood was louder than any scream I could make. His hand left the weapon and reached for me.
I moved again.
I barely got far before his grip closed around me. He dragged me back against his side like I weighed nothing, pulling me into the bed. Panic clawed its way up my throat as my hand slipped free from his hold and I immediately covered myself.
I was wearing tiny pajamas, which made me feel exposed—stripped bare under his gaze—even though he wasn't touching me. I clutched the duvet tighter around my body, thinking that maybe if I was covered, if I made myself smaller, it would hurt less when he finally decided to kill me.
There was no point in screaming. Almost every room in this house was soundproof. Even if my voice worked, no one would hear me. My room was a sealed box, and I was alone with him inside it.
His hand slid under the duvet and the movement made me freeze.
It moved upward and reached my face. The back of his fingers brushed behind my ear, then along my jawline, then back again, tracing the same path with deliberate intent. My skin burned where he touched me.
His fingers trailed down to my nape.
Then suddenly, his hand closed in my hair.
He gathered a fistful of it and yanked.
My body jerked forward and then back as he forced me against the pillow. The air was knocked from my lungs. My eyes, which had squeezed shut on instinct, snapped open immediately.
I was trapped beneath his grip, my head pinned, my heartbeat pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
My lips parted in shock. No sound came out. My eyes burned and turned glassy, filled with fear and the kind of frustration that made my chest ache. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't fight him. The man was easily twice my size. I had nothing. No weapon. No leverage. Nothing but a stupid duvet clutched to my chest.
If I made it out of this alive tonight, I swore I would have weapons hidden in every corner of this room.
His thumb pressed lightly against my lower lip.
"You have a very pretty mouth," he said quietly. "Makes me wonder what it is capable of."
What the fuck!
I turned my head sharply to the left, breaking away from his touch, staring at the wall like it might save me. Tears spilled over despite my effort to stop them. I didn't even know if begging would help if he decided to do whatever he wanted. I didn't know if he would listen.
His grip tightened in my hair again and he yanked, forcing my face back toward him. My breath hitched as my tear-filled eyes landed on his.
"Do not cry," he said.
He released my hair and his index finger caught a tear before it could fall onto the pillow and disappear into the fabric. He watched it sit on his skin like it meant something. Then he wiped it off on his leather jacket without a second thought.
"I did not come here to kill you or hurt you, honey," he said calmly.
My throat felt tight. Dry. My heart was still slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.
"Then what are you here for?" I managed to ask, my voice barely holding together.
I couldn't even understand how he'd gotten past the security. The alarms. The guards. My father's paranoia had built this house into a fortress.
His hand reached for the gun again. His movements with the weapon were so careless, causing my mind to spiral.
"I came to watch you sleep. It is not my first time, but I am actually surprised that you woke up tonight," he said, and my stomach dropped.
"What!" I whispered, more to myself than to him, but the word still reached his ears.
He exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, like I was the one exhausting him.
"I think I might be going crazy," he muttered. "Maybe I should kidnap you and keep you to myself."
My stomach dropped. Crazy didn't even begin to cover this. No sane person broke into a house, sat in the dark, and watched someone sleep. This wasn't just madness. This was stalking.
"Please… don't do that," I said, my voice shaking no matter how hard I tried to control it.
He didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out his phone, his attention fully on the screen as his fingers moved quickly. Whatever he typed seemed important enough for him to ignore me completely. He slipped the phone back into his pocket like nothing had just happened.
For a second, I thought he was leaving.
He turned toward the balcony, his back to me, and relief almost loosened my knees. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.
"Don't try to tell your father about my little visit," he said calmly. "Otherwise that friend of yours… Maya, was it?" His lips tilted slightly. "She might wake up without a head on top of her shoulders. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
My blood ran cold.
He didn't wait for a reaction. He stepped onto the balcony like the height meant nothing to him and disappeared over the edge, completely unbothered by the security system my father had paid millions for.
The moment he was gone, I scrambled off the bed and rushed to the balcony. I searched the darkness below, my heart pounding so hard it hurt—but the lights on that side suddenly shut off, plunging everything into black.