The hotel curtains were drawn tight, shutting out all sunlight. I went through my luggage one last time, carefully tucking my passport and plane ticket into my bag. When my fingers touched the unfamiliar destination printed on the ticket, a small, cautious sense of relief finally stirred inside me.
Then my phone vibrated again. A new number flashed on the screen. I didn’t need to look; I knew exactly who it was—Erving.
I took a deep breath, about to hit mute, when the door suddenly burst open with a deafening bang.
He stormed in, eyes bloodshot, his coat carrying the chill of the night. In one swift movement, he pinned me against the wall. His hand clamped hard around my throat, cutting off my air, while his hoarse, furious voice tore through the room.
“Anya’s been kidnapped! Did you do it?!”
I struggled to pry his fingers away, gasping, my voice barely audible. “I didn’t—”
“Didn’t?” He laughed, sharp and bitter, as if I had just told the most absurd lie. Then he slammed his phone down in front of me.
The screen showed a video. A man pressed a knife to Anya’s face, shouting brutally, “Mandy sent us! She said to break your hands, slash your face—let’s see how you steal her man then!”