James, caught off guard by the swift retaliation, stumbled back, his face contorted in disbelief before quickly morphing into a volatile mix of anger and grudging admiration.
His pride stung. He had imagined Hannah as nothing more than a fragile flower—timid, privileged, and easy to bend to his will. But she had defied that image, and that defiance ignited a dangerous fire in him.
With a sneer curling on his lips, James charged at her again, fury blazing in his eyes. But before he could lay another finger on her, Ivan rose from his chair.
His imposing figure blocked the light spilling in from the window behind him, casting a long, menacing shadow that reached across the floor and crept up the walls like a specter. The room seemed to freeze under his presence.
"That's enough," he said, his voice low and controlled, yet laced with unmistakable authority and menace.
His tone cut through the chaos like a blade. Calmly, but with undeniable command, Ivan turned his piercing gaze toward the two men.
"Daniel, James, leave us."
Though his eyes were partly obscured by the unruly strands of dark hair that framed his face, there was no mistaking the lethal warning in his voice. It was the voice of a man who wouldn't repeat himself—and didn't forgive disobedience.
James clenched his jaw, and Daniel hesitated, still not done with what he was saying, their bodies tense with resistance.
But the weight of Ivan's presence crushed whatever defiance remained in them. With a begrudging glance toward one another, they retreated.
James paused in the doorway, his eyes seething with fury as he cast one final glare at Hannah—a silent promise that this wasn't over. Then he vanished through the door.
A quiet thud echoed as Daniel shut the door behind them, sealing the room in silence once more. The shift was palpable, like the drop in pressure before a storm. The earlier chaos dissipated, replaced by a chilling stillness that settled deep into Hannah's bones.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stood rigid, her eyes flitting around the room, searching desperately for an exit—or a weapon. Anything. Her fingers twitched, her mind racing for an escape plan. But there was none.
Ivan hadn't moved. He stood there for a moment longer, his unreadable eyes locked on her, studying every inch of her expression with unnerving precision.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward and returned to his seat with a deliberate grace, crossing one leg over the other as if nothing had happened.
His smile returned, but it was no longer warm. It carried a darker edge now—seductive, cruel, and calculated.
"There's no need for all that trembling, my dear," he said smoothly, his voice now a silken whisper that filled the room like smoke.
"You're safe here," he tilted his head slightly, the smile deepening into something almost playful.
"For now, at least," he added, his voice dripping with insinuation. "I don't bite…" he grinned.
Despite the subtle curve of a smile on Ivan's face, his presence alone radiated a quiet, chilling menace that rooted Hannah in place. A sophisticated air clung to him—his manner refined, yet laced with a disquieting intensity.
The contrast between his gentlemanly demeanor and the danger simmering beneath it only amplified her fear. Her knees trembled under the weight of his gaze, and her throat tightened, rendering her unable to speak.
With deliberate poise, Ivan took a slow drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled languidly from his lips, framing his angular features in a ghostly veil.
His eyes, sharp and intelligent, watched Hannah closely, studying her reactions with the cold amusement of a predator indulging in the fear of his prey.
Hannah stood frozen, her mind racing beneath her composed exterior.
As the heiress of the powerful Salvador family, she had been raised with dignity and grace, schooled in diplomacy, and conditioned to never reveal vulnerability. But no amount of training had prepared her for this exact moment, facing a man like Ivan.
Her instincts screamed at her to act, to fight—but her intellect restrained her. Her gaze flicked to the door just behind Ivan. Escape seemed painfully close, yet impossibly far.
She knew she could take down most men when they're unprepared, but Ivan wasn't like most men. Her fists, no matter how skilled, were no match for the gleaming arsenal laid out on the table in front of him.
'Between my fist and his bullet... It's obvious which one would win,' she reasoned silently, forcing herself to remain still.
She was gathering courage, her thoughts sharpening, when she noticed Ivan observing her even more intently. His gaze flicked across her face, lingering as though committing every detail to memory.
And then, at last, he spoke. "How are you, Hannah?"
Her breath caught in her chest. The sound of her name on his lips felt like a trap snapping shut. Ice spread down her spine. How did he know her name? The realization hit her immediately—he had done his homework.
This wasn't random. He knew exactly who she was.
Panic clawed at her carefully built composure, but she clenched her fists at her sides and forced herself to lift her chin to meet his stare. She had to stay strong. Show no fear. Salvador's heirs did not cower.
"Who are you? Why am I here?" Her voice quivered, betraying her tension despite her effort to remain calm.
Ivan didn't answer right away.
"I said, how much do you want?" she added, her voice lower now, eyes guarded, searching for a clue in his expression.
At this, Ivan laughed. It wasn't the kind of laugh that offered relief. It was cold, mocking, and dangerous. The sound echoed through the room and startled her once again.
"Do you really think I went through all this trouble for money?" he asked with a smirk, barely able to stifle his amusement.
Hannah's mind raced. That had been her only plausible theory—why else would someone abduct her? Her family was one of the most influential in the country. A ransom made perfect sense. She had never wronged the man before her. At least, not that she was aware of.
"If not money, then... why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ivan's laughter faded into an unsettling silence, and he gave her a look that made her stomach drop. Then, without a word, he turned and opened a drawer beside him.
From it, he pulled out a sleek, golden pistol. It caught the light like a precious jewel, but there was nothing beautiful about the way he held it.
He held it with ease, with habit, and with purpose.
Her breath hitched as Ivan stood and began to move. His every step was deliberate, calculated—like a lion circling its prey. The pistol rested in his hand like an extension of himself, his fingers gliding over the polished surface as though savoring the weight of it.
Hannah flinched instinctively and backed away with every step he took toward her, her fear rising with each movement. The room felt smaller with every inch he closed between them.
Ivan's eyes remained locked on hers, filled with an unreadable intensity.
Each footfall echoed like a countdown.
"You crossed me, Hannah," he said, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. "And whether you meant to or not, that makes you mine to deal with now."
***🦋***
Author's Note
Oh no... Things have taken a terrifying turn. Hannah is in serious danger now.
The man who had, up until now, worn a charming smile like a mask—Ivan—has finally dropped the act. His expression is no longer calm or collected.
There's no hint of humor left in his eyes. What remains is something far more unsettling, cold, and unfiltered madness. But what can she do against a man like Ivan—a man so unpredictable, so dangerously composed even in the act of unraveling?
Will he really pull the trigger? Or is this just another twisted game in his sick vendetta? And most importantly... Can Hannah survive whatever is coming next?
You're not the only one asking these questions. Readers everywhere are holding their breath right now. What happens next? Will Hannah outsmart her captor? Or is this the beginning of something even darker than she imagined?
There's only one way to find out. Turn the page. Keep reading. You won't want to miss what happens next, because trust me, things are only just beginning to spiral.
Buckle up, dear reader. The real storm is coming.