"Well, well, well… And who might this be, Ivan?" The silence was shattered as James spoke, his tone oozing amusement and predatory curiosity.
His eyes—dark, sharp, and glinting with something dangerous—traveled slowly down Hannah's frame, taking in every detail of her body with unsettling thoroughness.
There was a flicker in his gaze, a vile spark that betrayed the crude fantasies stirring in his mind. He looked at her not like a person, but like prey—something to be claimed, used, and discarded.
The twisted hunger in his eyes made Hannah's skin crawl, and she wanted nothing more than to just get far away from him.
Ivan said nothing. Instead, he calmly set the rifle he had been inspecting back onto the table with a soft clink, the sound somehow louder in the tense quiet of the room, before staring unblinkingly at Hannah. His composure contrasted with the crude energy emanating from James.
"Finally giving in to Auntie's nagging, are you?" James continued, still grinning as he took a few slow steps toward Hannah. "Mind if I have her when you're done?"
Each word dripped with entitlement and disregard, and the way he said it—so casual, so sure of himself—sent a bolt of cold terror through Hannah's veins. She didn't move, her legs like stone, but her heart was hammering wildly in her chest.
James circled her like a vulture, sizing her up as if she were an object.
He drank in her appearance with undisguised lust, the way his eyes flicked over her making her stomach twist. Hannah fought to keep her face neutral, to hide the rising tide of dread that was threatening to drown her.
'Don't show fear. Stay sharp. Look for a way out,' she tried to calm down, convincing herself that there was a way out.
Despite the suffocating anxiety building in her chest, Hannah forced herself to keep her chin up.
Hannah's heart pounded in her chest as James's presence loomed over her. She could feel his gaze burning into her, undressing her with his eyes. Panic and revulsion washed over her, but she tried her best to maintain a facade of composure.
He has seen countless beauties due to his line of work. Most of them are seasoned temptresses, but for some reason, James couldn't remove his gaze from Hannah's peerless beauty.
It's almost as if he is caught under a spell that he can't resist. No. It's a temptation that he doesn't want to resist.
Hannah's gaze flicked to the table again and saw the guns there. A whole lot of them. Polished metal glinting under the dim lights. Whatever business she had stumbled into, it wasn't just illegal—it was dangerous, and she had become an unwanted complication.
'Am I going to die here? Will they let me live, knowing I saw their faces? Will I ever see my siblings again?' Tears welled in her eyes as negative thoughts clouded her mind, but she blinked them back.
Now wasn't the time to break. She needed to think, to stay alert. From his seat, Ivan observed the scene with a faint, knowing smile.
Ivan's smile curled slowly, like a blade being unsheathed, as he watched James take a step closer to the trembling figure at the doorway. His eyes, dark and calculating, flicked between the two, taking in every movement, especially Hannah's barely concealed panic.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and though she stood upright, her body was taut with fear, like a cornered animal ready to bite if pushed too far. Tears welled in her eyes, though she blinked them back fiercely. She refused to let them fall.
"Ah, James," Ivan drawled, his voice low and dangerously smooth—more silk than threat, but every bit as deadly. "Your appetites are as reckless as ever."
He leaned back in his seat with a kind of practiced grace, folding one leg over the other while brushing imaginary dust from his knee. The subtle menace in his tone was unmistakable now.
"But do try to remember…" He gestured lazily toward Hannah, though his gaze remained on James. "She is our guest, not your evening entertainment. Don't harass the lady. We're not animals, are we?"
His words were calm, almost polite, but laced with warning. Still, James either didn't care or simply didn't register the danger.
He smirked and stepped forward anyway, his boots echoing ominously against the floor.
"What's your name, beautiful?" he asked, his tone drenched in mock gentleness as he reached toward her cheek.
Hannah flinched instinctively, her breath hitching—but her eyes sharpened. She was terrified, no doubt. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to run. But there was no escape. No open doors. No one to help. So instead, she fought.
With a sudden burst of controlled movement, she struck—quick, precise, and born of years of martial arts training meant to protect her from threats just like this.
Her hand shot up in a perfect arc, and with one sharp motion, she jammed the edge of her palm straight into James's throat.
'Thank you, Arthur, you forced me into learning this,' Hannah mentally cried.
The impact was brutal. James gagged violently, stumbling back with a strangled cough, both hands clutching his neck. He crashed into the table behind him, sending rifles, ammo, and handguns scattering across the floor in a deafening clatter.
For a moment, no one moved.
Hannah's heart pounded like a war drum in her chest. She braced herself, expecting retaliation, punishment, something. But instead, there was silence. Heavy. Cold. Electric.
Ivan's brow arched slightly, a flicker of surprise lighting up his otherwise composed expression as he witnessed Hannah's sudden display of strength and agility. He hadn't expected such resistance from the delicate heir of the Salvador family.
Amused yet intrigued, he remained seated, allowing the turmoil to unfold before him like a performance on stage, his sharp gaze tracking every movement.
"Impressive," he said softly, glancing briefly at the still-wheezing James sprawled against the floor before turning his gaze back on Hannah.
Hannah didn't respond. She held her breath, fists clenched at her sides, every nerve in her body ready to snap.
Ivan tilted his head slightly. "But I wonder," he murmured, "was that courage… or desperation?"
He smiled again—but this time, there was no warmth in it at all.
***🦋***
Author's Note
Well, would you look at that! The delicate flower of the Salvador family just threw a punch, and it landed.
For years, Hannah has been treated like a porcelain doll by those around her. Beautiful. Untouchable. Breakable. Everyone assumed she'd crumble the moment things got rough.
But today? Today, she proved them all wrong. With the kind of speed and precision no one expected, she pushed back. The so-called fragile flower of the Salvador family just reminded everyone that even a flower can have thorns.
Thanks to Arthur, the ever-watchful head butler, every Salvador child began learning basic martial arts from the age of ten to enable them to defend themselves.
And now, we're seeing the result. But now the real question surfaces. Was it a mistake for Hannah to strike first?
Sure, the blow caught James off guard—his pride bruised, his temper barely held in check. It was satisfying to see his smug confidence falter. But people like him don't take humiliation lightly. Did she just make herself a bigger target? Or did she send a clear message—that she won't cower, not for him, not for anyone?
And then there's Ivan.
He's been watching from the sidelines with that calculating gleam in his eyes, amused, intrigued, maybe even impressed. But make no mistake—he's not an ally. He's the storm behind the silence, the hand behind her abduction. What will he do now that Hannah's shown she's not the docile pawn he might have expected?