CHAPTER FOUR: UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS

The door to Marcus Wayne’s private room creaked open, and I stepped inside hesitantly. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a sound that felt deafening in the suffocating silence. The dim light cast long shadows across the elegant yet eerie room, with its heavy drapes and dark leather furniture. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk out of this mess, but I couldn’t. My boss’s warning echoed in my mind.

"A favor for a favor is how things are run," he’d said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Marcus sat in a chair by the fireplace, the flames casting an eerie glow on his sharp features. His dark eyes fixed on me as if he could read every thought I was desperately trying to conceal. The corners of his mouth curled into a faint, almost predatory smile.

I wrapped the coat tightly around my body instinctively. I only had my briefs for stripping on, as I wanted to get the job done as quickly as I could. 

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

I hesitated, my pulse pounding. “What is this about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Marcus leaned back, his gaze never leaving mine. “You owe me, Cassandra. Sit.”

Reluctantly, I moved toward the chair and perched on the edge, ready to bolt if I had to. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my dress as I watched him.

“What do you want from me?”

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Straight to the point. I like that.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have a question for you. A simple one, really.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of question?”

He tilted his head, studying me. “You have... connections. In certain circles. Couriers, to be precise.”

My stomach twisted. He was fishing, but for what? And how much did he already know? No one was supposed to know me or what I looked like when delivering those package. How did he-?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quickly, hoping the tremor in my voice wasn’t obvious.

Marcus chuckled, low and dangerous. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Cassandra. You’ve been around long enough to know that lies don’t work with men like me.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t deal with couriers, Marcus. I’m just a performer. A stripper. That’s all.”

His expression darkened, and he leaned closer, his presence suffocating. “That’s a shame. I thought you might be useful. Well-” he shrugged. "At least you were being honest about being a dancer and a stripper.”

I stood abruptly, my heart racing. “If that’s all you wanted to ask, then we’re done here.”

Before I could take a step toward the door, Marcus was in front of me, his hand gripping my wrist tightly.

“Not so fast,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You don’t get to walk away until I say so.”

I yanked my arm, but his grip was like iron. “Let me go, Marcus.”

He smirked, his eyes glinting with something scary. “I don’t think you understand how this works, Cassandra. You’re in my debt now. You don’t get to refuse me.”

Fear and anger bubbled in my chest, but I forced myself to keep calm. “I came here to strip, not this. Let. Me. Go.”

Instead of releasing me, he pulled me closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re not leaving until I get what I want.”

Panic flared. I shoved him hard, using all the strength I could muster. Marcus stumbled back a step, surprised, but his shock quickly morphed into fury.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he snarled, advancing toward me again.

I backed away, my hands trembling, I pulled out a pen knife I brought along. “Stay away from me, Marcus.”

He lunged and made for my hands so swiftly, and before I could think of anything, he had the knife in his hands. He lunged at me again and I dodged this time, grabbing the nearest object I could find—a heavy glass ashtray.

“I said stay back!” I shouted, brandishing the ashtray like a weapon.

Marcus laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “Do you really think you can stop me?”

Before I could respond, the room was thrown into darkness.

My breath hitched. The sudden blackout left me disoriented, my pulse pounding in my ears. I clutched the ashtray tightly, my knuckles white.

“Marcus?” I called out, my voice shaky.

There was no response, only the sound of heavy breathing in the pitch-black room. My heart raced as I strained to listen, every creak of the floorboards making my stomach churn.

“Who’s there?” I demanded, taking a cautious step backward.

A low chuckle echoed in the darkness, sending chills down my spine. “You’re not getting out of this that easily, Cassandra,” Marcus’s voice taunted.

I swung the ashtray wildly in the direction of his voice, but it connected with nothing but air.

“Stop playing games!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

Suddenly, there was a sharp sound—a struggle, a gasp—and then silence.

“Marcus?” I whispered, my throat dry.

No response.

The lights suddenly flickered back on, and I froze.

Marcus lay sprawled on the floor, his throat slit, blood pooling around him. My breath caught in my chest as I stared at the crimson-stained knife lying next to him.

What just happened?