CHAPTER FOUR

SIARA.

The morning after the hack, I walked briskly to the hospital with the envelope of cash clutched in my hand so tightly my knuckles turned white. Every step was echoing in my ears, its sound magnified by my paranoia. My whole stomach churned with nerves as if the walls of the city were alive and watching me, waiting for me to make some kind of mistake. I felt sick.

The hospital loomed ahead, its sterile fluorescent lights visible through the tall windows. The smell of antiseptic hit me as I entered, making me feel strangely exposed. I approached the receptionist’s desk, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear my own voice.

“Hi, Mrs.Yvonne. Good morning. This is payment for Mrs.Osana Movark. Here” I mumbled, sliding the envelope across the counter without looking up.

The receptionist, a sweet-looking elderly woman, turned to me and smiled. "Good morning, Sisi dear, and thank you. This will cover the overdue bills, and we'll start treatment immediately. Your mother's condition will improve soon, I'm sure of it."

My throat choked. "That's. good," I croaked low as I looked over my shoulder for the nth time.

Mrs. Yvonne inclined her head, and her eyes showed the spark of concern. "Are you okay, dear?"

I nodded in a flash. "Fine. I just- I need to go. Thank you."

I did not wait for any reply, and so I spun around and scampered out of the hospital. I knew she would stare at my back, but I dare not stop. Every shadow suddenly loomed, threateningly as my paranoia grew upon reaching the street.

What if they followed me here? What if they hurt my mom?

My steps quickened until I was practically running. When I finally reached the safety of our tiny apartment, I locked the door and slid down onto the floor, my breaths coming in short gasps. I spent the rest of the day peeking out the window, my stomach twisting with anxiety.

But days passed, and no one came. Surely, if they'd caught onto me, they'd have come for me already, right?By the end of the week, I allowed myself a small, cautious smile.

I did it, I thought. I got away with it.

Mom was receiving treatment, the overdue bills were settled, and there was even a little money left over. For the first time in years, a tiny sliver of hope broke through the dark cloud that had been my life. I was happy. Everything was fine.

I spoke too soon.

---

The night air was brisk as I locked up Donald's Dive, where I'd just finished my night shift. The smell of spilled beer and greasy food clung to my clothes as I slipped my paycheck into my jacket pocket.

"Your pay," Donald had grunted earlier, tossing the envelope at me without so much as a glance.

Thanks, Donald," I'd replied, trying not to roll my eyes at the bar owner's perpetual grumpiness.

"Lock up when you leave," he'd barked, already turning his attention to the register.

Now, as I stepped onto the quiet street, I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and began to walk home. The street lights flickered at irregular intervals, casting long shadows, so familiar yet so unsettling. I hummed under my breath to distract myself, but it sounded hollow in the stillness.

A sudden prickling sensation crawled up my spine.

I stopped abruptly, glancing over my shoulder. The street was empty; the silence stretched unnaturally.

You're just being paranoid, I told myself. It's been over a week already. But my legs moved faster anyway, hitting the pavement in a rhythm that matched my quickened heartbeat.

Then I heard it—the low,  hum of an engine.

A sleek black car appeared from the dark, its windows reflecting the dull shine of streetlights. It was rolling right alongside me, slowing pace to my speed.

My heartbeat leapt. I yelled for myself to run. I obeyed just fine, but turning in an attempt to do little but get me hit square into something solid.

A huge man was standing in my way, and his shadow swallowed my tiny figure. He had broad shoulders, a menacing scowl, and eyes that gleamed with cold calculation.

"Get in," he growled in a deep, commanding voice.

Behind me, the car door opened with a soft hiss, revealing a dark leather-lined interior.

"I-I didn't do anything!" I stammered, backward.

The man didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled out a gun, the metallic click of the safety disengaging echoing in the night air.

"Get in," he repeated, his tone colder now, leaving no room for argument.

My breath came in shallow gasps as my eyes darted around, searching for an escape route. But the man cocked a brow, as if he could read my thoughts.

"Try it, and I'll shoot you before you take two steps," he said calmly, his voice low but laced with lethal intention.

The prey in me realised I was surrounded and boxed in. I had no choice. It was run and be shot down, or get in the car and die anyway. But with the second option, I could buy myself some time.

Defeated, I nodded. My legs felt like lead as I slid into the car, the door closing behind me with a chilling finality.

The interior was dimly lit, the scent of leather and expensive cologne enveloping me. My pulse thundered in my ears as I turned to face the figure seated in front of me.

A light flickered on to illuminate a man, both an image of danger and refinement, his jet-black hair streaked with white at his temples framing his chiseled face, his eyes an icy sterling gray which pierced mine with unsettling intensity. Roving over me almost as a sinful caress, I gulped as he finally looked away.

He had a glass of brandy in one hand, which he sipped measuredly before placing it down. Then he reached for a cigarette with a calm that twisted my stomach.

"Pick up the lighter in front of you," he said, his gravelly voice low and commanding. "And light it." He finished, holding up the butt end of his cigar.

I froze, my hands shaking in my lap.

His eyes narrowed, and his tone took on a cold quality. "Do not make me repeat myself."

I swallowed and reached between us for the lighter on the seat. My fingers were trembling as I brought the flame to the cigarette, lighting the tip.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and thin rivulets of smoke curled lazily in the dim light, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Siara Movark," he said, smooth, yet with a deadly undertone.

My blood ran cold. He knew my name.

"I believe you stole from me," he continued, even and measured. "And I'm here to collect."

Oh fuck.