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Disappear. The word hung heavy in the air, a grim echo of a past life I had thought buried deep under layers of lies and new beginnings.
Did they know? Did they have any idea who I was—or rather, who I had been? Charlotte Bruno, a mafia princess, presumed dead and mourned by a family entrenched in crime.
But no hints of recognition crossed their obscured faces, no allusions to my former life slipped from their lips. It seemed they only saw Arlet Rune, an environmental researcher and inconvenient activist.
Relief mingled with resolve within me. If they didn’t know about my past, then maybe Hayze and I still had a chance. Maybe we could still fight back without the specter of the Brunos looming over us.
I took a measured breath and focused on the present threat. These men weren’t mafia hitmen; they were corporate bullies hiding behind West Corp’s shadowy veil.
“You think holding me hostage will stop what’s already in motion?” I challenged them, injecting confidence into my words that I didn’t fully feel.
Silence followed my question—a taut thread stretching between us as they weighed their response.
Then one stepped forward, emerging from behind the veil of light just enough for me to glimpse his bitter smile.
“Oh, we have plans for you,” he said, his voice smooth as silk and just as dangerous. “And trust me when I say—nobody will miss you.”
The threat hung between us like smoke—intangible but suffocating all the same. Yet beneath it all, beneath the fear and uncertainty that churned within me, there was something else: a flicker of defiance that refused to be extinguished.
So I sat there bound but unbroken—my mind racing for an escape, for any advantage—and waited for their next move.
The metal door clanged shut with a finality that echoed off the walls, reverberating through my bones. A silence followed, heavy and oppressive, sucking the air out of the room with the departure of my captors. I was alone in the pitch black, with not a sliver of light to comfort me or orientation.
I remained still for a long while, seated on the cold concrete floor where they had left me, hoping against hope that my eyes would adjust to the darkness. But there was nothing—no shadow or shape to latch onto, just an endless void that seemed to press against my eyelids with tangible weight.
After an eternity of waiting for my vision to adapt, I accepted the futility and cautiously extended my hands. The surface beneath my palms was rough and gritty, tiny granules embedding into my skin as I moved. I inched forward on hands and knees, exploring the confines of what I could only assume was a concrete cell.
My fingers encountered something round and metallic—a chamber pot, cold and unwelcoming in one corner. It was the only object in this barren space. Disappointment surged withinme; I had hoped for something, anything, that might aid in an escape.
I retreated from the chamber pot, moving back until my back met the wall. It was cool against my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt, offering a slight comfort in its solid presence. With nothing else to do, I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.
Time stretched out before me—an endless canvas with no markers or signposts. So I counted. One Mississippi... Two Mississippi... Counting became a lifeline—a way to anchor myself in the unyielding darkness.
Three hundred sixty-four Mississippi... Three hundred sixty-five Mississippi...
My mind drifted despite my efforts to stay present. Images of Hayze flickered behind my closed eyelids—his strength, his unwavering gaze. I clung to those images like a raft in turbulent waters.
I wondered if he knew I was missing yet, if he was already searching for me. A pang of worry gnawed at me—what if he couldn’t find me? What if West Corp had covered their tracks too well?
Seven hundred twenty-nine Mississippi... Seven hundred thirty Mississippi...
The counting became monotonous—a dull rhythm that merged with the beat of my heart. It kept panic at bay, kept despair from taking root too deeply within me.
One thousand forty-three Mississippi... One thousand forty-four Mississippi...
I shifted against the wall, trying to stave off the stiffness settling into my limbs. The concrete leached away any warmth from my body, but I welcomed the discomfort—it meant I still felt something, that I hadn’t succumbed entirely to this darkness.
One thousand three hundred sixty-seven Mississippi... One thousand three hundred sixty-eight Mississippi...
Each count was a promise to myself: I would not break; I would not give in. They wanted me to disappear—to become nothing more than a whisper in the wind—but even here in this lightless prison; I refused to be erased.
One thousand six hundred ninety-two Mississippi... One thousand six hundred ninety-three Mississippi...
As time continued its silent march, each count fell from my lips like a soldier’s steady tread—relentless against an unseen foe.
CHAPTER 21
Hayze
