They say that a person's greatest fears can be uncovered through observation and analysis.
A skilled psychologist calculates them methodically, step by step. Especially in those who fiercely hide their weaknesses. Who do not want even the closest people to know about them.
But there is another way to learn another person's most terrible fear.
A practical one...
I was sitting at work, staring at the message for a long time.
Should I go there. Should I speak about Theron at all. And most importantly — why.
The building was located on a busy street. It had already appeared in a deal with Theron. Too conspicuous a place to be accidental. He was not the kind of man who overpaid for no reason. Which meant there was a purpose. And possibly more than one.
I replied with my consent and immediately requested the time.
13:06
"Come at five in the evening. The building and the studio will be open. Work is being done there."
I put the phone back into my bag and returned to the documents. Formally — I was working. In reality, my thoughts stubbornly returned to one thing.
Had I really become stronger?
Derek's words spun in my head, clung to me, refused to let go.
At four, I had already finished all my assignments and left the report with the required documents in Ostin's office.
I thought for a long time whether I should tell him about this message or not. But his absence made the decision for me on its own.
I caught a taxi and went to the studio. Judging by traffic and the driver's unhurried manner, I would be about five minutes late. Which is exactly what happened.
I entered the building. Construction scaffolding stood all around. The workers were already leaving; someone was going down the stairs, not paying any attention to me.
I went up to the third floor and found the studio I needed. The door was open, but there was no one inside.
Renovation was going on there as well. Judging by the feeling, the document inspection was merely a formality. Everything looked as though the place had long been prepared to receive a new owner.
I let my gaze sweep across the space and noticed a mural on the wall, partially covered by scaffolding. It looked as though it was being prepared for removal.
I stepped closer and began examining the painting. A mix of Baroque and something classical. I did not understand art, but it looked neat and expensive. The mural stretched along the entire wall. It seemed there had once been an art studio here. And clearly not a cheap one.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a thin, two-faced voice sounded behind me.
I turned around. Without surprise. Amy.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed the number from which the messages had come. The call immediately rang inside her bag.
"Yes. That was me," she said, stepping closer.
I did not step back.
But I definitely did not like the situation.
She came closer and also looked at the mural.
Her calmness strained me more than if she had started screaming right away.
"Theron will give me this building simply because I liked it. Romantic, isn't it?" her voice dropped. Became real. Rougher.
"Probably," I answered evenly.
"I was told that you were different."
Amy took a step closer. I did not understand what she wanted from me.
With a sharp movement she grabbed my hand. I did not even have time to react. A click on my wrist. Then the metallic scrape.
I staggered, not immediately understanding what had happened.
What the hell.
I jerked my hand. I had been cuffed to a beam of the construction scaffolding. I checked the fastening. It was real..
While I was mechanically testing the lock, she snatched my phone.
"You won't need this," she said and turned it off by pressing the buttons. Then slipped it into her pocket.
"What are you doing?" I asked calmly.
"We're just going to talk. So that you don't run away."
I forced myself to steady my breathing.
She had caught me off guard. But with every second, one thing became clearer.
Just as I had thought, she was exactly like him.
"I told you not even to think about it," she reminded me, as if we were continuing an old conversation.
"I don't know what you imagined, but I haven't seen him at all for the past half month," I replied. The words sounded banal. And stupid.
"Then that's even worse," she exhaled heavily. "Competing with a girl who exists only in his head."
Her eyes darkened. I did not immediately understand whether the anger was directed at me or at him.
"Tell me honestly. You do want him to be with you, don't you? The way poor girls from small towns like to want. Dreaming of a rich and handsome prince."
The contempt missed the mark. Completely.
For a second, I felt sorry for her.
"No," I said calmly. It came easier than usual. Because it was true. "I repeat: I don't know what you imagined. I am not that poor, miserable girl who wants Theron to be with her. He is entirely yours. Take him. Use him. And now take this off."
I nodded toward the handcuff.
"Hm," she drawled. It was clear she was only warming up. "You say one thing, but in reality it's another."
She was either pretending, or she truly believed in this role.
"He often stays at your place overnight. Is that made up too?"
"He stays. I don't go to him. Take note of that. So take this question directly to him."
"Enough," her voice changed abruptly. Low. Hard. Almost commanding. Exactly like his. "The tie."
I did not show that I understood what she meant.
"He left it at your place, didn't he?" every word pressed down. "Answer."
For a second I weighed what to say. The truth, or just brush it off.
"So it is with you," she concluded with disgust. "I need him."
"I'm sorry, but I'll disappoint you," I smirked. "I threw it in the trash."
Her eyes widened. She froze.
"What did you do, you bitch?" anger and something like horror burst out.
"I told you, he does not interest me as a partner. You can ask him yourself. Although," I looked straight at her, "I didn't think you had the courage. Meeting me in secret — yes. Talking to him — hardly."
I held myself calmly. Without ostentatious coldness. Just evenly.
This game was starting to tire me.
"I am irritated by people who interfere with my plans," it was clear she was restraining herself. "You hold yourself well for a simple girl. I didn't think you were capable of that. I was told about you."
"Honestly, I don't give a damn what's going on between you. Or about the tie," my irritation was at its limit. "I have nothing to do with this. I just work for him and carry out tasks. That's all. So take this off and let's end this performance."
She took out my phone and began turning it in her hand.
"You know, I thought for a long time about how to scare you. But, as it turned out, physical violence doesn't frighten you," she said almost lazily.
She knew too much. Had Theron told her that too?
"But everyone has a fear," her smile became satisfied. "The main thing is to find it. Then the opponent surrenders on their own."
I saw that satisfaction, but I still did not understand where she was going.
"Take it off," I repeated evenly.
"First one guest will come to you. And then I'll take it off," she smirked and left the studio.
I remained standing.
Her laughter was too confident.
Less than a minute passed before the door opened again.
And he appeared on the threshold.
My stepfather…
Inside me, one of the pillars of defense cracked.
But I remembered him. And I remembered what he was capable of.
And now — yes — I was stronger. I was no longer afraid that he would hit me or hurt me. I was above that.
"Hello, my dear Mirey," the most disgusting voice in the world reached me.
A man of about fifty. Beard. Crude. His jacket did not meet over his belly. Dirty jeans. Almost falling-apart winter boots.
"Didn't you miss daddy?" he dragged out the words, savoring them.
That was all him. A worthless creature who needed someone else's defenselessness. Girls. Children. Those who could not answer back.
"Did you decide to take part in the performance too?" I smirked.
"You've become cheeky. I don't remember raising you like that," in his hands was either a stick or a whip. Too neat to be a random find.
He was smiling. A damn bastard.
And up to one moment, inside me there was emptiness.
He came closer. I tried to step back, but there were almost no options.
"You know, I'm not your real father," he smirked.
"Did she pay you?" I asked.
"Doesn't matter. It's fun to see family, isn't it?" he continued. "I was told you've become a beautiful girl. And that you are terribly disgusted by men."
I froze.
My heart struck sharply, painfully.
I felt his gaze. Slow. Evaluating.
"Let daddy take a look at your little body," his greasy hands reached for the buttons of my coat.
The world collapsed.
The sound became muffled. His voice — viscous.
A nightmare.
The most deeply hidden fear came out.
I dropped to my knees. Not because I wanted to — my body refused to obey.
"So it's true…" he drawled. "Then let me caress you, daughter."
He was a sick sadist, and sexual assault had never interested him.
Only blows and blood. But now…
He had been tipped off.
Amy.
The sound became muffled. His voice — viscous.
A nightmare.
The most deeply hidden fear came out.
I dropped to my knees. Not because I wanted to — my body refused to obey.
"So it's true…" he drawled. "Then let me caress you, daughter."
My heartbeats pounded in my head. Everything that was happening became blurred.
Only his hands. Disgusting. Heavy. Holding me.
I saw him pulling down his pants.
I did not want to breathe. I did not want to be alive. Anything — just not this.
A pop.
Something liquid splashed onto my face.
His body collapsed onto me, then slid down. Onto the floor.
I moved with difficulty. Looked at him. At the blood spreading beneath his body.
I crawled back as far as the handcuffs allowed.
I wiped my face and only then realized — it was his blood.
I began furiously scrubbing it off with my hands, touching my skin, scratching myself with my nails.
I finally heard footsteps.
I turned and saw Theron walking toward me, holstering his gun. Guards stood by the door.
I looked at my stepfather again. Took in the body.
In my mind, a hole in the back of his head was clearly visible.
"He's dead," I whispered to myself. "He's dead."
I kept wiping my face with my hands, not stopping, scratching my skin. Not controlling myself.
Theron came closer and caught my wrists.
"It's over. Calm down," he said quietly. "He's gone."
I looked at him, not immediately understanding the meaning of the words. My thoughts were tangled. The shock was slowly receding.
I nodded.
He released my hands.
I immediately clung to him myself. He pressed me against him.
"I'm sorry," his voice was different. Unfamiliar.
He pulled away, took my hand, inserted the key, and unfastened the handcuff.
The second wave hit sharply.
The key…
He took my phone out of his pocket and placed it in my palm.
I did not take my eyes off him.
I could not believe it.
He knew.
He knew everything.
I did not take my eyes off him.
He helped me stand, and we went toward the exit. Theron was giving orders to the guards — I did not hear them. A hum rang in my ears. The second wave would not let go.
I could not believe it.
And I did not want to.
A car was waiting downstairs. He seated me and told the driver to take me home.
"There will be security there," he said quietly and ran his palm along my cheek. "I'll come as soon as I'm finished here."
He took out a handkerchief and placed it in my hand.
The door closed. The car moved.
Theron knew what Amy was doing.
Of course he knew.
He always knows everything. And controls everything.
And he allowed it.
Allowed her to cross the line. Mine.
He knew and still allowed it.
We stopped in traffic.
The shock was receding, and one thought took its place. Clear. Without noise.
"Run, Mirey. Ruuuun."
I unlocked the door and jumped out onto the road. Bolted forward, between cars, hearing the driver shout my name.
"Run, Mirey."
I did not slow down.
I went as far away as possible.
From this car.
From this place.
From Theron.