Xavier
The pain in my knuckles was a distant, insignificant throb. My mind was already ten steps ahead, a cold, calculating machine. I pulled my phone from my robe pocket, the screen lighting up my face with a cold, blue glow. My fingers flew across the screen, pulling up the security app. I bypassed the main feeds, my thumb jabbing at the timeline, rewinding the footage from just before 11 p.m.
I found it. Camera 7, the east wing corridor. There they were. Marco, the fucking traitor, and Naomi, my fucking wife, a shadow trailing behind him. They moved quickly, purposefully. I watched, my jaw clenched so tight it ached, as they made their way not to an exit, but deeper into the house. They were heading for the panic room.
A fresh wave of fury, hot and violent, surged through me. How did he know? How did this lowlife piece of shit know about the panic room being a passage leading outside? I hired him. The betrayal was a personal insult, a stain on my competence. I wanted to smash the phone against the wall, to find the bastard and peel his skin off layer by layer.
But then, another part of my brain, the colder, more ruthless part that had built this empire from nothing, took over. It was a whisper at first, then a clear, commanding thought. Don't attack. Counteract.
My anger didn't disappear, but it transformed. It cooled, hardening into something far more dangerous. A predatory calm settled over me. I watched the footage again, a slow, cruel smile twisting my lips. The guard may know about the panic room. He might even think he's a fucking genius for using it. But he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know about the tunnels.
He thinks he's leading her to safety, to a secret escape. He thinks he's outsmarted me. The fool. He's not leading her to freedom; he's leading her into a cage. My cage.
I closed the app, my mind already racing, formulating the new plan. They would get to the end of that passage, their hearts pounding with the thrill of victory. They would see that door, that window, and they would think they had won. And in that exact moment of their triumph, I would be there to snatch it all away.
I didn't bother calling Enzo or the other guards. This was personal. This was a message that only I could deliver.
I turned and strode back towards my bedroom, my movements no longer filled with rage, but with a chilling, deliberate purpose. I didn't need an army. I just needed to get to the other end of the tunnel. I knew a shortcut. I always have a backup plan.
They wanted to play a game? Fine. The game was on. And I always, always, win.
**
"Hold this," Marco said, his voice a low command. He pressed the cold, heavy metal of the flashlight into Naomi's trembling hands. "Keep it steady on the lock. Don't let the beam wander."
Naomi nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She gripped the flashlight, her knuckles white, and aimed the cone of white light at the lock on the steel door.
The beam shook, casting dancing shadows that made Marco's meticulous work with his small, specialized tools look like the frantic movements of a surgeon in a horror movie.
Every minute that ticked by felt like an hour. The only sounds were the faint, metallic scraping of Marco's picks inside the lock and their own ragged breathing, which seemed deafeningly loud in the concrete tunnel. Naomi's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat counting down the seconds until they were discovered.
She kept expecting to hear shouts from the mansion, the thunder of running feet. The beam of light wavered again, and Marco shot her a sharp look over his shoulder.
She bit her lip and forced her hands to be still, pouring all her concentration into keeping that circle of light fixed on the lock.
Then, a sharp, metallic crack echoed through the tunnel, shattering the silence. Naomi flinched, the flashlight beam jerking wildly. The lock mechanism had given way. With a final, decisive twist, Marco pulled the tools free. The broken cylinder of the lock fell to the concrete floor with a clatter that was ridiculously loud.
"It's open," he breathed, his own voice strained with adrenaline.
He placed his hands flat against the rough steel of the door and pushed. For a moment, it resisted. Then, with a long, protesting groan that sounded like a dying giant, the door began to move. It had never been opened in a while, and every hinge, fought against the intrusion. The groan was a tortured sound, a cry from a long-forgotten part of the house.
As the door swung inward, a rush of cool, damp air washed over them, carrying the scent of wet earth, pine needles, and decay. The flashlight beam cut through the opening, revealing what lay outside.
It wasn't a welcoming path or a sunlit meadow. It was a forest, dark and forbidding. A wall of impenetrable blackness stood just feet away, the trunks of ancient trees like silent, watching sentinels. Tendrils of thick, ghostly fog snaked through the undergrowth, clinging to the ground and swirling around their ankles. The air was heavy and cold.
But to Naomi, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. It was chaos, it was wilderness, it was unknown and terrifying. And it was everything. It didn't matter what freedom looked like. It didn't matter that it was there in darkness and fog. All that mattered was that it was outside. A choked sob escaped her lips, a sound of relief. She was one step away from the cage. One step away from him.
Naomi
The door. Oh my god, the door. It was just a simple, steel door, but to me, it was the pearly freaking gates. My eyes were glued to it, my heart doing a frantic drum solo against my ribs. Beside it, the window showed a world I thought I'd never see again, a dark, stretched out forest under a huge, silvery moon. We were outside. We were actually outside the main walls of the mansion. I was so close I could taste it, the cool, clean air of freedom.
Marco was already at work, a small tool in his hand, a series of soft clicks and beeps coming from the lock. My hands were clenched, so tight my nails dug into the flashlight. I was practically vibrating out of my skin. Every second felt like an hour. What would I do first? I'd take the biggest, deepest breath of my entire life. I'd run until my lungs burned. I'd look up at the stars and not see them through a stupid window.
With a final, satisfying clunk, the lock disengaged. Marco pushed the door open.
A rush of cool, night air hit my face, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever smelled. I took a stumbling step forward, ready to launch myself into that forest, into my new life. Freedom. It was right there.
But then Marco froze. His entire body went rigid, his hand flying to the gun holstered under his jacket. "Get back," he hissed, his voice sharp with a new kind of fear.
My soaring hope plummeted, crashing back down to earth. What? Why? I followed his gaze, past the open doorway, into the deep shadows of the trees nearby.
At first, it was nothing. Just the darkness of the forest playing tricks on my eyes. But then a shadow detached itself from the others. It moved with an impossible smoothness, a shape that was too tall, too broad to be a person. It wasn't just standing there; it was spread out from the darkness, materializing out of thin air like a nightmare made real. The air grew thick and cold, heavy with a presence that was pure, undiluted menace.
My breath caught in my throat, a tiny, terrified gasp. My eyes widened as the figure stepped forward, blocking the only way out. It was a silhouette of absolute power, a monster from my deepest, darkest fears, and it was standing right in front of me.
"No..." I whispered, the sound barely audible. "No, no. No way it can be."
**
From the deep shadows of a massive oak tree, Xavier watched the door swing open. He had been waiting, a patient predator in his own domain.
A slow, predatory smirk spread across his face as he saw Naomi's silhouette, a flicker of hope in the darkness. He pushed off the tree, his movements silent and deliberate, and walked forward into the moonlit clearing.
His smirk only widened as he got closer and saw the look on Naomi's face. It was a perfect portrait of shattered hope, her eyes wide with disbelief and terror. It was a more beautiful sight than any artwork in his mansion.
"Why do you look so shocked to see me?" he asked, his voice a low, velvet murmur that carried easily in the still night air.
The sound of his voice snapped Marco into action. His hand moved with the speed of trained instinct, reaching for the handgun holstered under his jacket. But Xavier was faster. In a blur of motion, his hand dipped into the pocket of his pajama pants and emerged with a compact, silver pistol. The deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the silence of the forest.
A shower of sparks erupted from the metal of Marco's gun as it was torn from his grasp, clattering uselessly onto the ground. Marco recoiled, clutching his now-stinging hand as he stared at Xavier in disbelief.
Xavier's gun, now steady and unwavering, was trained directly on Marco's chest. "You. Name," he commanded, his tone devoid of all amusement.
"I don't answer to you," Marco said coldly, his voice laced with a steely defiance that seemed to amuse Xavier even more.
Xavier took a step closer, the muzzle of his gun never wavering. "Answer me," he said, his voice dropping, losing its mocking edge and becoming something far colder, far more lethal, "or I'll make sure you never answer anything ever again."
The threat hung in the air, absolute and undeniable. Marco's jaw was clenched so tight it was a wonder his teeth didn't crack. He shot a quick, apologetic glance at Naomi before his eyes returned to Xavier, filled with a burning hatred. "Marco," he finally bit out, the name flat and sharp on his tongue.
A low, humourless chuckle rumbled in Xavier's chest, the sound devoid of any real joy or happiness. His gaze, dark and piercing, shifted from Marco to Naomi, but the silver pistol remained unwaveringly trained on the guard's heart. The message was clear: her defiance would cost him.
"I must say," Xavier began, his voice a deceptively soft murmur that cut through the night air, "you are either very brave or very, very stupid, wife." The word 'wife' was a brand, a mark of ownership he threw at her like a stone. "Are you not tired of ruining people's lives? First the two maids, and now this poor idiot." He gestured with his free hand towards Marco, his smirk twisting into something truly cruel.
Naomi felt a fresh wave of ice wash over her. He was twisting everything, making her the villain. She wanted to scream, to deny it, but her throat was locked tight, a prison of fear.
Xavier's attention snapped back to Marco, his eyes narrowing. "And you," he said, his voice losing its soft quality, hardening into steel. "What makes you think you can take my wife from me?"
Marco, despite the gun pointed at his chest and the stinging pain in his hand, straightened his shoulders. A raw, untamed fury burned in his eyes, and he bared his teeth in a snarl. "I swore an oath on my life to protect Miss Naomi from you," he spat, the words a declaration of war.