Daniel stormed into his room, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that rattled the walls. His chest heaved with fury, every muscle in his body tense as the failure of the day sank in. The betrayal, the fucking trick they'd pulled on him, replayed in his mind over and over like a broken record. His fists clenched and unclenched, a primal rage building inside him with each passing second.
The table in the center of the room stood innocently enough, but Daniel's eyes zeroed in on it like it was the source of his torment. Without thinking, he let out a guttural roar and flipped it over, sending papers, glass, and anything else that had the misfortune of being on it crashing to the floor. The noise was deafening, the sharp crack of wood splitting against the wall punctuating the chaos in his head.
"Fuck!" he bellowed, his voice raw and wild, echoing off the high ceilings. He paced back and forth, his mind racing, a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and helplessness. The veins in his neck bulged, and his breathing was ragged. With a violent tug, he grabbed fistfuls of his hair, pulling hard as if trying to tear the madness from his skull.
The room was a mess now, objects scattered everywhere, but Daniel didn't give a damn. All he could see was Lina—her face, her voice, everything about her. And she was out there, God knows where, because those bastards had played him. They'd fucked with the wrong man.
The anger surged through him again, like a tidal wave threatening to drown him, and he let it. He welcomed it. Rage was better than the guilt creeping in, better than the fear of what they could be doing to her right now. His hands found the edge of another piece of furniture—a chair this time—and with a swift motion, he hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall with a loud crash, splintering into pieces.
Outside the door, his assistant stood frozen, along with the rest of Daniel's team. They had gathered in the hallway, their eyes wide with fear. No one dared speak, no one even dared to breathe too loudly. They knew him well enough to understand that getting in his way when he was like this was a death sentence. Daniel's temper was infamous. They had seen him explode before, and it never ended well for anyone caught in the crossfire.
His assistant, the one who had been closest to him for years, gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. He exchanged nervous glances with the others but didn't dare knock or try to calm him down. That would be suicide. Daniel could destroy them all in a fit of rage, and they knew it. No one moved.
Back inside, Daniel continued his destructive tirade. He ran his hands through his hair again, tugging at the strands until his scalp stung. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. All he could think about was how he had failed to get Lina back. How they had tricked him and escaped. He had never felt this helpless, this out of control.
The fury was all-consuming now, turning his vision red. He pounded his fists against the wall, his knuckles bleeding from the force. It didn't matter. Nothing could calm the storm brewing inside him.
"Fucking bastards," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but laced with venom. He was losing it. Completely. He needed to do something—anything—but the thought of being outsmarted made his blood boil. How had he let this happen?
Just as he was about to destroy something else, his phone rang. The sound was sudden and intrusive, piercing through his chaotic thoughts like a knife. He froze for a moment, staring at the device as if it had personally offended him.
Without thinking, he grabbed the phone off the table, his first instinct to hurl it against the wall, to smash it into a million pieces. His arm drew back, ready to throw, but a thought stopped him.
The kidnapper.
What if it was them? What if they were calling him back? His rage was momentarily subdued by the flicker of curiosity, the possibility that this could be his chance to get something out of them. He lowered the phone, looking at the screen. Unknown number. Of course.
His lips curled into a sneer, his heart still pounding in his chest, but his mind beginning to clear just enough to think straight. He answered the call, the phone pressed to his ear.
There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then he heard a voice—a voice that was too casual, too careless. The kidnapper. Not the one from before. No, this one sounded different. Sloppier. Greedier. He wasn't the mastermind behind this. He was just a pawn, a fool.
As the kidnapper spoke, Daniel's rage slowly began to morph into something darker, something colder. He listened, barely hearing the words, because it didn't matter what the idiot was saying. The only thing that mattered was that he had found a weak link.
A wicked, menacing smile crept onto Daniel's face. This was it. This was how he would start tearing them apart, one by one. They had made a mistake, and he would make sure they paid for it.
"Okay," he said, his voice smooth, almost calm, as if he wasn't a man on the edge of a violent breakdown.
The call ended. Daniel stood there for a moment, the smile still playing on his lips. He lowered the phone, a twisted sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. He would get Lina back, and when he did, he would make them suffer.
They had no idea who they were fucking with.
Turning back to the chaos of the room, Daniel let out a slow breath. He still had a lot of anger to burn off, but now there was purpose behind it. He was going to hunt them down, one by one. And when he found the person responsible for taking Lina, for playing him like this, he would make sure they regretted it for the rest of their short, miserable life.
Daniel glanced at the broken furniture, the blood on his hands, and the phone in his grip. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
The bastard who called had no idea what was coming for him.