Liora's POV:
I wished there was a way for me to run because I knew they wouldn't be able to catch me if I did. But as I scanned the place, the realization sank in. There was no window, no door—nothing but the elevator connecting this space to the outside world.
I bit my lower lip, trying to stay strong and hold onto whatever courage I had left. But with every passing second, it was slipping away like sand between my fingers. A thin line of sweat dripped from my temple, landing soundlessly on the cold floor. My senses were on high alert, every nerve in my body screaming as the men began closing in.
My heartbeat pounded violently in my ears, deafening. I tightened my grip on the iron rod with sweaty palms.
I was terrified.
The sudden chime of the elevator made everyone, including myself, turn toward the source of the sound.
The doors slid open, and there she was—Rachel, stepping out of the elevator in her favourite yellow dress and high heels. She smiled at me as if she had just walked into a casual lunch rather than in the middle of a hostage situation.
I was relieved seeing Rachel, but instantly, a new wave of panic followed.
What the hell was she doing here?
"What are you doing here?!" I screamed, my voice hoarse from the anxiety tightening in my throat. How could she be so reckless? Did she follow me? Did she have any idea what she had just walked into?
Rachel, completely unfazed, flicked a lock of her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "Hey, I followed you from the university. I waited at the reception for you to show up, but I figured I would come to check on you when you did not come up for a longer time."
Her voice was too calm. As if she wasn't standing in the middle of a suffocating, dangerous room filled with men whose intentions were anything but good.
She had no idea what she had just stepped into. And it's all because of me.
"Rachel, stop and run!" I shouted, panic tightening my chest.
"Are we playing chase?" Rachel asked enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she glanced at the menacing figures. They didn't look friendly—not in the slightest.
One of them lunged at her, his fist clenched, ready to strike, but Rachel sidestepped, lifting her leg in a sharp sidekick that sent him crashing to the ground.
"I love this kind of game, Liora. Let's see who gets more points," she said with a smirk, completely unbothered. I wished I could be as confident as her, but she was Rachel, and I was me.
The men attacked simultaneously, forcing us to fight back. I gripped the iron rod tightly, blocking and striking whenever they got too close. My movements were frantic, my strength waning with every blow while Rachel relied on her agility, using her legs to knock them down one by one. Damn, that woman is strong!
Just as exhaustion threatened to slow my movements, the elevator doors slid open, and the chaos came to an abrupt halt.
Daran stepped inside the basement, his presence sucking the air from the room. My chest heaved from the fight, my arms sore from the tension, but the moment I saw him, relief flooded through me.
Rachel had called for backup!
A smile stretched across my face, but it vanished just as quickly. Daran wasn't smiling. He wasn't even looking at the attackers. His expression was grim, his eyes scanning only me.
He stood before me while others were catching their breaths, "Daran… you… I…" I stammered, my chest heaving from the exertion.
Without a word, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed the sweat from my forehead. His touch was careful, almost tender, but his voice was firm. "Get out of here," he commanded.
"Huh? "What? Why? What about—" I started, but he cut me off. I wanted to help them. I know what Daran was telling me. But how could I leave them alone? I want to help them, especially when this situation arised because of me.
"Leave. I have called the police."
It was his way of telling me to leave before my past caught up to me before these men triggered the PTSD I had fought so hard to suppress. And I couldn't get involved with the police—not before I had dealt with Sven.
I nodded, understanding his unspoken warning. The fight resumed behind me as I forced my way out, swinging the iron rod to clear my path. My legs ached, and my body screamed, but I didn't stop until I reached the elevator. I tossed the rod inside as the doors closed and sprinted out of the hotel, ignoring the odd looks from onlookers as I rushed into the street, drenched in sweat, my clothes clinging to my body.
I didn't care.
I stepped into a taxi and headed straight to my campus residence.
After a quick shower, I changed into fresh clothes, fixed my makeup, and walked straight to the university. My body was exhausted, but my mind burned with anger.
I stood outside Kai's classroom, waiting for him. When the final bell rang and students poured out, my eyes searched for him, and there he was, stepping out of his class with his friends. My eyes locked onto Kai, and the moment he saw me, his smile faltered.
I didn't greet him. Didn't smile. I didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Which class is Rihana in?" I demanded in my sharp voice, which I did not know I had.
Kai frowned, confused. "Do you need something from her?"
"Tell me where her class is. I need to see her now."
He studied my face, the impatience in my eyes, the tension in my jaw. Without another word, he nodded. Kai hesitated but eventually led the way. I trailed behind him, my anger building with every step. People like Rihana—people like Sven—they were all the same. Manipulative, deceitful, and cruel.
When we reached Rihana's classroom, she was standing in the corridor, chatting with a group of friends. Kai gestured toward her, but I was already striding forward. Before he could react, the sharp sound of a slap echoed through the hallway.
Rihana's head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her cheek in shock.
Before she could react, I struck again, and my palm landed on the other side of her face.
"I pity girls like you, who find it difficult to express their true selves," I spat, my voice laced with fury. "I hate girls like you who pretend to be graceful but are rotten to the core."
I raised a finger, pressing it against her forehead. "Next time, be upfront instead of stabbing people in the back."
Rihana stood frozen, her wide eyes staring at me in disbelief. I could see it—the confusion, the disbelief, the horror of realizing that I was standing in front of her, alive, unscathed.
But I wasn't. Not really.
She hadn't left a scratch on my skin, but she had carved a wound deep into my heart. A wound that reminded me that no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise, people like her—like Sven—would never change.
Rich people like them didn't see me as human. They never had, and they never would.
I turned to leave with my burning eyes, and a single tear slipped down my cheek.
My movements slowed down when I saw Donovan standing with Logan just a few feet away, his gaze fixed on me.
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing down the lump in my throat. Without another word, I walked past him. My fists clenched at my sides, and I swallowed the pain threatening to consume me.
I heard Nova on the call, but I chose to ignore it. I was tired and focused on getting Sven to confess his crimes and face the consequences of his actions. I didn't want to create trouble for myself or my friends.
All I desired was to live peacefully, Nova. I hope that after today, we will never cross paths again. You can stay happy with Rihana if that kind of woman is your type.