The atmosphere in Adrian's penthouse was suffocating. Tension coiled in the air like a predator, sharp and unrelenting. The faint hum of computers, the hurried whispers of his team scrambling for answers—it all felt like background noise against the pounding in Adrian's skull.
He stood at the window, shoulders rigid, his sharp gaze locked on the horizon as dawn broke through the clouds. The first rays of light felt mocking, indifferent to the storm raging inside him.
Adrian's jaw tightened, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. His breaths were slow but uneven, each inhale seething with restrained fury. For the first time in his life, Adrian Reginald felt powerless. The realization was a cold knife twisting in his chest.
"I'll get you back, Joi," he murmured to himself, his voice low, raw, and unshakable. It wasn't a promise—it was a vow. "No matter what it takes."
Behind him, the soft click of heels broke the silence. Sophia stood at a distance, watching him with a mixture of frustration and growing panic. Her plan, the one she thought would bind Adrian to her, was crumbling before her eyes.
"Adrian…" Her voice was hesitant, almost pleading.
He didn't move. Didn't acknowledge her presence.
Sophia swallowed, her desperation mounting. "You're tearing yourself apart over her. Can't you see—"
"Leave," Adrian said coldly, his tone like ice slicing through the room.
Sophia's mouth opened to argue, but when Adrian finally turned to look at her, the storm in his eyes stole the words from her throat.
"Now," he said again, sharper this time.
Sophia stiffened, her pride warring with her anger, but she knew better than to push him further. She turned and left, her footsteps echoing into silence.
As the door closed behind her, Adrian exhaled, a ragged breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His phone buzzed on the table, and he grabbed it immediately, hope flickering for a split second before fading into cold frustration. Another dead end.
"Keep looking," he barked at his team, his voice a whip cracking across the room. "Shane has her. I don't care how long it takes. Find him. Find her."
The room erupted back into motion—phones ringing, plans being made—but Adrian remained at the window, his silhouette unyielding against the light of dawn.
In his mind, only one thought repeated like a mantra, echoing louder than anything else:
Hold on, Joi. I'll save you.
Shane stood on the creaking porch of the secluded cabin, the air around him thick with tension. The towering trees loomed in every direction, a suffocating reminder of how far they were from civilization. Frustration simmered beneath his skin, twisting his usually composed demeanor into something darker.
Adrian was close—too close. Shane clenched his jaw, replaying the events of the past few days. Somehow, Adrian had managed to trace the number he used to contact him, narrowing its location to a stretch near the forest's edge.
Damn it.
Shane couldn't afford another mistake. He'd cut ties with that phone, destroyed it even, but the knowledge that Adrian's net was closing in gnawed at him. He couldn't call Adrian anymore; the signal here was too weak, and every risk brought him closer to exposure. He needed to act fast.
And yet, the girl—Joi—was unraveling everything.
Inside the dim cabin, Joi sat curled against the far wall of her room, her knees pulled tight to her chest. The small space felt suffocating, the air stale, the wooden boards groaning like they shared her misery. Her breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts, her fingers clutching her arms as she rocked herself back and forth.
The panic attacks were back. It always started with a shadow—Shane's towering figure or the sound of the door slamming shut. Then came the racing heartbeat, the sweat on her palms, and the flashbacks—dark, cruel memories she could never escape.
---
It had all started with Marcus.
She'd met him during a difficult time in her life, when the weight of the world pressed against her shoulders, leaving her with little hope. Marcus had seemed like a savior. Tall, good-looking, and built like a wall of muscle, he carried himself with a confidence that drew everyone's attention. And he'd been kind. Or so Joi thought.
At first, he gave her money when she needed it, small amounts that felt like lifelines when she was desperate. He spoke to her softly, always complimenting her, making her feel seen—wanted. "You're so beautiful, Joi," he'd say, his hand grazing her cheek. "I don't want you to worry about anything. I'll take care of you."
Grateful, Joi tried to repay his kindness in any way she could—helping him clean his apartment, cooking meals, running errands. She thought she owed him. But then, Marcus started to change.
It began with requests—small at first, but insistent.
"Stay the night, Joi."
She refused, always offering an excuse, and each refusal chipped away at his patience. "Don't you trust me? I've done so much for you," he'd say, his voice soft but his eyes cold.
One day, the kindness vanished completely.
---
Joi could still remember the feel of his hand wrapping around her wrist like iron, dragging her back inside his apartment.
"You're not leaving tonight," Marcus growled, his voice echoing in her ears like a nightmare. "Not until you give me what I want."
Joi had struggled, screamed, but it only enraged him. The first hit came so quickly she barely registered it—a slap that sent her sprawling to the floor, her cheek stinging and her vision blurring.
"Stop fighting me!"
Every time she tried to stand, he shoved her back down. He locked the doors, pocketing the keys, his towering frame blocking any hope of escape. Days turned into a blur of bruises and terror. Marcus didn't stop at holding her captive—he brought other women into the apartment, parading them in front of her as if to prove something.
"This could be you, Joi. If you weren't so stubborn."
Every small mistake—like spilling water or speaking too loudly—earned her another blow. His fists were relentless, his words venomous. Joi became a shell of herself, her body covered in bruises that never had time to heal. She grew weak, her once-soft curves fading to skin and bones. Her reflection became a stranger, her hollowed eyes haunted by the pain she couldn't escape.
Then came the day she almost lost her eye. Marcus had thrown a glass at her in one of his drunken rages. It shattered against her face, the sharp edge cutting dangerously close. Joi had curled on the floor, clutching her bleeding skin as he towered over her, laughing like it was a game.
That was the breaking point.
---
Joi's trembling hands curled into fists as she remembered it—the adrenaline, the desperation. She had waited until Marcus was asleep, his snores shaking the walls. Quietly, she limped to the window of his one-story apartment, her broken leg aching with every step. The thought of staying another minute was worse than the pain.
With her heart pounding, she climbed onto the sill, closing her eyes as she whispered to herself, "Please let me make it."
She jumped.
The impact stole her breath, agony erupting in her leg as she hit the ground. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. With blood soaking her clothes and pain screaming through her body, she ran. She didn't know where she was going—only that she had to leave him behind.
It was Emily who saved her. Joi had collapsed near a small café, and Emily, with her warm eyes and no-nonsense demeanor, had taken one look at her and decided she wouldn't leave her side.
"Who did this to you?" Emily had demanded as Joi lay in a hospital bed, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.
Joi hadn't answered. She hadn't needed to. Emily took her in, gave her a safe place to stay, and handled everything with Marcus. Joi never asked how Emily managed to make him disappear, but from that day on, Marcus was nothing more than a shadow in her past.