The stark white hospital room came into focus slowly, and the first thing Anna felt was the dull ache in her limbs. Her feet throbbed painfully, but the sharp, agonizing sensation from earlier was gone. As her senses returned, she realized her feet and hands were wrapped in clean bandages, and her body lay cocooned in warm blankets.
She blinked against the harsh fluorescent light, the events from the night before coming back in fragmented flashes: the rain, the chase, the ruthless men, and him.
Her heart clenched as her eyes drifted to the other side of the room, where a tall figure sat in a chair, his posture relaxed but his icy blue gaze fixed on her. Alexander Voss.
Anna froze. She had seen him before—on the news, in business magazines, always with that same piercing gaze and cold expression. The rumors surrounding him were infamous. Ruthless. Cruel. Unpredictable. And last night, she had seen firsthand what he was capable of. The memory of him beating those thugs without mercy made her shudder, but it was the moments after, when his demeanor had shifted, that unsettled her the most.
Alexander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never wavering. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Anna's throat tightened, her hands clutching the blanket as if it could shield her from his presence.
"You're awake," he said finally, his voice low and clipped.
Anna nodded, her lips trembling. She couldn't find her voice, couldn't summon the courage to speak.
He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before sitting back in his chair. "Do you know where you are?"
She shook her head.
"You're in a hospital," he said. "You passed out last night."
Her heart raced. She wanted to thank him, to say something, but the words caught in her throat. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his piercing stare.
"Look at me," he said, his tone firm but not harsh.
Anna hesitated, her fingers gripping the blanket tighter. Slowly, she lifted her head, her wide eyes meeting his. The intensity of his gaze made her break out into a cold sweat.
"What's your name?"
"Anna," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Anna," he repeated, as if testing the name. "What happened to you?"
Her lips parted, but she hesitated. Could she tell him? Would he even care? She didn't have a choice. If she wanted any chance of escaping her nightmare, she had to trust him—even if he terrified her.
"My uncle and aunt..." she began, her voice trembling. "They sold me."
Alexander's expression didn't change, but the sharp edge in his gaze grew colder. "Sold you?"
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "They owed money... gambling debts. They sold me to pay them off."
His jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. "And the men chasing you?"
"They were the ones who bought me," she said, her voice breaking. "I ran away."
The room fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Alexander leaned forward once more, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied her. His gaze was so intense that Anna felt as though he could see straight into her soul.
"How old are you?" he asked, his tone quieter now.
"Twenty," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
He exhaled sharply, his icy eyes narrowing. "Twenty," he repeated, more to himself than to her.
Anna shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. The fear she felt wasn't just because of his reputation—it was the way he looked at her, as if dissecting every piece of her, as if deciding what to do with her.
"Do you have any other family?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No. My parents... they died when I was little. My uncle and aunt took me in."
"And they sold you," he said, his voice cold and clipped.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded. "They hated me," she whispered. "They always said I was a burden."
Alexander's gaze didn't soften, but his jaw clenched tightly. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his dark hair.
Anna's heart pounded as the silence stretched between them again. She didn't know what he was thinking, and that terrified her. Was he angry? Disgusted? Indifferent? She couldn't tell.
"You're safe now," he said finally, his tone lacking any warmth.
Anna blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. Safe? With him?
He stood abruptly, his towering figure casting a shadow over her. "Rest," he said. "You'll need your strength."
She watched as he turned and walked to the door, his movements smooth and deliberate. But just as he reached for the handle, he paused and looked back at her.
"Anna," he said, his voice softer this time.
She swallowed hard. "Y-yes?"
"You don't have to be afraid anymore," he said, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. "Not of them. Not of anyone."
And with that, he left the room, leaving Anna alone with her thoughts.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she replayed his words over and over again. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him. But how could she? He was Alexander Voss—a man with a reputation for cruelty and chaos. A man who had just saved her life but whose cold, calculating gaze still haunted her.
As the rain continued to pour outside, Anna lay back against the pillows, her mind a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and a faint glimmer of hope. For the first time in years, she felt a tiny spark of safety—fragile and fleeting, but there nonetheless.
And for reasons she couldn't explain, that spark was tied to the man who terrified her the most.