Ruth Lee's POV
The tension was palpable, and it could have been cut with a knife. Frank Xia had my wrist in an iron grip, like a vice that I couldn't free myself from. His gaze bored into mine, sharp and calculating, as if to solve a puzzle visible only to him.
"You're hurting me," I whispered, my voice trembling despite the best effort to keep my tone even.
Frank glanced down, his expression flickering with something unreadable before he loosened his grip. But he didn't let go. Of course, he wouldn't. Frank Xia was not a man who left loose ends.
"We're leaving. Now," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I stumbled a little as he dragged me towards the front door, his strides too long to keep up with. Our footsteps, in quick succession, sounded loudly in the inordinately quiet house. I could only stutter, "Wait, my bag! It's upstairs."
