~She couldn't let go of the case; now he can't let go of her~
Hadassah Moor is a young black investigator, dedicated to taking down corrupt businessmen and exposing nefarious enterprises. But the star aims too high when she goes after Orian Moon, th...
I jerk awake, patting myself down instantly, ears still ringing from the sound of the gunshot.
Did I really faint? Who wouldn't in that scenario?
My head feels like an elephant sat on it. Calm starts to seep in, my recollection aligning with reality. All my clothes still on. I'm not shot. I'm unharmed. For now. And I realise I'm not in the dungeon of hell anymore.
Oh, no. I'm embraced by an extravagant bed that's so plush like it's made from fluffs of cotton. Perhaps goose feather. I look around at the spacious and sumptuous bedroom with tall walls, bearing the luxurious interior design of an olden day, French chateau. A beige-coloured room with many black iron windows that herald in a wealth of light, along with open glass doors leading out to the tiled balcony.
Cautiously, I rise from the bed. My bare feet meet with the furry, cream carpet. I walk to the balcony, passing the limestone fireplace. Emerging outside, wincing at the spears of sunlight. Once the intensity dissipates, horror and awe war within me. I stop at the railing.
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Well...wherever I am it's far from home.
I must be on the second or third landing of a villa or a manor house because from the balcony, it exhibits a prime view of the estate from the front. Verdant green vineyards consume a vast swath of the land, rows upon rows with a backdrop of silver-tipped mountains rising in the distance. A landscape painting come to life.
The most intriguing aspect is the military squad of black-clad men milling around the estate. Even from here, I can see the patrolling guards carrying heavy-duty weaponry.
"You're awake."
Before I can even think of turning. A powerful presence sweeps over me. A diamond-hard chest presses against my back, veiny hands lock on the railing, trapping me between his arms.
"You caused a lot of trouble, Sakura." His voice edged with menace. The sheer baritone of his voice reverberating through my bones. "And you're going to answer for it."
With just enough leeway, I whip around. My rear against the railing, his face too close to mine. His whiskey-scented breath on my cheek. Overwhelmed by his all-consuming cologne that I would happily drown myself in—focus.
"I answer to no one." I'm even stunned at the steady and undaunted delivery.
Orian's eyes are mere pools of ink, dark and depthless.
"You will answer to me," he says in a way that commands submission.
I lend myself a moment to steel my resolve. "You kidnapped me." I draw my head away to create some kind of a flaccid gap between us. "I think I'm the one entitled to answers."
"It was not my choice," he says hollowly.
A fresh swell of anger rips a hole open in my chest, flooding it will a maelstrom of emotions. "Yes, because if it were up to you, I would be breathing through my forehead."
