Chapter 39 up
The office lights had long dimmed when Nyla finally shut down her computer.
The faint hum of the air conditioner faded as the screen went dark, leaving her alone with the quiet—and her thoughts. Her eyes burned from staring at numbers and documents for hours, but she welcomed the exhaustion. Work was the only thing that kept her mind quiet. The only thing that stopped Clark’s face, Selena’s gentle yet cutting voice, and the memories she tried so hard to bury from clawing their way back to the surface.
She slipped her phone into her bag, stood, and rolled her stiff shoulders.
“Another long day,” she murmured, forcing a tired smile no one could see.
Grabbing her coat, Nyla stepped out of Vincent’s company building. The security lights cast a pale glow across the empty lobby as the glass doors slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.
The night air hit her immediately.
Colder than she expected.
She hugged her coat closer, her breath puffing out in thin white clouds. The city usually buzzed even at this hour, but tonight felt different—muted, almost hollow. As if the world had decided to hold its breath.
Nyla glanced at her phone.
No new messages.
No missed calls.
Her chest tightened before she could stop it.
She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
“It’s fine,” she whispered to herself, trying to steady the sudden ache in her chest. “You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re done with all of that.”
Her heels echoed softly as she walked toward the main road. Each step sounded louder than it should have, amplified by the emptiness of the street. Streetlights flickered overhead, their yellow glow stretching shadows unnaturally long across the sidewalk.
That was when the feeling returned.
That slow, crawling prickle along her spine.
The kind that had nothing to do with cold.
Someone was watching her.
Nyla slowed her steps, pretending to adjust the strap of her bag. Her heart began to pound, heavy and insistent, as she glanced at the darkened shop windows beside her, using the glass like a mirror.
A shadow shifted behind her.
Her throat went dry.
“Don’t panic,” she murmured under her breath. “You’re just tired. That’s all.”
She picked up her pace.
The sound of footsteps followed.
Not hurried.
Not careless.
Deliberate.
Her fingers tightened around her phone as she unlocked the screen, thumb hovering over the call button. She thought of Vincent—still somewhere in the building, probably buried in paperwork. Calling him now would only drag him into trouble. Into her trouble.
You’re being paranoid, she told herself.
Still, she crossed the street.
The footsteps crossed too.
Her breath hitched sharply.
Nyla turned her head just enough to look back.
Two men stood near a parked black car, pretending to smoke. Their posture was casual, their movements slow—but their eyes lifted the instant she glanced back.
Locked onto her.
Cold fear flooded her veins.
She turned forward and walked faster.
“So stupid,” she whispered shakily. “Why didn’t you take the company car tonight?”
Her heels struck the pavement harder now, the sound frantic. The footsteps behind her multiplied—no longer just one set, but several, spreading out.
“Hey.”
The voice came from behind her.
Low.
Too close.
Nyla didn’t respond.
“Miss, wait.”
Closer now.
Her chest tightened painfully. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as panic surged. She broke into a run.
Everything exploded into chaos.
Strong hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her backward so hard her bag slipped from her shoulder and crashed onto the ground. Nyla screamed, but a rough hand clamped over her mouth, smothering the sound instantly.
“Quiet,” a man hissed into her ear. His breath was hot, sour. “Unless you want this to get worse.”
She kicked and thrashed wildly, her heels scraping uselessly against the pavement. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst through her ribs.
“Let me go!” she tried to scream, the words dissolving into a muffled sob beneath his palm.
Another man seized her arms, twisting them painfully behind her back. White-hot pain shot through her shoulders. Panic exploded inside her—raw, blinding, absolute.
“Please—please—” Her voice broke as tears streamed down her face. “I won’t scream. I swear—”
The men didn’t answer.
They dragged her toward the black car parked at the curb. Its door flew open, swallowing the streetlight whole, turning the inside into a yawning mouth of darkness.
Nyla bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth.
“Damn it!” the man cursed, jerking his hand away.
Pain exploded across her skull as something struck the side of her head.
Her scream never made it out.
The world tilted violently. Sounds blurred into a dull roar as bright white light burst behind her eyes. Her strength drained away in an instant, her limbs turning heavy, unresponsive.
Her body went limp as consciousness slipped through her fingers.
The last thing she felt was the cold metal floor of the car pressing against her cheek.
And the overwhelming terror—
That she might never wake up again.
The car door slammed shut.
The street returned to silence.
The black car sped away, its engine fading into the night as if nothing had happened—no screams, no struggle, no trace of the woman who had vanished into it.
Nyla’s phone lay face-down on the asphalt, its screen cracked but still glowing faintly. Her bag had spilled open beside it—lipstick rolling across the pavement, papers fluttering uselessly in the breeze.