~Linda~ 
The Mafian boys dragged me into a dimly lit room, where the acrid scent of cigarettes hung heavy in the air. Titus stood there, leaning against the wall, a lit cigarette between his fingers. His eyes met mine, cold and calculating.

"Boss, we brought the girl," one of them said, shoving me forward.

Titus barely acknowledged them, his gaze never leaving me. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled, and then smiled—a twisted, hollow expression.

"Leave us," he ordered. Without hesitation, they left, the door creaking shut behind them.

He walked toward me, removing the gag from my mouth, his stare sharp enough to cut through the tension. I looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"Don’t bother trying to seduce me," he said, chuckling. "That thing you’re wearing won’t work on me."

My heart, which had been pounding with terror, eased ever so slightly. He wasn’t going to touch me. But if not that, then what did he want?

"You disgraced me on the pitch the other day," he began, his voice low and venomous. "But that’s not why you’re here."

My stomach churned.

"Your boyfriend, Sam… he’s hurt me, hurt my family, and now he’s disappeared. So, guess who gets to pay for his sins?"

He grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me toward a small, windowless room. I thrashed against his grip, trying to break free, but it was useless. Titus pulled out a handkerchief soaked in chloroform, and before I could scream, he pressed it over my nose. The sharp, chemical scent overwhelmed me, and everything went black.

---

When I woke up, my head throbbed, and the faint smell of chloroform still clung to me. My body ached, my wrists were bound tightly to the arms of a chair, and something cold and heavy was strapped to my chest. I blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening, until I saw it—a bomb. The timer ticked down, the relentless beeping a countdown to my death.

Three days.

Titus stood in the corner, grinning as he snapped pictures of me. "If your boyfriend doesn’t show up in three days, then… *boom*."

He laughed, his voice echoing in the small room. "I love this game," he said, tossing the camera aside.

I sat there, frozen, my mind spiraling as the reality sank in. *I’m going to die*. The panic surged in my chest, threatening to suffocate me. I tried to scream for help, but the room swallowed my voice.

"Please… no… someone, help!" My voice cracked, but no one came.

I was alone, tied to this chair with death strapped to my chest, my life ticking away with each second.

My thoughts turned to Julius. Was he alive? Was he safe? The guilt of not knowing gnawed at me. I wasn’t even scared of death anymore; I had already felt like I was marked for it, ever since I was born unwanted. The sobs came hard and fast, tears streaming down my face. This was how it would end. Alone, afraid, and forgotten.

---

~Julius~ 
Meanwhile, across town, Julius woke up with a sharp gasp, his body jolting upright. "Linda!" he shouted, his voice raw with fear. Nurses rushed to his side, their faces filled with concern.

"Sir, you need to rest," one of them said softly.

But he barely heard them. Linda—where was she? What had happened to her?

Ignoring their protests, Julius ripped the IV from his arm and stumbled out of bed. "I’m not supposed to be here," he muttered as he pushed past them, his feet hitting the cold hospital floor. He had to find her. He couldn’t fail her. Not after everything that had happened.

"Where are you going?!" the nurses shouted after him, but he was already out the door, running into the night.

---

The darkness was thick and oppressive, and Julius had no idea where to start looking. Desperation gnawed at him. He went straight to the police station, reporting everything, but as he left, a hollow feeling settled in his chest. It wasn’t enough. What if they didn’t find her in time? What if he had let her down—just like he’d failed Sam?

He wandered through the streets aimlessly, the guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. He couldn’t face Sam. How could he explain what had happened? The one thing Sam had asked of him—*keep Linda safe*—and he had failed.

By the time he made it home, exhaustion pulled at his body. His mind was racing, but there was nothing more he could do tonight. The police were on it now. He had to believe they’d find her. He sank into his bed, though sleep didn’t come easily. His head still ached. He hadn't fully recovered, maybe he still needed to visit the hospital again.

*Poor Linda*, he thought as his eyelids grew heavy. *Please stay safe*. His last thought, before sleep took him, was of Sam. He knew his friend would come back—and when he did, things would get worse.

---

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