Dancing with a stranger

Chapter|12✨

It had been a few weeks now, and Steele and I were supposed to meet his father soon. Every time I left the house, I had to text Steele where I was going. Their wedding plans were moving fast—October was only a few months away—and honestly, it felt way too soon.

I still hadn't seen Kian since that day. Grace and I texted here and there, but that was it.

My phone buzzed. My father's name flashed across the screen.

"Good morning, Father. What can I do for you?" I answered.

"Sweetheart, I need you to run an errand. At the abandoned mattress plant, on the other side of the line."

"All right. Am I picking up or dropping off?"

"You'll pick up the bag and leave immediately. No delays."

"Got it," I said, hanging up.

I climbed into the car, a tight knot of nerves forming in my stomach. Crossing this side of town always made me uneasy. It was run-down, isolated, and I hated lingering there.

I parked a short distance from the plant, cautious. Broken windows, peeling paint, and graffiti made it look like a forgotten relic of the past. I slipped through one of the shattered windows and scanned the room. The bag sat in the center, just as my father had said—but there was no phone in sight.

I reached for it, and suddenly—pain exploded in the back of my head. Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke, I was strapped to a chair, my arms bound tightly, hands immobilized. The room was dimly lit. Men lurked in the corners, and two women stood nearby, watching me like predators.

A woman in a red satin dress stepped forward. Shadows obscured her face, but something about her was chillingly familiar.

"Well, hello, my dear," she purred, dragging her manicured nails along my cheek.

I gasped. "What... what are you doing? I thought you were dead! We had your funeral!"

Her lips curved into a small, cruel smile. "Oh, sweet child. Let's start at the beginning. You didn't think I'd let your father control everything and keep all the money, did you? You were useless to me—but your brother? He was going to take over after your father. I faked my death, with his help. We've been planning this for a long time."

I shook my head, panic and disbelief mingling. "No. You can't just do this! My father—who you—who we thought you loved—he'll wonder where I am! Steele... he'll—"

"Steele?" she interrupted, her smile widening. "Such a polite boy. Perhaps I should pay him a visit too."

"No! Don't you dare!" I screamed. "You made everyone believe you were dead!"

Her smirk deepened. "No can do, sweetheart. I need you here. You're the bait to get to your father. Take her to her room."

One of the men released me from the chair and led me down a hallway to a room with no windows. It was well-furnished, almost unnervingly comfortable, with a four-poster bed, TV, and an attached bathroom with the door locked from the outside.

Alone, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. On the TV, my father was on the news, accusing the Phantoms gang of kidnapping me. Two days had passed since the report aired. I shut the TV off, needing silence.

A sudden jolt at the doorknob made me sit up. The door swung open. My mother entered, carrying a bag. Without a word, she tossed it onto the bed.

"These are clean clothes," she said coldly. "I can't let your father think I haven't been looking after you."

Then she left, locking the door behind her.

Inside the bag, I found my clothes—clothes from home, not this room. A peach-colored crop top and pajama pants. I changed quickly, the fabric brushing against my skin.

The hot shower offered a small comfort. Warm water ran over me as I closed my eyes, imagining I was somewhere else, anywhere but here.

But the tears came anyway—silent, hot, unstoppable—mixing with the steam as the mirrors fogged around me.