In your shadows || Sierra six

CHAPTER 2

(Past)
I woke up on the cold, hard floor, my body aching from the unforgiving surface. My arms throbbed with a dull pain, still sore from yesterday's restraints that had bitten into my skin, leaving angry red marks as evidence of my captivity. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness, and turned my head toward the clock. The faint glow of the bold red digits read 2:30 a.m. The room was cloaked in shadow, with only the faint, eerie glow of the camera's red light in the corner breaking the darkness. It watched me, a silent observer to my misery.

I didn't hold onto the foolish hope that anyone would come to find me. There was no Prince Charming on a white horse riding to my rescue—such fantasies were reserved for fairy tales, not for someone like me. Nobody truly cared about me, and even if they did, they wouldn't know where to start. Every friendship I'd ever had had been shattered—either by someone else's stupidity or by betrayal, like when they decided to fuck my boyfriend behind my back. It always seemed like I was the one who paid the price for others' mistakes.

The girls I'd met at the club a few months ago? They wouldn't come looking for me either. I could see it in their eyes—the thinly veiled envy every time I walked into a room and effortlessly caught people's attention. They resented me for it, even if they never said it aloud. People like that don't go out of their way to save you.

If there was anyone who might notice my absence, it was probably Bob, my manager. Reliable, predictable Bob. I had a shift tomorrow, and when I didn't show up, he'd probably give me a call. Maybe he'd leave a voicemail, his voice tinged with mild annoyance, wondering where I was. But I wouldn't be there to answer. Not that it mattered, given the circumstances. I was trapped here, and for all I knew, this could be the end of my story.

A part of me had always known something like this would happen. Maybe not exactly this—being kidnapped wasn't a scenario I'd pictured—but karma had a way of catching up to you. When I was a teenager, I was a hellion, a troublemaker. I stole, lied, and hurt people, and I didn't care about the consequences. Back then, the world revolved around me, or so I thought. It wasn't until I grew up that I started to see the damage I'd done, the people I'd hurt in my selfishness. I wasn't proud of my past, but I'd worked to make amends, to find some semblance of peace with those I'd wronged. It wasn't enough, though—karma never forgets.

Would I want my enemy to be in my position right now? Absolutely. But not out of some petty sense of revenge. No, the people who made my life hell deserved this because of the misery they'd inflicted. You don't earn the title "enemy" by telling a few lies or playing some mind games. It takes something much darker, something much more sinister, to become my enemy. They tore my life apart piece by piece, leaving me with nothing and no one. That's why I'm not screaming or crying now. What's the point? There's no one left to hear me.

I've accepted it—this is my fate. Maybe it was always meant to be this way. This cold, desolate room, these harsh, unyielding circumstances, are where I'm supposed to be. This is who I'll become—a black widow, isolated, dangerous, and ultimately alone.

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I woke up on the cold floor. My arms were sore from yesterday's restraints. I looked at the clock. It read 2:30 a.m. The lights were off, so I could only see the camera in the corner of the room and the bold red digits from the alarmI didn't have hope that anyone would come to find me. I have no Prince Charming, and nobody truly cares for me. Every friendship I've had has been broken because of someone's stupidity or because they decided to fuck my boyfriend. Sure, the girls I met at the club a few months ago aren't eager to find me either. I could tell they envy me, simply because I always catch people's attention.The only person who might miss me is probably Bob, my manager. I do have a shift tomorrow, so I should be expecting a call. Not that I'll be able to go, considering the circumstaIt's my destiny to be someone's pawn, a piece in a game I never chose to play. Maybe there's a reason for me to be here, but I'd never know if I fought back. There's a strange resignation that settles over me—a numb acceptance that this is where I belong, that resistance would be futile.