Poison Rose

CH 2-Trapped

Mark silently looked at Amara without a word escaping from his lips. He conveyed a multitude of emotions, and Amara understood the urgency in his gaze.

She swiftly turned off the gas stove and took Liora with her. They both hurriedly retreat to the farthest room, a small pantry area tucked away from the main living space. The jars of homemade pickles, varieties of fruit jams, canned foods, and noodles stood in neat rows on wooden shelves.

Before disappearing into the room, Liora slowed down her pace. She took a moment to turn back and look at her father. He was standing there staring back at her, his eyes filled with fatherly affection. Little Liora missed the underlying apology his eyes spoke.

Just before she disappeared from his view, he gave her a loving flying kiss, a gesture of his deep affection and reassurance that everything would be alright. He would do anything to make things normal again, and she believed it without a second thought.

She didn't know who or what was waiting behind that door, but her parents' reactions made it clear that whoever it was, they were not a welcoming figure.

Amara's hands were trembling as she ushered Liora into the confined store room. Her eyes kept darting nervously towards the door.

Despite the distance from the hallway, Amara remained on edge, her ears attuned to every sound from the hallway.

She pulled Liora close, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a protective embrace. Liora could feel everything that her mother was feeling in her grip. It only reminded her of the similar sense of dread she experienced in school every day.

She nestled closer to her mother in fear, closing her eyes and silently making a wish for their safety and well-being.

Seeing her daughter's reaction, Amara managed a strained smile for Liora's sake, but her body reaction betrayed her false attempt, showing her anxiety.

The sound of their breaths was loud in the small space of the storage room. Each passing moment seemed to stretch endlessly as they waited patiently. They both were praying and hoping for this awful moment to pass away sooner without any trouble.

Outside, Mark slowly approached the door. His footsteps echoed through the hallway. Despite the coolness of the air, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His trembling hand hovered over the doorknob. His fingers were brushing against the cold metal, and he hesitated as he struggled to calm the rapid thumping of his heart.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to summon the courage needed to confront whatever lay on the other side of the door.

Finally, with a deep exhale, Mark turned the knob, the door creaking softly in protest as it swung open, revealing the figure that stood before him.

A man clad in a sharp black suit, his hair as dark as the night sky and flowing down to his shoulders, neatly tucked behind his ears, stood at the door. The stylish French beard added an element to his sophistication. It contrasted sharply with the ruggedness of the long, jagged scar that marred his right cheek. That scar seemed to whisper tales of violence and cruelty he had witnessed in his life.

He held a bespoke stick in his hand, its intricate design hinting at his wealth and status.

The man's eyes bore into Mark, for he looked like a creature of nightmares. He grinned.

His sinister grin seemed to stretch across eternity. The man exuded a sinister aura that made Mark feel like nothing more than a tiny insect in front of him, easily crushable.

This was no ordinary visitor; he was the mastermind behind Happy Finance, the very institution from which Sven had taken a loan. He was a well-known figure whose pictures would be published in newspapers for all the wrong reasons.