Dusk Till Dawn

4

Freya

The knock on the door was accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps. Marco's men entered, wheeling in a cart piled high with clothes, shoes, and accessories. The sheer volume of it made me feel even more overwhelmed.

"Signora Freya, we've brought you a selection of attire," one of the men said, placing the cart in the center of the room. "You're expected to be presentable for the meeting with Durviaccino."

I stared at the wardrobe, the sight of it making my anxiety spike. I couldn't bear the thought of changing into any of it. I felt trapped, my breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. My vision blurred as I began to hyperventilate, the walls of the room closing in around me.

"No, no, I can't... I can't do this," I managed to gasp out, clutching at my chest and sinking to the floor. The pain in my ankle compounded my distress, making it hard to move and causing me to tremble uncontrollably.

The door swung open, and Marco stormed in. His eyes quickly assessed the situation—me on the floor, surrounded by the pile of clothes. For a moment, his cold facade faltered as he approached me.

"Freya," he said, his voice a rare mix of calm and authority. "What's going on?"

"I—I can't..." I tried to explain, but the words came out in stuttering bursts between gasps. My injured foot made it difficult to get up, and I felt utterly helpless.

Marco's gaze shifted to the clothes with a dismissive wave. "Forget these. We'll handle it later. I need you to calm down."

He crouched beside me, his presence oddly grounding. With a smooth motion, he grabbed the remote control from the bedside table and turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life, showing a calming nature documentary. The soothing sounds of nature and the gentle narration began to ease my frayed nerves. It was peculiar how the choice of program seemed to fit exactly what I needed.

"We're leaving for Durviaccino in three hours," Marco said, his voice steady despite the situation. "I need you to be ready. And be aware, there will be paparazzi on our way."

I stared at the TV, feeling a strange connection to the calming scenes. It was as if Marco had some understanding of what would soothe me. I glanced up at him as he stood by the door, his expression unreadable. How?

"Why did you..." I began to ask, but Marco cut me off.

"Just get yourself together," he said firmly. "I'll have the men leave you alone for now. We'll be in touch when it's time."

As he left, I was left alone with the soothing sounds of the TV. The documentary's serene visuals provided a temporary escape from my reality. My injured foot still ached, throbbing with each movement, but the TV's tranquility helped me focus on something other than my pain.

The cold night air hit me as I stepped out of the front door, Marco's hand lingering at the small of my back as he guided me towards the car. His touch was firm but impersonal, as if every motion was calculated and precise. It felt like everything with Marco had been carefully planned, every step predetermined.

The sleek black car stood waiting at the end of the driveway, its dark windows reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights. My pulse quickened, and I stole a glance at Marco's face. He was stoic, as always, but there was an edge of tension in his posture, his jaw clenched a little too tight. I could feel the weight of unspoken words between us, heavy and suffocating.

Without a word, he opened the passenger door for me, his eyes scanning the surroundings. I slipped into the seat, the leather cool beneath me as I settled in, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart. Everything felt surreal. The night, Marco's sudden appearance, the suffocating sense of inevitability that seemed to follow wherever he went.