Stuck with YOU || BECKFREEN/FREENBECK STORY

Chapter 55

"Author's POV"

The knock that echoed through the VIP room was sharp—too sharp to belong to someone harmless. Freen's heart thudded painfully against her ribs as she positioned herself in front of Rebecca, shielding her completely from the door.

"Miss Sarocha," the man repeated, tone flat but carrying a strange tension beneath the surface. "Please open. We have important information regarding the incident involving your mother."

Rebecca stiffened behind Freen.
Freen inhaled deeply, forcing her voice to stay steady.

"What information?" she asked.

Another pause.

Then, "We prefer to discuss it in person. Open the door, ma'am."

That was the wrong answer.

Real security always identified themselves.
They always reassured.
They never pressured.

Freen's pulse raced.

She leaned closer to Becky and whispered, "Get my bag."

Rebecca moved quickly but quietly, fetching the black leather bag from the couch. Freen opened it and pulled out a small metal object—her keycard for restricted-access areas—and another object Becky didn't immediately recognize.

A taser.

Rebecca's eyes widened slightly. "You carry that?"

"I do when I start seeing ghosts and nearly get killed by trucks," Freen whispered back.

She wasn't wrong.

The knock came again—this time louder. "Ma'am. This is urgent."

Rebecca shook her head vigorously. "Don't open it. Freen, please."

Freen tightened her grip on the taser. "I'm not stupid. I won't."

But she needed to confirm something.

She walked slowly toward the door, her steps silent. She stayed to the side—not directly in front—then leaned closer, listening.

Two voices.
Both male.

Both trying to sound calm.

One whispered, "She won't open. We'll have to force it."
The other whispered back, "Wait. Not yet. She might still cooperate."

Freen's hand curled into a fist.

These were not hospital security.

She walked back to Becky, who was now standing near Saroj's bed, trembling slightly—but doing her best to stay composed.

"Babe," Freen whispered, her voice barely audible, "someone is trying to get in."

Rebecca swallowed hard. "What do we do?"

Freen scanned the room again—the door, the windows, the bathroom, the emergency buttons. Her mind was working quickly, calculating options.

"We need to get out," she said.

"But how? The hallway—"

"No," Freen interrupted, "the hallway is compromised."

She glanced at the window.

Rebecca's eyes widened. "Freen, we're on the second floor!"

"I've jumped from worse," Freen muttered, half-joking, half-serious. "We can climb down. There's a maintenance scaffold outside."

"How do you know?"

"I saw it when we walked in earlier," Freen replied. "They're repainting the exterior walls. It's safe enough to hold us."