It was a sinner's suicide for anyone to work at Coopers Incorporation. It was no surprise that people aimed to stray far from the Devil known as Mr Elijah Cooper.
Cold, demanding, and rough, he ruled over everything with an iron grip and a calculati...
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Nora's P.O.V
Pain.
A deep, searing ache burned through my body the moment I stirred. My head pounded, my limbs throbbed, and my throat—God, my throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper.
I tried to move, but the sharp bite of rope against my wrists and ankles made me wince. I was tied to a chair. My mouth was stuffed with cloth, suffocating my desperate need for air. The room was pitch-black. Cold. Silent.
Where the hell am I?
Panic crawled up my spine. The last thing I remembered was Mark’s apartment, the door swinging open—then the struggle, the scream—Nina. Oh God, where’s Nina? Is she safe?
I have to get out of here. I have to find her.
I struggled against the restraints, twisting, pulling—nothing. The pain in my muscles screamed at me to stop, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I have to get out of here.
Then, suddenly—
The door creaked open.
A sliver of dim light spilled into the room, casting a long, shadowed figure against the floor. The heavy sound of boots echoed as he stepped inside, slow, deliberate, each step sending a pulse of dread through my chest.
I forced myself to stay still, breathing shallow, trying to see his face. But the room was too dark. All I could make out was his broad frame and the gleam of something sharp in his hand.
A knife.
I clenched my fists, trying to steady my racing heart. Stay calm. Don’t show fear.
He reached for a switch. A flicker of harsh white light flooded the room, blinding me for a moment. When my vision adjusted, I saw him—masked, dressed in black, his posture dripping with a terrifying sense of control.
And then—cold metal pressed against my neck.
I flinched as he dragged the knife along my skin, slow and taunting, before pressing just hard enough to slice. A sharp sting followed. Warmth trickled down my collarbone. Blood.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
"Should I kill you now? Or should I wait for the party to begin?" His voice was deep, eerily composed. "Either way, you’re going to die."
No. I wasn’t dying here. Not like this.
He lifted the knife—and without warning, plunged it into my thigh.
A muffled scream tore through me, my body jerking in agony. The cloth in my mouth soaked up my cries, reducing them to weak, suffocated gasps.
