The forest rain pounded the winding mountain pass as if trying to sweep the beat-up old sedan right off the cliff. The wipers squeaked rhythmically across the fogged-up windshield. Maya sat curled up in the back seat, clutching the thick fleece blanket Chloe had stashed for her. Her whole body still shivered in violent waves; the chill of the rain and the dark slope of the Gothic castle hadn't released their grip on her mind.
The car picked up speed as it descended, the rough gravel road slowly opening up toward the highway.
"Hang in there, Maya! We're almost off this pass!" Chloe said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and relief as she gripped the wheel tight. "There's an intersection just ahead—we take a left onto the main road and we're home free. His men don't patrol that side!"
Maya nodded, using a trembling hand to push back her soaking wet hair. Just as the car leaned into the turn, preparing to make the decisive left to escape the castle’s reach—
SCREEECH!
A brutal screech of brakes tore through the rainy night. The car skidded hard across the mud before coming to a violent stop, throwing Maya forward so hard her forehead nearly slammed into the back of the driver's seat.
"What... what happened, Chloe?!" Maya gasped, grabbing her friend's shoulder in terror.
Chloe didn't answer. Her knuckles turned white against the steering wheel, her eyes wide with shock as she stared through the dim yellow beam of the headlights pointed straight at the outer chain-link perimeter gate.
"Maya... Oh God... look..." Chloe’s voice cracked, her finger trembling as she pointed ahead.
Maya raised her eyes to look through the windshield.
Right beside the damaged iron gate, under the driving rain slamming straight down, a tiny figure stood alone in the freezing dark.
It was Mark.
The five-year-old was wearing nothing but a thin cotton nightshirt soaked to the skin, his bare feet planted directly in the freezing mud. His little hands were tightly clutching the large silver metal keyring—the very set of keys he was supposed to have put back in his dad's coat pocket like Maya had told him to. The child stood there, shivering uncontrollably in the downpour, his wide ash-grey eyes filled with confusion and terror as he stared into the glare of the headlights.
Maya felt as if an invisible hand had slammed into her chest, knocking the air right out of her lungs.
"Oh my God... he followed you!" Chloe whipped her head around, her face pale as a sheet. "Why on earth is he out here?! Maya, we're screwed! If Travis's men catch him out here with us, we are dead meat!"
Maya couldn't think. She threw the car door open and threw herself out into the torrential rain.
"Maya! Be careful!" Chloe yelled.
"Mark!" Maya sprinted over, dropping to her knees in the mud, pulling his tiny, shivering frame into her arms.
Mark’s nightshirt was cold as ice. The boy looked up at his teacher with a pale, blue-lipped face, his small hands clutching her collar, his voice tiny and exhausted over the sound of the pouring rain.
"Miss Maya... I... I went to put the keys back in dad's jacket... but his office door was locked... I was so scared he’d find out I let you out... so I ran after you..."
His innocent whisper hit Maya like a bucket of ice water. To protect her, out of fear that his father would discover his theft, this child had braved the storm and run out of the castle in the middle of the night!
Overwhelmed by remorse and heartbreaking affection, Maya lifted Mark up, pressing him tight against her chest, turning around to rush back to the car.
"Chloe! Open up! He's coming with us!"
Chloe jumped out and threw open the back door. Maya scrambled inside, wrapping the thick blanket around Mark's soaking wet body, pulling him close to give him every bit of warmth she had left.
"Drive, Chloe! Go, go, go!" Maya cried out through her tears.
The car engine roared violently. The tires chewed through the muddy road, swerving sharp to the left, tearing through the darkness and the forest storm, speeding straight toward downtown San Francisco.
The next few days passed in a breathlessly fake kind of peace.
Chloe brought Maya and Mark to hide out in a worn-down apartment deep in a working-class neighborhood in South San Francisco—a place Travis’s family rarely bothered with. All the curtains in the apartment stayed drawn 24/7. No one was allowed to step outside; all grocery runs were handled by a trusted friend of Chloe's.
In this tiny apartment, Mark seemed to find a completely different world compared to the gloomy Gothic castle.
He no longer lived under the strict eyes of ice-cold servants, nor did he have to learn the stiff manners expected of a "family heir." Mark smiled infinitely more. He colored with crayons alongside Maya, built wooden towers on the old rug, and babbled happily all day long.
Yet when night fell, raw reality crept right back in.
Almost every night, Mark had nightmares. The five-year-old would curl up in his blankets, waking up startled in the dead of night, crying hysterically for his father.
"Daddy... Where are you, Daddy?... I'm scared of the dark... Daddy..."
His heartbreaking sobs cut straight into Maya's soul. She would pull Mark close, patting his back, lulling him with children's songs until the boy drifted off from exhaustion. But every time Mark fell asleep, Maya sat alone in the dark living room, her mind consumed by a terrifying guilt.
What on earth have I done?
Who am I to separate a child from his father? No matter how ruthless, no matter how twisted Travis was to me... he is still the only father Mark knows. Am I saving this child, or am I just using my own selfishness to steal him away from his dad?
And then, in the lonely quiet of the night, amidst her torment over Mark, terrible memories of that fifth night in the dungeon cell surged back, swallowing Maya whole.
She closed her eyes tight, her hands clutching her dress.
That night... Travis’s muscular shadow looming over her. His ruthless threat about a "child" whispered right by her ear. She had fought back, beating her fists against his chest, pleading through tears.
Yet... what was the raw truth behind that nightmare?
Maya raised a trembling hand to cover her face, her cheeks burning with ultimate shame and humiliation.
The truth was, after those first feeble moments of resistance, when Travis leaned down, when his large hand—carrying that gentle warmth and thick sandalwood scent—tightened around her waist, when his lips recklessly crushed hers... a dark, wild sensation had ignited deep within her body.
The intoxicating pull from that man had completely shattered what little reason she had left. From her very first days at the castle, beneath the fear and vigilance, she had been unconsciously drawn to the elegance, the power, and the dark ash-grey eyes of the tycoon. And so that night, under his intense pressure, she had stopped fighting back. She had drowned in it, receiving those touches and that physical embrace in a dizzying, intoxicating haze...
"No... That's not how it was!" Maya whispered frantically in the dark, her whole body shaking violently. She shook her head repeatedly as if trying to drive out the shameful memory.
I'm losing my mind! I have to be insane to even think like that!
She forced herself to believe it was all coercion, that she was strictly a victim, that the dizzying pleasure was just a warped physical response under Travis's manipulation. She tried her best to ignore that ruthless memory, burying it deep in the darkest corner of her mind, continuing to play the part of a pitiful, broken schoolteacher.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, at the isolated Gothic castle atop the hill...
The fake tranquility of the estate had completely collapsed, replaced by a dark, deadly storm.
Four days had passed, and Travis hadn't slept a single minute.
The powerful family chairman no longer maintained his usual sleek elegance. His black shirt was rumpled, the top two buttons open to reveal his muscular chest, his black hair disheveled over his high forehead. His ash-grey eyes were sunken in dark circles, flaring with wild, ruthless, uncontrollable rage.
He didn't eat. He didn't drink. The entire castle sank into absolute terror. The henchmen and servants walked light as ghosts; not a single person dared to raise their head or speak a word in front of their spiraling boss.
"Did you find them?"
Travis's voice echoed through his third-floor office. Low, raspy, and cold as ice.
His trusted lieutenant bowed low, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. "Boss... report! We've turned upside down every hotel, bus station, train depot, and port area in San Francisco... but there's still no trace of Ms. Maya or Young Master Mark. Her friend's car vanished off the mountain pass too..."
CRASH!
A sharp shatter echoed through the room. Travis backhanded a crystal glass off his desk, sending it slamming into the granite floor. Shards exploded everywhere.
"A dirt-poor intern teacher and a five-year-old kid!" Travis lunged forward, grabbing his lieutenant by the collar, gritting out every single word through his teeth. "They have no money, no power, no weapons! And you useless idiots let them vanish right out from under your noses?!"
"Boss... Boss, please! Tonight we're expanding the search to neighboring counties—"
"Get out!" Travis roared through gritted teeth.
The lieutenant scrambled out of the room like he was escaping execution.
When the heavy wooden door slammed shut, the massive office returned to a deadly quiet.
Travis leaned his back against the edge of his mahogany desk, his hands gripping the edge so tight his knuckles popped. His breathing was rapid, his chest heaving hard.
Normally in a situation like this, a head of a family like him would be losing his mind because his only son—his blood heir—had been taken. But in this exact moment, as Travis stood alone in the dark expanse of his office, a brutal, shocking truth slammed into his mind.
He wasn't going insane over losing Mark.
The instincts of a ruthless man raised in blood and tears since childhood made him view his five-year-old son as a responsibility, a future heir.
The thing actually tearing his heart to pieces, the thing keeping him awake four nights straight and making him want to burn the whole world down... was the empty dungeon cell in the north wing.
It was the space where the slender silhouette of that young girl no longer stood.
It was the single iron bed that no longer carried the faint scent of lilies.
For the first time in his life, the powerful, cold, ruthless man realized he had lost. He hadn't locked her up for Mark's safety, nor had he been playing a game of cat and mouse. He had imprisoned her... because he craved possessing her to a warped degree! Her disappearance had drained the very last drop of humanity out of him, turning him into a starved predator.
Travis walked slowly toward his desk.
He opened a secure drawer via digital keypad, pulling out a black satellite phone that had never been used.
The tycoon's long fingers trembled slightly. He looked at the phone number memorized deep in his mind—a number he had sworn over his family's casket years ago that he would never dial. Because dialing that number meant bowing his head to partner with his mortal enemy, paying a heavy price in blood and power.
Yet Travis's ash-grey eyes retained not a shred of sanity. The twisted fire of possession had burned away all his reason.
He hit dial.
A long ring tone echoed in the silent room.
The other end picked up quickly. A deep, ancient, mocking male voice sounded over the speaker:
"Well... what a surprise. The high-and-mighty chairman of the Travis family is actually calling me? What on earth made you break your vow?"
Travis tightened his grip on the satellite phone, his ash-grey eyes flashing a ruthless, bone-chilling light:
"I want to trade my northern port shipping routes... for a single life."
"Whose life?"
"Find me the intern teacher named Maya," Travis gritted out, every word dripping with wild possessiveness. "Bring her back to me at all costs. Alive... or leave her with just enough breath in her body."
