RUTH

I am currently sitting in Dylan's jet, my hands cuffed tightly to the sides of the armrests. The cool leather feels unyielding against my skin, and I can't help but wince every time the plane hits turbulence. The guards are stationed at the back of the plane, their expressions blank and unreadable behind dark sunglasses. I tried asking them to untie me once the plane took off, hoping they might show some mercy now that we were safely in the air, but they ignored my pleas, their stony silence more unnerving than any threat.

All that agony didn't vanish, and my mind won't stop thinking, What would happen now? What would Marc say? I'll never get my freedom. He will kill me for sure, or Dylan will...What the fuck will I do now?

Tears seamed down my eyes as flashbacks of Marcs hitting me for messing up a client waved through my eyes. My muffled screams and my cries for help meant nothing to him.

The hum of the jet engines fills the cabin, a constant reminder of our altitude and isolation. Outside, the sky is occasionally dotted with wisps of clouds. Inside, the atmosphere is tense and oppressive. My wrists are starting to ache from the pressure of the cuffs, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to find a position that offers some relief.

"Can you please just loosen them a bit?" I call out, directing my voice towards the guards. They don't even flinch. The taller of the two, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, glances at me briefly before resuming his watchful stance.

Frustration bubbles up inside me, but I know better than to let it show. I need to stay calm and think clearly. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts.

Fuck them; my tears had now dried, and I was calm, worried, but still cool and calm.

Thankfully, after about 40 minutes, I managed to fall asleep during the flight, which helped me kill some time. Even in my sleep, I could still feel my hands stinging from the tight handcuffs, and now my dreams were haunted by images of realizing Dylan groping my neck and choking me. When I woke up, I felt disoriented and groggy, struggling to make sense of my surroundings.

As my vision cleared, I realized there was a guard leaning over me, his hands on my stomach, buckling my seatbelt. Startled and confused, I screamed, "What the fuck are you doing?"

The man recoiled slightly but quickly regained his composure and snapped back at me. "Oh, shut up!" he retorted. "I'm just buckling your seatbelt. We are about to land."

I felt a surge of anger and embarrassment at his tone and proximity. "You could have woken me up first," I muttered, glaring at him.

He stepped back, looking at me with a mix of annoyance and disgust. "Just following protocol," he said dismissively before moving back to his seat at the front of the cabin.

Still shaken, I looked around the empty cabin of the private jet. It was eerily quiet, amplifying the tension of the situation. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

As we began our descent, I couldn't help but replay the incident in my mind. I wondered why the guard had been so rough and whether he could have handled the situation differently. When we finally landed and the seatbelt sign turned off, I knew I needed to address what had happened.

The plane came to a stop, and the guard returned to unbuckle my seatbelt and unlock the handcuffs. His movements were brusque, and he avoided making eye contact. Once my hands were free, I rubbed my sore wrists and stood up slowly, still feeling a bit unsteady.

"That was completely unnecessary," I said, looking directly at the guard. "You didn't have to scare me like that."

He shrugged, indifferent. "I'm just doing my job."

I shook my head, feeling frustrated and powerless. "Your job doesn't include disrespecting me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He gave a nonchalant shrug and motioned for me to follow him off the plane.

I followed him as we made our way through customs without any issues. Once outside the airport, a sleek, black car was waiting for us. One guard took the front seat, while the other sat beside me in the back. The atmosphere was tense but professional, and the ride was quite silent.

As we drove, I noticed the scenery gradually shifting from the bustling urban landscape to quieter, more affluent suburbs. Trees lined the streets, and the houses grew larger and more luxurious the further we went.

Well, what was I thinking? Of course, Dylan lived in a fucking mansion of some sort; he is the richest man in DC. My mind kept sending me flashbacks of his face, and his words echoed in my ears.

''Next time you come, loosen up the wig and extra makeup, Ruth'' were his words. When he came, he knew that it was a wig; we hadn't seen each other in years, and he knew everything about me—all of it. Did he know what happened after that day, when I went home? Did he know I had been working as part slut and part assassin?

I looked down at my wrist, which was still red from the handcuffs, and when I touched them, they still hurt. I signed and made slight eye contact with the other guard. He didn't look at me for more than 3 seconds.

Finally, we arrived at our destination. The car pulled up in front of an impressive house. It wasn't quite a mansion, but it was certainly grand and opulent, exuding an air of sophistication and wealth. The house was surrounded by a well-manicured garden, and the driveway was paved with clean, polished stones.

As I got out of the car, I couldn't help but be impressed by the size and elegance of the place. The architecture was a cool mix of modern design and classic charm, with big windows that offered amazing views. The entrance had intricate details, giving a hint of the luxury inside.

considerate Dylan; everything about him speaks powerfully and richly.

As I walked along the short pavement, I noticed how highly secured the house was, with cameras everywhere. When we reached the front door, there was a small keypad embedded in the wall and a card slider next to it. The guard in front slid a small silver card through the reader and waited for a second until a maid opened the door.

The guards stepped back. The maid looked quite old. She looked at me and spoke sweetly. '' Oh, miss, we were waiting for you to come in.''

I took a step closer and walked inside the house; the guards didn't come in and stayed outside, and the maid closed the door.

The house looked very modern and sleek; white and grey were the colors of the walls and the furniture as well.

''Miss, I suggest you get freshened up first. Your things have already been set up in your room. I can show it to you if you would please follow me," she said with a slight smile.

What the fuck? a room, and my things were here. How did they get here? what the fuck was Dyaln on about. I didn't tell Marcos about Verona, nor did I tell him about this. Fuck, how can I stay so fucking stupid?

I zoned out for a few minutes, and then the maid asked again, Miss? I looked at her, dumbfounded.. Yes, sure..'' I blurted out, and I followed her up some stairs and then down a narrow hall, and then she opened the door of the last door in that hall.

I walked inside and saw some of my stuff: my laptop, the iPad I used for work, some files from work, a small box in the corner, and then I went to bed and saw two phones, one old one that I was using to contact Marcs and the other one that I didn't recognize. My eyes landed on a note.

Hey, the phone is fixed. The location service has been removed. Your contacts are still the same; the other phone is for you to have the normal life you deserve.||

''the normal life I deserved?'' I read that line again. I didn't deserve the slightest of that normal life, and I know I will never live that life.

Then it clicked to me again that I had left my phone there at his office or somewhere over there because I didn't have it with me on the plane.

The maid opened the closet, took out a yellow sundress, and laid it on the bed for me. Dinner will be ready in an hour, please get ready for that as well I have chosen the outfit for you. Is there anything I can help you with, dear? she asked.

''Oh no, thank you, ''I said, picking up the small phone, and I checked the texts, as, just as I expected, Dylan did leave Marc some texts. 

||Hey, sorry, I didn't inform you of anything. I had to fly to Verona with Dyaln because he has some business here, but I still haven't gotten in touch with him yet. He is somewhere else right now. I'll let you know when I meet him and if there is anything worth updating. ||

I sighed in the reassurance that it was quite believable. I put the phone down and sat on the bed. and analyze the situation again.

I will be working as a double agent for Dylan and Dustin. Dustin. I will submit my loyalty to Dylan, and then what? Marcus will chop off my neck or, for better or worse, hell, sell me up to some Russian guy. How will I handle this? I can't stay loyal to Dylan while working as an agent. I owe Marcus a huge amount of money, and I can't pay that to him. What will happen when Dylan gets what he wants? 

I'll be out in the dark, running for my life. From Marcos to everything, I'll be unstable, and I don't want to experience that. Why did I tell him that I would do what he said? See, see, that's what Dylan has over me. I feel weak in front of him; my legs feel like they are jelly, and that unhealed trauma still comes my way whenever I see him.

I gulped down the ball of saliva that had built up in my thorax. I got up to open the door and found that it was locked. Of course, it was locked!