The metal of the chair scraped against the concrete floor as Monica shifted, her hands bound behind her back, ankles chained to the legs of the chair. The air was cold — industrial, thick with rust and silence. A single light bulb flickered above her head, swaying slightly from a chain, casting sharp shadows across the floor.
Her wrists burned from the restraints. Her makeup was smudged, and her once-perfect hair was damp with sweat.
She hadn’t seen a clock in hours.
Hadn’t heard a voice since they dumped her here.
Just silence. Mocking silence.
Until now.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway — heavy, deliberate. Monica straightened, her heartbeat quickening. She lifted her chin, masking her fear with sharp defiance.
The door creaked open.
Two of Chase’s men walked in — large, silent, d
