Page 6

"Looks that way. She arranged for someone—the man I have tied up in the back of the car—to take her to the train station." I watch her test the partition again, her movements precise and methodical. Not panicking, analyzing. "She's not what I expected."
"Complications?"
"Nothing I can't handle." I glance at her again. She's stopped pounding on the glass and is now sitting perfectly still, watching me with conniving eyes. "She's contained.We move on as planned."
"Good. Keep me updated."
I hang up and meet her eyes in the mirror. She's gone eerily still, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Her face is a study in controlled rage. High cheekbones flushed with anger, full lips pressed into a taut line. She's beautiful in that untouchable way of women born to privilege, but there's something else there—a hardness that doesn't match the pampered princess narrative.
I press the button to lower the partition just enough to speak.
"Why were you running from your wedding?" I ask, my voice deliberately casual as I turn onto the highway.
She stares back, defiant. "Fuck you."
"Not an answer." I say. "Most women don't flee six-figure weddings without good reason."
"Most kidnappers don't ask their victims personal questions," she snaps. Her fingers move to the thin ring on her right hand, twisting it anxiously before she catches herself and stops.
"I'm not most kidnappers."
A new calculation crosses her face. She leans forward slightly, her expression shifting to something more strategic.
"How much are they paying you?" she asks, voice a silky purr. "Whatever it is, I can double it. Triple it."
I almost smile. Predictable.
"Take me to the train station," she continues, "and I'll transfer the money immediately. No questions asked."
"Not interested."
Her eyes narrow. "You haven't even heard my offer."
"Don't need to."
"Ten million" she says, leaning closer to the partition. "Untraceable."
I let out a low chuckle, watching her eyes widen at my reaction. Ten million—not even a blink. The calculation in her gaze shifts to something more desperate.
"Something funny?" she demands.
"You. Throwing around millions like candy. Let me guess—this isn't your first kidnapping?"
Her jaw tightens. "Twenty million."
I shake my head, enjoying the way her composure cracks. Fucking fascinating.
"Not about money,piccola." I take a sharp turn onto a side road, watching her brace herself against the seat. "But keep going. I'm curious what else you'll offer."
"Thirty—"
"Save it," I cut her off. "Not happening."
She slams her palm against the partition, frustration finally breaking her controlled facade. "What do you want then? Information? Leverage against my father? Raymond's business secrets?"
"Interesting options. You seem eager to betray everyone."