Page 38 of Invisible Bars

Still, I drank from the faucet in small sips, convincing myself that at least the water came from a fixed source I turned on myself and not a bottle someonehandedto me.

When the door opened, I leaped up from the floor and nearly screamed.

Gatez orImanio—whatever name he was going by right then had entered. That was the first time he’d come into the room since I’d been brought there. And it wasn’t until I finally settled down that it hit me like a slap across the face.

I knew him.

He was Imanio Kors; one of the richest, if nottherichest, men in the city—maybe the world. His face had been plastered across billboards, magazines, Forbes covers, and news headlines for years. He was the man people whispered about in luxury lounges and high-rise elevators—a man whose money walked into the room before he did.

And yet, I remembered thinking he looked grumpy, like someone who felt perpetually inconvenienced by life. But a killer? No.Imanio Korsdidn’t seem like the type to commit murder. He gave off the vibe of a rich villain who might sue you into the ground, not someone who would actually take your life. But that Gatez version? That was different. That man wasn’t about lawsuits or paperwork. And he obviously didn’t settle scores in boardrooms; he ended them in blood.

Same man, two faces. And I couldn’t decide which one terrified me more.

I found myself curious about what kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation I had gotten myself into.

Before I could make sense of it all, my body reacted on its own.

A sharp tic shot through me. My shoulders snapped upward like a broken puppet string. My left foot stomped the ground—twice—like I was trying to call a demon out the floor. Then it came—the outburst.

“Cupcakes and consequences! The crusty ones from the gas station, not the ones with the swirls!” I attempted to shout, my voice a little hoarse from days of barely speaking.

I clapped my hands twice, then grabbed the hem of my shirt like it could somehow rewind the moment.

Imanio’s brows lifted slightly.

Not dramatically. Not judgmental. Just a subtle tick of interest.

He didn’t laugh, flinch, or pretend like he didn’t hear me blurt out something that sounded like a hallucination from a candy-fueled fever dream.

Imanio walked in slowly, like I was some spooked deer he didn’t want to startle.

There was something careful about the way he moved—like he was used to power but not interested in using it to frighten me.

Not right then anyway.

And then he did something I didn’t expect: He touched my arm.

The second his hand landed gently on my skin, my tics stopped. Although my body relaxed, my mind didn’t. It was almost like it didn’t know what to do with gentleness.

I blinked again… slower that time.

“Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you. You okay?”

I nodded slowly, even though it was a lie.

Imanio cocked his head slightly. "Your three-day-old clothes, uneaten food, the bags under your eyes, and the way you keep looking everywherebutat me tells me differently."

I chewed on my thumbnail, blinking rapidly. My leg bounced so hard it made the floor vibrate. I tried to answer, I really did, but another flare-up ripped through me before I could help it.

“Back up, America’s Most Wanted!” My voice had risen an octave and dipped halfway into opera before crashing into a whisper.

My mouth dropped open slightly in fear, and I slapped my hand over my mouth.

“S-Sorry,” I stammered immediately, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m… I’m scared,” I admitted, the words trembling out of me like a shiver I couldn’t shake.

My throat burned, and tears pricked the back of my eyes.

“I don’t know this place! I… I don’t know you! I didn’t know what y-you’d do if I left this room!Yogurt lids and panic buttons!” I blurted, hugging my arms to my body.