Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Evangeline
Pain pulsed behind my eyes as consciousness crept in. My mouth was dry, my tongue felt like sandpaper, and something rough pressed against my lips—a gag. The realisation sent a jolt of panic through my foggy mind.
I tried to move my hands, but they were bound behind me, rope or zip ties cutting into my wrists.
My shoulders ached from the position. How long had I been like this?
The grogginess suggested I'd been unconscious for hours - it had been late when we'd left the club, and now pale morning sunlight streamed through the windows.
Forcing my eyes open, I blinked against the pale morning sunlight streaming through tall windows.
The room slowly came into focus–exposed brick walls, high ceilings with metal beams, minimalist furniture.
A loft apartment? The industrial style reminded me of the trendy conversions in the industrial district.
Think, Evangeline. What happened last night?
Fragments of memory flashed through my mind: the coffee shop, sneaking away from James, the taxi ride to The Underground. It had been Halloween night, and everyone was in costume. My silver mask, now gone. Dancing with my friends. A handsome stranger with devil horns offering drinks…
Oh God.
More memories surfaced: the stranger's charming smile, his hand on my waist, the drinks that kept coming, and those ridiculous red devil horns that had made him seem so harmless at first, just another Halloween reveller.
The room started spinning, and I wasn't sure if it was the hangover or the fear.
What had been in those drinks?
I twisted my wrists, trying to find any weakness in the bindings. The movement sent sharp pains up my arms, but I kept going. I had to get free. Had to find a way out before—
The sound of footsteps made me freeze. Heavy boots on metal stairs, getting closer. My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked frantically around the room. There were no obvious exits except the stairs. The windows were too high, probably locked anyway.
A door creaked open behind me. I tried to turn my head, but a wave of nausea hit me. The footsteps circled around me until a figure appeared in my vision–tall, wearing dark clothes and a bone-white mask that covered their entire face.
"Good morning, Your Highness." The voice was male, deliberately distorted, as if he were using some kind of modulator. "I trust you slept well?"
I tried to speak through the gag, managing only muffled sounds. My captor chuckled.
"No need to say anything. I've already made the call to Bellavista.
Your family should transfer several million euros soon.
" He moved closer, crouching down to my eye level.
The mask was eerily smooth and featureless except for black holes where the eyes should be.
"A fair price for a princess, don't you think? "
Tears burned in my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Would James even be able to find me? Could he track the taxi somehow, since I had turned off my phone at the club? Or had someone seen us leave?
"You should have stuck with your bodyguard," the masked man continued, brushing a strand of hair from my face. I jerked away from his touch. "Mr. Banks seems very competent. Much better than that fool Cameron, who got himself fired over a maid."
My blood ran cold. He knew about Cameron? How?
"Oh yes, princess. I keep track of your security detail. Among other things." He stood up, moving toward one of the windows. "Like what really happened that night five years ago."
No, no one knew about that. No one except…
"Your silence speaks volumes," he said, returning to face me. "But don't worry. Once I have my money, you can return to pretending none of it ever happened. Unless someone decides the truth needs to come out."
The room spun again as the implications of his words sank in. This wasn't just about ransom. This was personal. My captor knew things, things I'd buried so deep I sometimes convinced myself they weren't real.
And James... God, James. He would be looking for me, but would he find me in time? Or would my past finally catch up with me in this sun-filled loft with its exposed brick walls and a masked horror?
More memories of last night started surfacing through the fog in my mind. The handsome stranger had seemed so genuine, so careful with me. He'd even stopped me from drinking too much at one point, or at least I thought he had. Had that all been part of the act? A way to gain my trust?
I shifted position, trying to ease the burning in my shoulders. My dress from last night tore at the hem, and my feet were bare against the cold wooden floor. What else had happened in those blank hours between the club and now? And what about Octavia and Gabriela? Were they safe?
"Now," my captor said, pulling out a phone, "let's send your family a little proof of life, shall we?"
He approached with the phone, and I noticed he moved with a slight limp. Something about it seemed familiar, triggering a memory I couldn't quite grasp.
"Look at the camera, princess. Let them see those pretty eyes filled with fear." He grabbed my chin roughly, tilting my face up. "Perfect. Just like that night in the palace gardens, remember? When everything changed."
My heart stopped. The palace gardens. Five years ago. How could he know?
The sound of sirens wailed in the distance, and my captor's head snapped toward the window. For a moment, his composure cracked.
"Seems we have company," he muttered, moving to peer out the window. Through the glass, I saw black vehicles and figures in tactical gear surrounding the building.
"Your Mr. Banks appears to be more resourceful than I anticipated." He turned back to me, and even through the mask, I could feel his malicious smile. "No matter. If they find you, certain truths have a way of surfacing, eventually."
My whole body trembled as another memory hit me—the dead kitten outside my door, the note. It had been him all along, hadn't it? Watching, waiting, playing his twisted game.
He walked over to a sleek metal desk in the corner, pulling out what looked like a laptop. "While we wait, perhaps we should discuss what really happened that night? The official story was so convincing, wasn't it? But we both know better."
Bile rose in my throat. Not this. Anything but this.
"Your mother's team did an impressive job covering it all up," he continued, typing something on the laptop. "But some secrets are too big to stay buried forever. Don't you agree, princess?"
Tears streamed down my face now. I wanted to scream, to deny it all, but the gag kept me silent. Just like I'd been silent all these years.
The sirens were getting closer. My captor seemed unbothered, continuing to type. What was he doing? Sending evidence to the press? Preparing to expose everything I'd fought so hard to bury?
"You know what's ironic?" he said, closing the laptop. "If you had not run from your bodyguard last night, none of this would be happening."
He stood, walking back to me, his limp more pronounced now. "This time, princess, there's no one to clean up your mess. No royal PR team to spin the story."
The sirens stopped abruptly. Somewhere below, a car door slammed. I heard shouted commands - someone calling about securing the perimeter, mentions of "the target" and "princess."
"Ah," my captor said, reaching for something in his jacket and adjusting what looked like a small device at his throat. "Showtime. Pity about my associates—your Mr Banks seems to have dealt with them rather efficiently."
Associates? How many people had been involved in this? I tried to glance around, wondering if I could spot any evidence of others—zip ties in corners, signs of a struggle.
But he'd made a mistake—he'd gotten too caught up in his monologue, moved too far away. The zip ties weren't as tight as they should have been, and I'd been working on them the entire time he talked. With one final, painful twist, my hands came free.
I didn't think. I acted.
Adrenaline surged through me, overriding the burning pain in my shoulders and arms. Launching myself forward, I tackled him at the knees.
He cursed, stumbling backward, the voice modulator falling from his throat.
In the chaos, I ripped the gag from my mouth and scrambled toward the stairs.
My bare feet slipped on the metal steps, but desperation propelled me forward despite my body's protests.
"You won't escape what's coming, Princess!" he called after me, his voice now unmodulated and natural. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it in my panic.
I burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs into what looked like an abandoned office space. Sunlight streamed through dirty windows, illuminating dust motes and empty desks. The exit sign glowed red in the distance.
My heart pounded in my ears as I ran, ignoring the pain in my feet from the rough floor. Almost there. Almost—
I slammed through the exit door into bright daylight and straight into a solid wall of muscle. Familiar hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me.
"James," I gasped, relief flooding through me.
Then the terror crashed back - he was here, he'd found me, but what if my captor had already sent information about my past? What if James already knew? "He's right behind me, we have to—"
His eyes narrowed, scanning me for injuries. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, already pulling me behind him protectively, his body coiled and ready for a fight.
"No, I—" My voice broke, torn between relief at being rescued and fear of what James might discover. "He knows things, James. About my past. And my friends—are Octavia and Gabriela safe?"
"They're fine. Anton got them home safely," he said quickly.
"Now stay behind me."
Before James could say more, the door burst open again. My captor appeared, still wearing his bone-white mask, the voice modulator back in place.
"Mr. Banks," he said, his voice once again distorted by the device. "I see you've found our princess."
James positioned himself more fully in front of me. "Drop the weapon," he commanded, his voice deadly calm.
My captor laughed, raising a gun I hadn't seen him retrieve. "I don't think I will. I've come too far to walk away empty-handed."
I couldn't see James's face, but I felt the tension radiating from him. "You're surrounded," he said. "My team has the building locked down."
I heard car doors slamming and shouted commands in the distance as if on cue.
"Perhaps," my captor conceded.
"But this isn't over, princess."
He levelled his gaze at me.
"The truth always comes out. One way or another."
Then several things happened at once. James lunged forward. My captor raised his gun. A shot rang out—but not from my captor's weapon. He stumbled, clutching his shoulder, as Anton Keller emerged from around the corner, his gun trained steadily on the masked man.
"Drop it!," Anton ordered. "The next one won't be so forgiving!."
My captor hesitated, then let his weapon clatter to the ground. James was on him instantly, driving him to the pavement and restraining him whilst Anton kept his gun trained on them both.
"Got him," James growled into his comm device. "South exit. We need medical and transport."
James secured my captor and then pulled the mask from his face. I expected to recognise him, but the man was a stranger to me—early forties, with cold eyes and a scar across his jaw.
"Who are you!" I demanded, my voice shaking. "How do you know about—about what happened?"
The man smiled, blood seeping from his shoulder. "I'm just the messenger, princess. Nikolai Voss, at your service. Ask your mother about Viktor Kozlov—he's the one who hired me. See what she tells you about your old friend Viktor."
James glanced at me sharply, and I fought to keep my expression neutral despite the ice that shot through my veins at the name. My hands trembled slightly, and I hoped he hadn't noticed.
More security personnel arrived, taking Nikolai into custody. As they led him away, James turned to me, his face a thundercloud of barely contained fury. But when his eyes met mine, I saw something else there, too—raw fear, now hardening into fierce determination.
"Hospital. Now!." His voice was a rough command as he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. There was no room for argument in his tone.
"I don't need a hospital," I protested weakly, though my trembling legs betrayed me. "I'm not hurt."
"Someone drugged and kidnapped you!." "You're seeing a doctor. End of discussion!."
"James, please." I grabbed his arm, suddenly desperate not to be surrounded by more strangers, more questions.
"Just take me home. You can bring a doctor there."
For a moment, I thought he would refuse. His eyes scanned my face, cataloguing every detail as if searching for hidden injuries. The adrenaline was fading fast, leaving me unsteady, and I must have swayed slightly because his arm instantly went around my waist, steadying me.
"Fine," he growled after a moment. "However, the doctor will come to you immediately."
I nodded, too exhausted to argue further.
As he guided me toward a waiting car, I couldn't help glancing back at Nikolai being loaded into a police vehicle.
His words echoed in my mind: Ask your mother about Viktor Kozlov.
What did he know? And how long before James discovered the truth I'd been hiding?
"This isn't over, is it?" I asked quietly.
James's arm tightened protectively around me, his body a wall between me and the rest of the world. "No, princess," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "When I find who's behind this, they're going to wish it was."