32 | ☕Anyas Kidnapped and Atlas is About to Lose It! ☕ #2
His fingers hovered just above it, his eyes narrowing as he crouched down to get a better look. He could feel Kaia's gaze on him, the weight of her anxiety pressing against him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the wreckage in front of him.
Kaia felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine. "You don't think... they're still watching?"
His thoughts were a blur of strategy, a whirlwind of action, but the sinking feeling in his gut only deepened with each passing second.
Anya hadn't just disappeared. Someone had taken her. And he knew exactly who is the culprit.
"Atlas?"
He didn't answer. He was already dialling a number.
Anya had lost track of time—how long had it been since she was dragged into this place?
Minutes? Hours? Days? It didn't matter. Time had no meaning here, not when each second stretched out into an eternity.
Her hands were bound to a metal chair, the ropes cutting into her skin, and every movement made her body protest, sending sharp, painful throb through her wrists.
But she didn't care. She had long since learned to endure.
Her eyes flicked toward the figure standing before her, unmoving and silent.
His presence was suffocating, even without words.
The man was like a stone, his posture rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes cold—empty.
But there was something about his stillness that unsettled her more than anything.
"You should've stayed away from him," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with an undertone that made her skin crawl.
Anya's pulse quickened, her throat dry, but she forced herself to speak, her words sharp despite the fear gnawing at her insides. "And what, let you do whatever you want?"
The man's lip curled upward into something unsettling—half amusement, half irritation, like a predator toying with its prey. His gaze flickered over her, studying her as if deciding whether to be impressed by her defiance or irritated by it.
"Brave girl," he said, his voice a quiet mockery of respect. "Let's see how brave you are after a few more days."
A shiver crawled up Anya's spine, and she fought to suppress the rush of panic that surged inside her chest.
She knew what he was implying. He wasn't just going to let her sit here, bound and helpless.
No, there would be more. There had to be.
And she had no doubt that whatever came next, it would break her if she didn't fight back.
Her mind raced, trying to come up with something—anything—that could give her a chance. She had to stay calm. She had to think. There was no way she could give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not when Kaia was out there, still looking for her, still trying to find a way to fix this.
Anya's gaze remained fixed on the man, refusing to yield. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the fear gnawing at her insides, but she would never let him see it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice barely above a whisper, but with a resolve that surprised even herself. "You think you're going to get away with this?" Her eyes burned with defiance as she locked onto his cold, emotionless stare. "Atlas will find me."
The man's expression flickered—something darker, something cruel, passing across his face for the briefest moment. His lips twisted into a thin smile, but it held no humour, only malice.
"I hope he does," he said, his voice low, the words dripping with disdain. "It'll be fun watching him break."
He stood up, taking a step back into the shadows, leaving her with nothing but the heavy weight of his words hanging in the air like a cloud of impending doom. The door to the warehouse slammed shut with a deafening finality, the sound echoing around her, and then... silence.
Atlas stood in the dimly lit lobby of the police station, his presence commanding even in the exhausted state he was in.
His usually sharp suit was wrinkled, his tie slightly undone, and his eyes heavy with the weight of sleepless hours.
But there was no sign of weakness in his stance, only raw determination.
He stepped forward, his gaze locked on the lead officer, his hands moving fluidly in the air as he signed with urgency. "I need your help," he signed, his fingers sharp and precise. "I don't care what it takes. I want every available person searching for her. Find Anya Seraphis."
The officers glanced at each other, a mix of confusion and understanding passing between them.
They'd seen powerful men before—men who demanded things, who threw money at problems, but this was different.
Atlas was not just another wealthy businessman making a request.
This was desperation, raw and real, from a man who was willing to do anything to get the woman he loved back.
His hands spoke with a silent intensity that made the air feel heavier.
The lead officer hesitated, sensing the gravity of the situation. His gaze softened, and he turned back to Atlas, who stood unwavering, his eyes locked on him, every part of him demanding action. The officer took a breath and nodded. "We'll do everything we can, Mr. Valtieri."
Atlas's hands moved again, quick and sharp. "I want results, immediately. I don't care about procedures or waiting. If you find anything, anything at all, I want it brought to me right away. I'm not leaving until I know where she is."
"Understood,We'll get on it immediately, sir."