Page 60 of Dark Obsession

They must’ve been watching the mansion, waiting for an opportunity, and I walked right into their trap. I grit my teeth, feeling anger burn through the fear. They’ve got another thing coming if they think I’ll go down without a fight.

The van takes a sharp turn, and I jolt to the side, wincing as the ropes dig into my wrists. I have no idea where they’re taking me, but I know one thing for sure—I need to find a way out of this—and fast.

Chapter 25

Elena

The van screeches to a halt, jolting me forward, and I brace myself, feeling every bruise and scrape from where I’d been thrown around.

The doors open and I’m yanked out. I’m barely able to stand. My eyes struggle to adjust to the light outside as I’m half-dragged, half-pushed toward a sleek black sedan parked nearby. Cold rain patters down, soaking my hair, chilling me to the bone.

Two men shove me into the sedan's passenger seat. As soon as I’m in, they snap the ropes around me again, tighter than before. I glance over to see a man with flat, cold eyes sitting behind the wheel. At first, I’m confused, but then I realize what’s going on – they’re switching cars, making me harder to track.

His gaze pins me in place as he reaches over to fasten my seatbelt. Yeah right, like he’s sincerely concerned for my safety.

"Where are you taking me?" I demand. He says nothing, his mouth set in a thin, merciless line.

I ask again, louder. "Where are you taking me?"

Still no answer, just a flash of irritation in his eyes. Frustration bubbles up, and I snap, "Look, there are people looking for me. You’re only making this worse for yourself."

Without warning, he reaches over and smacks me across the face. The shock reverberates through my body, leaving my cheek throbbing, my ears ringing. I bite back a cry, fury mingling with fear as silence settles over us.

Whoever this man is, he’s not interested in chitchat.

The car glides through Chicago’s wet streets, the city lights casting eerie reflections on the rain-streaked windows. My cheek throbs from the slap, and I can feel a bruise forming. Every time I shift in my seat, the ropes dig deeper into my wrists, scraping my skin raw.

I look out the window, trying to memorize street signs, landmarks—anything that might help me figure out where I’m being taken. We’re moving toward the outskirts of town, where the lights are fewer and the buildings more decrepit. An abandoned industrial area comes into view, and I have a sinking feeling that is our destination.

"Let me go," I say quietly, fighting to keep my voice steady. "If you release me now, I won’t report anything to the cops or my brothers. Just let me walk away. This is your chance to save yourself.”

My captor glances at me, his gaze cold and disinterested. He seems amused by my words, but he doesn’t respond. I swallow hard, feeling helpless but refusing to show him any fear.

As we drive deeper into the district, I realize I’m nothing more than cargo to him, an item to be delivered. The thought sends a chill down my spine, especially when the car finally stops infront of an old warehouse. The man exits the car, walks around to my side, and opens the door, dragging me out without a word and tossing me over his shoulder.

Inside the warehouse, it’s darker than I expected, dim lights barely illuminating the concrete floor. The smell of old machinery and oil hangs in the air, mixed with something colder, darker, a sense of evil that sets my nerves on edge.

My captor carries me down a narrow hallway through a maze of twists and turns. Finally, we reach a door at the end guarded by two hulking figures. They open the door without a word, and I’m dropped inside—literally.

The room is sparse, a simple table and chairs in the center, dwarfed by the presence of a man standing along the far wall. He’s impeccably dressed in a suit that screams wealth and power, his silver hair slicked back, a calculating gleam in his cold, dark eyes. I recognize him instantly from the photos I found online.

Oscar Molina.

My stomach twists as he casts his eyes over me, assessing, weighing. A slow, almost mocking smile spreads across his face as he walks toward me with deliberate, measured steps, each one echoing through the empty room.

"Elena Ivanova," he says smoothly. "It’s truly an honor."

I grit my teeth, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I can muster. “If this is your idea of hospitality, it’s severely lacking.”

He chuckles, unamused and detached. "Ah, you have the Ivanov fire. Good. I admire a woman with spirit. Though I imagine, once this little conversation is over, you’ll have a bit less of it."

He tells his man to cut the bindings on my legs and gestures to one of the chairs at the table, as if this were a cordial meeting. "Please, sit."

I glance at the chair, resisting the urge to tell him exactly where he can shove it. But with his menacing glare fixed on me; I don’t see much choice. I sit, keeping my posture rigid, refusing to look intimidated.

Oscar takes a seat across from me, steepling his fingers as he gives me a faint smile. "I’ve waited a long time for this moment, meeting the infamous Ivanov princess in person. So much power in such a delicate package."

I narrow my eyes. “Really? All this effort, just to kidnap a delicate package? Pathetic.”

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