"Did you miss me?" he asked. His voice was soft—almost affectionate—but to Hannah, it felt like ice water being poured down her spine.
She couldn't believe the sight in front of her. She didn't want to believe it was real, but unfortunately for her, it was.
Hannah's lungs clenched. Her throat tightened, and she couldn't draw in a full breath. Her fingers curled around the seatbelt strap like a lifeline, but it was no use—her limbs refused to move.
Her mind screamed for her to run, scream, or fight. But her body betrayed her. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by terror.
"You… why is it you?!" she finally choked out, her voice barely audible, sounding frayed and tearful.
Ivan chuckled softly, eyes locked on her through the rearview mirror.
"Oh? Aren't you happy to see the man you claimed you liked?" Ivan asked, tilting his head slightly. His tone was playful, but underneath it lurked something darker. Something unhinged.
Silence hung between them, suffocating. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her thoughts crashed against each other like a storm with no escape.
"Stop the car," she said, her voice so low it almost sounded like a whisper.
Ivan didn't stop though, not minding her noise.
"Stop the car, Ivan!" she snapped, her voice shaking like glass. She was trying to sound brave, but the cracks were obvious—just one more push and she'd probably burst into tears again.
Her words lingered in the air, dangerous and reckless. The silence that followed was worse than when she shouted, because with Ivan, silence meant calculation.
For a heartbeat too long, she thought she'd made a fatal mistake. She braced for his rage, for the explosion she knew was coming. Instead—slowly, deliberately—Ivan complied.
The vehicle pulled over, tires crunching softly against the roadside gravel. For a breathless moment, relief flooded her chest. Hannah's hope flared. Maybe, just maybe, he'll let her go.
Hannah remained silent, watching every move the man made with hope, but then it collapsed.
The doors didn't unlock. Instead, Ivan slowly turned to face her.
The moment his eyes met hers, her heart rate spiked so hard that it was nearly painful. It felt like he could see through her, and she couldn't help but look away.
Now, Hannah wasn't fragile. She wasn't the type to cower at shadows or break under pressure. She'd stood her ground before—weathered storms that would've crushed others.
But with Ivan, it was different.
With him, fear wasn't just instinct—it was truth. Not because she was weak, but because she knew—deep in her bones—that he was danger itself. A storm she couldn't weather. A tide she couldn't fight.
"Look at me, love," Ivan said when he saw her looking down at her hands. His tone sounded so threatening, though, that Hannah had no choice but to do as he said.
"Have you been hiding from me?" he asked, deadpan. The look in his eyes held her in place.
Hannah could see clearly that behind his calm face, a storm was building, and that phony calm only made it worse.
Cold dread slithered down her spine.
Hannah wasn't always the sharpest when it came to emotional cues—but this time, she understood perfectly. Her life depended on her answer.
She opened her mouth—hesitating. She swallowed hard.
"I just… didn't know where you were," she lied. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke, showing how much she lacks confidence when she lies.
Ivan's smile returned—slow and teasing, as if he'd seen straight through her lie.
The way his lips curved wasn't friendly. It was calculated. Cruel. Like he was already playing out something ruthless in that twisted mind of his.
The look in his eyes made Hannah's skin crawl. A chill licked up her spine, and instinctively, she tried to shift the focus.
"Why did you come here?" she asked, her voice steady, though her throat felt tight.
Ivan's smile only widened, sharp and dazzling, his eyes narrowing into crescent moons that gave the illusion of mirth. But Hannah wasn't fooled. That smile didn't reach his soul—if he even had one.
"Why else? I'm here to take you out on a date. I promised, remember?" he said, his voice low and smooth like a lullaby.
His tone was soft, almost tender—so low and melodic it could've passed for affection, like he was coaxing her into letting her guard down. Like he wanted her to believe she was safe in the lion's den.
It should've sounded charming—playful, even. The words he said were the kind of line that might make a girl blush if it came from someone else, but coming from him? It was laced with menace. Like a honey-flavored poison.
Only if Hannah hadn't been hunted by this man days ago—if she hadn't woken up night after night, heart pounding from dreams soaked in his voice and the terror he brought—she might've believed him. She might've fallen for that smile, for the illusion he wore so well.
But now? That smile turned her blood to ice.
"I can't—" she choked, the words barely scraping past her tightening throat. Her eyes flicked, unbidden, to the police cruiser gliding past on the opposite side of the street. A flicker of desperate hope—gone in a blink.
But Ivan caught it. Of course he did. And he was quick to cut off whatever kind of hope was forming in her head.
"Why not?" he asked smoothly. "You're not training today. Classes are done as well. I checked," he continued.
The word landed like a punch in Hannah's guts. Her pulse spiked, heart pounding in her ears as panic surged through her chest like cold water. He knew her schedule. Only now did she realize that he'd been watching her closer than she ever realized.
The realization left her breathless, like the air had been ripped from her lungs. She scrambled for an excuse, clinging to anything that might buy her a few more seconds.
She struggled to think, to find anything that might help her get as far away as possible from Ivan.
"I… I didn't bring any money," she blurted out, grasping at the first thing her frantic mind could offer.
The silence that followed after she said that was instant and suffocating.
Ivan looked at her for a few more minutes, as if waiting for her to continue to say more, but this time, Hannah didn't.
Seeing that, Ivan arched a brow, the faintest curl tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then came the laugh, low, almost gentle, but laced with something sharp and mocking. Something dangerous.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a silken coil wrapping around her, tightening. "Did you really think I needed your money?"
The laugh faded, but its echo seemed to linger, wrapping around her like smoke. The air inside the car thickened, growing heavy and hard to breathe.
Every instinct screamed at her—get out. Run. Now.
But she couldn't move. Not with him watching her like that.
Because this time, Ivan wasn't smiling.
And somehow, that was so much worse.