Chapter 6 - The Iron Grip
The pain shot up my arm as Marcus’s fingers locked around my wrist like a vise, cold and unyielding. The sheer physical dominance in his posture stripped away any remaining pretense of civility. He wasn't just an employer losing his temper; he was a predator cornering his prey in a trap of his own making.
"Mr. Vance, let go of me!" I gasped, twisting my arm in a frantic, desperate attempt to wrench free. My sneakers slid across the plush Persian rug, but his grip didn't loosen by a single millimeter. "You're hurting me!"
"Open your hand, Elena," Marcus commanded, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl that vibrated through the quiet library. "Right now."
"I didn't take anything!" I lied, my voice cracking with panic as my left hand—the one free of his grasp—instantly clenched tighter around the flash drive and the folded note in my pocket. The sharp edge of the cardstock bit sharply into my palm, grounding me just enough to keep from completely hyperventilating.
"Liar," Marcus whispered, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as he stepped closer, invading my personal space until I could smell the faint scent of expensive cologne and simmering rage. "You think you're clever, don't you? A bright college girl stumbling into a soap opera. But you are entirely out of your depth. People who dig into things that don't concern them tend to have very short, unfortunate careers in this house. Ask Chloe."
Hearing him say her name sent a freezing jolt straight down my spine. The confirmation hung in the air like a death sentence—he knew about Chloe Sullivan, and he knew I had found the hidden cache in the desk.
"So it was you," I blurted out, the adrenaline overriding my terror for a split second. "You pushed her from the balcony. It wasn't an accident!"
A dark, humorless smile touched the corners of Marcus's lips, making his handsome face look suddenly mask-like and grotesque. "Chloe was young, naive, and incredibly foolish. Just like you, Elena. She thought she could outsmart me, too. And look how that ended for her."
Before I could process the chilling confession, a sudden, sharp clatter echoed from the double doors behind us.
Marcus jerked his head toward the entrance, his grip on my wrist fractionally slackening as the heavy mahogany doors swung open with a bang.
Victoria stood in the doorway. Her hair was slightly disheveled, the red welt from Marcus's slap still burning bright against her pale cheek, but her eyes were wide with a frantic, desperate wildness. She took in the scene before her—Marcus holding me by the wrist, me trapped against the edge of the mahogany desk—and a strange, warped look of triumph flashed across her features.
"I knew it!" Victoria shrieked, pointing an accusing finger directly at her husband. "I told you she was working for you! You brought her in to spy on me, to frame me, to make everyone think I'm a lunatic while you two play your little games behind my back!"
"Shut up, Victoria," Marcus snarled, his attention momentarily split as he glanced back at his wife. It was the opening I needed.
With all the strength left in my body, I drove my heel down hard against the top of Marcus’s expensive leather shoe and wrenched my right arm sideways with a violent twist.
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Marcus cursed under his breath, his grip sliding off my wrist as he stumbled back half a step. I didn't wait to see what he would do next. I spun around the corner of the desk, bolted across the Persian rug like a sprinter leaving the starting blocks, and sprinted straight out the library doors past a stunned, screaming Victoria.
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