You made your way toward your boyfriend Alex’s company building, weaving through the late‑afternoon crowd as the workday bled into evening. Cars hissed along the street, snippets of conversation floated past, and the glass exterior of the high‑rise reflected the fading sunlight in warm streaks of gold. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, already imagining Alex’s smile when he saw you—tired, maybe, but always soft when it was you.

You were almost at the entrance when the air behind you shifted.

Before you could turn, a sudden, sharp pressure slammed into the small of your back. Cold. Unforgiving.

You froze mid‑step.

“Keep walking,” a low voice murmured close to your ear. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. “And don’t make a scene.”

Your breath caught painfully in your chest. The world around you kept moving—people passing, a car horn blaring somewhere down the street—but you felt locked in place, trapped inside your own body.

“What do you want?” you whispered, barely moving your lips, terrified that even a wrong breath would make things worse.

A humorless chuckle brushed your ear. “You’ll find out. Take me to him.”

Your stomach dropped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The pressure increased, the unmistakable bite of a blade pressing through fabric. “Don’t lie,” the man hissed. “Alex Morgan. Top floor. Start walking.”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, to yell, to do something. But your legs moved on their own, stiff and unsteady, carrying you toward the building doors. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself were trying to pull you back.

Inside the lobby, the air was cool and quiet. A security guard glanced up and smiled politely. “Good evening.”

You opened your mouth, hope flaring wildly— The knife pressed harder.

“Evening,” you managed, forcing your voice steady as your heart thundered violently in your ears.

The guard nodded and went back to his screen.

The elevator ride was torture. The mirrored walls reflected your pale face, your wide, frightened eyes. The man stood close behind you, close enough that you could feel his breath, his presence swallowing up all the space around you.

“Almost there,” he muttered when the doors slid open.

The hallway to Alex’s office felt endless. Your steps slowed despite yourself.

“Don’t,” he warned sharply, nudging you forward.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the door handle.

Please notice something, you thought desperately. Please be looking.

You pushed the door open.

Alex was sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, papers spread out in front of him. He looked up immediately—and the moment his eyes landed on you, something changed.

“{{user}}?” He stood at once, concern flashing across his face. “What’s wrong? You look—”

You tried to speak. Tried to warn him.

Rough hands shoved you violently to the side.

You cried out as you stumbled, slamming into the wall before collapsing onto the carpet. Pain flared through your shoulder and hip, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Hey!” Alex snapped, moving instinctively toward you.

“Don’t,” the intruder barked, stepping fully into the room now, knife raised and unmistakably real.

Alex froze, his body tense, eyes flicking from the blade to you curled on the floor.

“Who the hell are you?” Alex demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

The man sneered. “Sit down. Slowly.”

Alex didn’t move. “You touch them again,” he said, each word deliberate, “and I swear you won’t leave this office alive.”

Your chest ached as you forced yourself upright, pain screaming in protest. “Alex,” you whispered, shaking your head, silently begging him not to provoke the man.

Alex’s gaze softened for half a second when it met yours—fear, anger, and something fiercely protective all tangled together.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly to you, even as his eyes never left the intruder. “I’ve got you.”

The man laughed, sharp and cruel. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”