Chapter 2 Diversion

Alina’s POV

Pain woke me first.

A dull, throbbing ache at my temple, spreading like spilled ink across my skull. My mouth tasted like copper and dust. My wrists burned where rough rope bit into skin…tight enough that my fingers had gone numb. I was sitting, spine pressed against the hard back of a wooden chair, ankles bound to the legs. The air smelled of mildew, old concrete, and something faintly metallic.

I blinked.

A thin cloth…some kind of scarf or rag…had been tied over my eyes. Not completely opaque. Light filtered through in hazy gray patches. I could make out vague shapes…the outline of a doorway maybe, the bulk of crates stacked against a wall, two dark figures moving at the far end of the room. An abandoned warehouse, or something close to it. High ceilings. Echoes.

I swallowed as fear washed over me and my throat felt raw.

“Hello?” My voice came out small, polite, almost apologetic…like I was interrupting someone’s conversation at a dinner party. “Is… is anyone there?”

Silence.

I tugged at the ropes. Nothing gave. The fibers only dug deeper, scraping my skin. I tried again…harder this time…twisting my wrists until fresh pain lanced up my forearms. Still nothing.

Panic fluttered in my chest, but I forced it down. Breathing exercises. In for four, hold for four, out for six. The way the etiquette coach taught me when I was twelve and terrified of public speaking.

God, I wanted to curse so badly it hurt. The word hovered on my tongue, poisonous and tempting…but I’d never spoken one in my life. Father forbade it. Always had.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me? Could someone please tell me what’s happening? I’d like to go home now, if that’s possible.”

A low, mocking chuckle rolled across the room.

“You have no idea the mess you’re in right now, princess,” a rough voice answered. Male. Smoker’s rasp. “No one’s coming. No one’s saving you. You’re staying right here until we say otherwise.”

I tilted my head toward the sound. “I… I don’t really mind staying, honestly. I was hoping someone would crash my own birthday party anyway. So in a way, you’re doing me a favor.” 

I paused, remembering every finishing-school lesson drilled into me since childhood. “But if it’s not too much trouble, could you please untie me? The ropes are quite uncomfortable.”

Another laugh…this one harsher, joined by a second voice.

“She’s still trying to act graceful,” the second man said, closer now. “Even tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere. You gonna die here today, sweetheart, and you’re still saying ‘please’ and ‘if it’s not too much trouble.’”

I felt heat crawl up my neck. Not embarrassment exactly. Something colder. They were laughing at the training that had been beaten into me since I could walk. The same training that made sure I never raised my voice, never swore, never forgot to say “thank you” even when someone stepped on my foot.

I don’t like my life, I thought suddenly. I don’t like the cage I’ve lived in. But that doesn’t mean I want to die.

I cleared my throat again…habit, composure. “What time is it, please?”

A pause. Then the first voice: “Nine-thirty.”

I exhaled slowly as relief, fragile and thin, threaded through the fear.

The party was supposed to start at seven. Cocktail hour, speeches, the unveiling of the birthday portrait my father had commissioned. By now it should be over. The guests would have left. The ballroom would be empty. Someone…my father, the security team, the board…would have noticed I never arrived.

They have to be looking.

All our cars have trackers. The Maybach, the SUVs, every vehicle in the fleet. They would have seen the deviation from the route. They would have activated the silent alarm. My father’s private team was supposed to be the best in the world. Elite. Ruthless. Where were they when I needed them?

A phone rang…sharp, tiny, somewhere to my left.

One of the men answered. His voice dropped, but not low enough.

“Yeah… we’ve got her… Yeah, she’s alive… What? Finish her?”

My heart slammed into my ribs so hard I thought it would crack them.

Finish her.

They want to kill me.

The words echoed inside my skull. I strained to listen, but the man had moved farther away. Fragments drifted over anyway.

“…boss said… accomplished… no loose ends…”

I couldn’t hear the rest.

My breathing turned shallow. Where is the security team? Where is Father? He’s been away for days…Singapore, Beijing, somewhere…but he always checks in on my birthday. He always makes sure I’m safe. Why isn’t he here? Why hasn’t anyone come?

Footsteps approached… heavy towards me.

The cloth over my eyes shifted slightly as one of them leaned close. I could smell cheap cologne and cigarette smoke.

“Good news, princess,” he said, almost cheerful. “Boss’s plan worked. You’re useless to him now. So we’re gonna finish this. The question is…which way do you wanna die? Quick bullet? Slow bleed? Or maybe we get creative.”

Terror clawed up my throat.

“Please,” I whispered. My voice cracked for the first time. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll give you anything. Anything you want. Money, access codes, accounts…whatever it is. I haven’t… I haven’t lived the way I wanted to yet. I haven’t even started. Please. Spare me.”

Tears burned behind the blindfold. I hated how small I sounded. How polite. Even now…begging for my life…I couldn’t stop sounding like the perfect heiress they’d trained me to be.

They laughed again.

Then I smelled it.

Sharp. Chemical. Acrid.

Petrol.

My stomach dropped.

“Hold on,” one of them said suddenly. “That dress costs more than my house. We can’t let it burn. Waste of money.”

Suddenly, there were hands on me. Rough and invasive.

They yanked at the gown…zippers tearing, fabric ripping. I cried out, twisting, but the ropes held me fast. Cool air hit my skin as they stripped the sapphire silk away, leaving me in nothing but lace underwear and the diamond necklace still glittering at my throat like a cruel joke.

One of them whistled low. “Would’ve had a little fun with her first, but boss wants us back ASAP.”

The other grunted. “Then let’s move.”

They rebound me to the chair…tighter this time...then I heard footsteps retreating.

I heard the flick of a lighter from far off. Through the thin cloth over my eyes, I saw the first flicker of orange.

A trail of flame racing across the concrete floor…fast, hungry, moving straight toward me.

My breath caught in fear.

This is how it ends.

Not in a ballroom surrounded by champagne and false smiles.

But alone, half-naked, tied to a chair, while fire races to claim what my father spent millions trying to protect.

I closed my eyes behind the blindfold.

And waited.