He smiled directly into the lens.

“Hello, Emily,” Marcus said.

His voice was smooth and entirely devoid of warmth.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” he said.

He leaned down, his face closer to the camera.

“And you are going to bring it to me now,” he added.

My throat tightened so hard I could barely draw breath.

The screen of my phone showed the peeling wallpaper of Clara’s apartment.

Clara whimpered behind the gray tape, her shoulders shaking as she tried to pull against the ropes.

“Let her go, Marcus,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Marcus laughed, a dry, grating sound that came through the car’s speakers.

“That is not how this works, Emily,” he said.

He reached down and patted Clara’s head, his fingers tangling in her brown hair.

I saw Adrian’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He did not look away from the road, but his jaw was set like granite.

“What do you want?” Adrian asked, his voice low and dangerously calm.

Marcus’s eyes shifted on the screen, recognizing the billionaire’s voice.