"Now," he whispered, voice dark and seductive, "prove to me you mean it."
The moment Ivan spoke, Hannah was frozen, speechless, unable to process the weight of his words. Instinctively, her eyes darted to his, searching for any hint of sincerity or mockery, but his expression remained inscrutable.
Her gaze locked with his, a silent battle of wills, and the world seemed to slow. Was he serious? Was this some sick game he was playing? Her mind spiraled, a jumble of confusion and disbelief.
Could it be possible? Could Ivan—a man as dangerous as he was ruthless—actually fall for such a ridiculous excuse? Or is he simply having fun, like when someone plays a game?
Hannah couldn't help but wonder if, in some twisted way, her cousin's romance novels had more truth to them than she had ever dared to admit.
Those books were filled with tales of impossible, forbidden love, where dangerous men softened for the women they desired.
Could it be that she had unknowingly stepped into the same situation as one of those stories—one where the villain was somehow moved by something so cliché?
"Is he insane? Weak-minded? Or just that easily entertained?" she wondered, the thought almost maddening in its absurdity.
Her heart pounded in her chest as her thoughts collided, chaos within her. Was it possible that beneath Ivan's terrifying exterior, there was something more?
Some hidden yearning that could be coaxed out, something deeper than the cold, calculating monster in front of her? Or was this all just another layer of his manipulation—a game, a cruel twist, a trap designed to break her?
Hannah had numerous questions that she wanted to be answered, but she also knew that those questions could wait. Right now, what she needs to do is survive.
Staring into his dark eyes, Hannah knew one thing for sure—she had to be careful.
His desires were as unpredictable as they were dangerous.
She could feel the danger of the moment pressing down on her like a weight on her chest, and yet she also knew—survival, at this moment, meant giving him something.
She had to navigate this treacherous ground, appease his whims just enough to keep her alive.
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling when she spoke, the words barely escaping her throat. "P-prove it… How?"
Ivan's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. His voice was low and laced with menace, as though savoring every word he spoke.
"I don't know. Impress me. It's up to you. Make me feel how much you like me. If you can't… well, you know the consequences."
The weight of his challenge hung in the air, thick and suffocating. The words alone were enough to bring the sting of fresh tears to the corners of her eyes.
The reminder of what would happen if she failed to meet his expectations was enough to shake her to her core.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart fluttered with dread.
Ivan's gaze never wavered from hers, and for a moment, all she could hear was the sound of her own pulse in her ears.
Then, before she could compose herself, he softened, almost mockingly so.
"Shh, don't cry, Hannah," he cooed, his voice suddenly smooth and almost tender. His fingers, unnervingly gentle, brushed her cheek, catching the first tear that fell from her eye.
"If anyone saw us right now, they might think I'm bullying you," he said. His words, dripping with feigned comfort, only made her feel smaller, weaker. The tears that had started to fall wouldn't stop.
Her emotions were spilling out uncontrollably now, a flood of fear, confusion, and vulnerability crashing over her like a tidal wave. She couldn't seem to stem the tide of panic rising within her.
His touch was tender, but it felt like a mockery. A cruel twist. His fingers on her cheek made her flinch instinctively, her heart racing even faster, pounding in her chest like a wild animal trying to escape its cage.
"Wasn't he just threatening to kill me?" Hannah's mind continued to race, too overwhelmed with pressure and intimidation.
Before she could stop herself, Hannah pushed his hand away, wiping her tears hastily, trying to regain some sense of control, some semblance of strength.
Her actions, however, made Ivan's eyes narrow slightly, his smile slipping just a fraction.
"Oh? Is that how you treat someone you claim to like? Was all of that just a lie? You're telling me you really like me, but you push me away?" His voice was smooth, but there was a sting beneath his words—a bite, as though he was hurt, or at least pretending to be.
Hannah's heart skipped a beat as her breath hitched, hearing the threat hidden in his words. Her pulse pounded in her ears as he called her out, his words sharp, like a dagger twisting deep. She flinched, her tears still brimming, and in a panic, she looked back at him, her eyes wide and filled with the vulnerability she couldn't hide.
"It's my love language…" she whispered, the words coming out in a rush, her voice barely above a whisper, the words fragile on her tongue.
Her voice trembled like a thread pulled too tight, threatening to snap. She didn't even believe what she was saying—but she said it anyway, terrified of what might happen if she didn't.
She kept her gaze lowered at first, too afraid to meet his eyes. But something inside her, some desperate hope for mercy, made her glance up—just once. Her tear-filled eyes met Ivan's amber ones, searching them feverishly for a flicker of leniency, a trace of empathy, anything that might spare her from the fate she felt creeping ever closer.
But instead of kindness, Ivan threw his head back and laughed. A full, unrestrained, bone-chilling laugh. It cracked through the stillness of the room like thunder tearing through silence.
The sound echoed off the walls, cold and jagged, like steel scraping against glass.
Each laugh felt like a blade, sharp and deliberate, slicing through what little strength Hannah had left. Her body trembled under the weight of it, and fresh tears escaped, carving quiet rivers down her pale cheeks. The horror of her situation was being mocked—her fear, her lie, her feeble attempt to survive, all reduced to something amusing.
"You're absolutely adorable, you know that?" Ivan finally said, his laughter tapering into a sly, lingering smile.
***🦋***
Author's Note
Hannah stood on the edge of death—literally—and managed to save herself with the most fragile, absurd excuse imaginable.
And yet… it worked.
Ivan, the cold, merciless man with a gun to her head, didn't kill her. No, he laughed. He laughed. And worse? He let her live.
But don't get it twisted. This isn't a victory.
This is survival on a knife's edge. Ivan didn't show mercy—he made a choice. A choice to keep her breathing, keep her close, and keep her under his control. She's not free. She's not safe. She's just alive—for now.
So the question is, what does he want with her now? And how long can Hannah keep playing this dangerous game before she runs out of words, tears, or luck?
💬 I need to hear your thoughts—what did you feel in that moment? Was Hannah brave… or just lucky?
👇Drop your theories in the comments! Let's unpack this madness together.
And if you're dying to know what Ivan will do next, or whether Hannah can keep up the act, you know what to do—swipe to the next chapter.
Things are only going to get darker from here… and you won't want to miss a single second of it.