They dragged me into a room colder than the cell. Bare walls. One table. Two chairs. A blinding light hanging above me that made everything feel like a spotlight. Like I was center stage in a play I never auditioned for.
And then he walked in.
Dressed in all black. No sound in his steps. Just presence. Heavy, unnerving, suffocating.
He didn't speak at first. He just… moved. Circling the room slowly like a shark sizing up prey. Pacing back and forth until I started to feel like I was the only thing out of place.
Then he pulled out the chair across from me, sat down, took off his glasses, and placed them gently on the table—like this was about to be a polite conversation over tea.
Except it wasn't.
His mask was still on. One of those tactical ones. Covered everything but his voice. And when he finally spoke, his tone slithered through the air.
"They call me Bullet," he said.
I didn't respond. Couldn't. My hands were clammy, my heart hammering so loud I was scared he could hear it too.
He leaned back like he had all the time in the world and went on. "You know why? I've taken three shots. Real bullets. Didn't die. Didn't even pass out. Walked around for twenty-four hours like nothing happened."
Was… was that supposed to impress me? Scare me?
Because it did both.
I looked at him, confused and unnerved. I didn't understand if he was boasting or threatening—or both. But then he shifted again. This time, he leaned forward, the light casting shadows across his mask like something out of a nightmare.
"Rose," he said slowly, like dragging my name across glass. "Rose… with a hidden background."
My breath hitched.
"No one can access your life's records," he said, tapping a gloved finger on the table. "No school files. No hospital records. No guardianship trail. Nothing."
I blinked.
He smirked under that mask. "Now why is that?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Hell, I didn't even know the answer to that myself.
But he waved the thought away like it wasn't his main concern. "That's not why I'm here. It's just... curious. But let's talk about something more recent."
My stomach sank. Instinctively, I knew what was coming.
"The Carter ball," he said casually. "Last weekend."
Of course.
"You were there. But more than that, you were found alongside the heir to the household."
My mind scrambled and then landed: Julian.
God. This was about Julian Carter?
I whispered to myself, "What exactly do they want from me?"
I don't know anything. I barely even belong in that world. I'm just a nanny… just trying to survive.
He stared at me like he could hear my thoughts. "What is your relationship with the Carter heir?"
I swallowed hard, my voice shaky and raw. "I'm just a nanny. That's all. I work for the family. We only met by coincidence."
He didn't even blink.
Then he laughed. A short, mocking chuckle that felt like a slap to the face.
"You expect me to believe that?"
I didn't know what else to say. I stared at him, wide-eyed, heart in my throat. "It's the truth…"
He leaned closer, menace dripping from every word. "I'll ask you one last time, Rose. What is your relationship with Julian Carter?"
I shook my head, almost pleading. "Nothing. I swear. It's just the job."
Silence.
Then that cold voice again. "If you won't speak the easy way… you'll speak the hard way."
He stood up, and for a second, I thought I was going to die right there. But then he called out:
"Biggie!"
The door opened and a man—no, a mountain—walked in. Easily over six feet, built like a tank. No words, just action. He scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
I didn't fight.
What was the point?
They threw me back in the cell like used trash. Door slammed. Locked. Silence again.
Darkness, again.
I curled into myself, cold and aching, trying to make sense of all of it.
This was about the Carter family?
Why?
What did I get dragged into?
I ran everything back in my mind, but what stuck… was something Bullet had said.
No one could access my background.
Not even his people.
Which meant someone powerful was hiding it.
There was only one man I knew capable of that.
My father.
Dominic Moreau.
Of course he'd block anything that connected me to him. He had already disowned me. So why wouldn't he erase me too?
Now I wasn't just scared.
I was angry.
I was tired of being the ghost in my own life—unknown, unseen, forgotten.
But right now… right now, I was just a girl in a cage with more questions than answers. And no one on the other side to give them.