Chapter 2 - The Knock at the Door
The sudden, rhythmic thumping against the wooden door sounded like gunfire in the claustrophobic air of the apartment.
Julian froze mid-gesture, his dark eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. For a fraction of a second, his dominance wavered. His eyes flicked from Meilin’s tear-streaked face toward the entryway. Nobody ever visited without prior clearance from the building's front desk security. The elevator required a keycard access code that only three people possessed: Julian, the building super, and Julian’s private security detail.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Open it!" a voice shouted from the corridor outside. The voice was deep, muffled through the reinforced timber, but carried an undeniable authority and desperation. "Open the door right now!"
Meilin’s heart leaped into her throat. Hope, a terrifying and fragile emotion she hadn't felt in months, sparked inside her chest. Someone was out there. Someone knew what was happening. She looked down at Lily, whose tearful eyes were now turned toward the front door.
"Stay back," Julian snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, warning hiss. The momentary shock was gone, replaced by a calculated, lethal focus. He reached out and grabbed Meilin’s wrist, his grip like a steel clamp, pulling her away from the direction of the foyer. "Don't you make a sound. Not one word."
"Julian, please, someone is out there!" Meilin pleaded, trying to twist her arm out of his grasp. The pain flared in her wrist, but the survival instinct kicking in was stronger than her physical agony. "Let me go!"
Outside, the pounding grew more frantic. "I know you're in there, Julian! Open this door before I break it down! Open it!"
The voice—Meilin recognized it now. It was Arthur Vance.
Arthur was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, Julian’s former senior partner at Vance & Vance Investment Group, and the man who had essentially raised Julian in the financial world before Julian staged a hostile takeover and forced Arthur out of the firm six months ago. Arthur wasn't just a business partner; he was the man who had warned Meilin three years ago on her wedding day, whispering in hushed tones while Julian was at the bar: “He doesn't love people, Meilin. He collects them. When you stop being a display piece, he will treat you like an enemy.”
She hadn't believed Arthur back then. She had thought he was bitter about losing control of his company. Now, looking at the bruised flesh on her own face and the terrified child clinging to her legs, she realized Arthur had been telling the absolute truth.
"He shouldn't be here," Julian muttered to himself, his breath rattling in his throat. Panic was beginning to bleed into his anger, making him more unpredictable. He dragged Meilin backward, away from the entryway and toward the large charcoal grey sofa in the center of the living room. "How the hell did he get past the lobby? Did you call him, Meilin? Did you?"
"I didn't call anyone! I don't have my phone!" Meilin cried out. It was true—Julian had confiscated her personal phone three weeks ago under the guise of "digital detoxing" for her pregnancy health.
"Open the door!" Arthur's voice echoed again, accompanied by the heavy thud of a shoulder slamming against the frame. "I've called the police, Julian! They are on their way up!"
Julian’s face went pale, his jaw tightening so hard that the muscles quivered under his dark beard. "He's lying," Julian whispered, his eyes darting frantically around the room, evaluating threats. "He's bluffing. He doesn't have the police."
Meilin saw her chance. While Julian was momentarily distracted by the sound of Arthur's shoulder hitting the door again, she dropped her weight downward, letting her center of gravity break his grip on her wrist. She fell hard onto the cold marble floor, the impact jarring her knees and sending a sharp pang through her abdomen.
"Lily, stay!" Meilin gasped, scramble-crawling across the smooth floor toward the front entrance.
The smart lock was a high-tech sleek black device mounted above the chrome door handle. It required a fingerprint scan, a digital code, or a manual thumb-turn from the inside. She was only three feet away. If she could just reach the thumb-turn, she could throw the heavy deadbolt open and let Arthur inside.
"Meilin, no!" Julian roared.
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She reached her hand up, her fingers desperate, trembling, stretching toward the glowing blue interface of the smart lock. Her index finger touched the cool metal frame. She began to turn the manual latch.
Then, a heavy hand grabbed her dark hair from behind, violently snatching her backward.
