The next morning, the news on TV had quieted down, but my agency was pressuring me to at least give a brief interview or release some type of statement. By the time I woke up, Levi was already gone, having left Annie behind to take care of me. A doctor, not Dr. Nora, came to visit and check my sutures, which made me wonder whether it was Levi subtly reminding me of the shit I pulled yesterday, or if it was just a routine check-up. I refused my agency's request to give a statement, figuring it might give us leverage once the potential leak or perpetrator was caught.

The silence with Annie was a contrast to the lively chatter I was used to with Julia. My own thoughts were a jumbled mess of worry for Levi, frustration at being kept in the dark. I needed a distraction, something to break the suffocating quiet.

"Annie," I began, pushing my half-eaten breakfast aside, "this place is… something, isn't it? Have you been working for Levi for long?" I tried to sound casual.

Annie answered with a bright smile. “I have been working for Mr. Blake just over a year, sir.”

Shit. She probably has the least information. "And before that?" I asked, still probing. "What did you do?" It was a long shot, but perhaps her background might offer some clue.

“Before working for Mr. Blake, I was also in administrative roles, sir. I've worked for a few different companies over the years, assisting with their day-to-day operations."

Vague answer. Okay, let’s assess the situation. Levi owns the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country, owns countless charity foundations, all of which lead to an ever-changing, high-stress work. His secretary likely dealt with a constant barrage of demands, intricate scheduling, and a level of confidentiality that would make a spy blush. "Day-to-day operations" probably encompassed everything from multi-million deals to dodging corporate espionage. And she was giving me the most vanilla answer imaginable.

“Day-to-day operations for Mr. Blake must be… quite something, though, right? I mean, running a company like his can't be just answering phones and scheduling meetings. So I am curious, he really doesn’t talk about his company, how is he at work?”

Annie's smile tightened ever so slightly, a flicker of professional reserve returning to her eyes. "Mr. Blake is a very dedicated and focused leader, sir. He has a clear vision for his company and works tirelessly to achieve his goals. He's highly respected by his colleagues and employees."

It was like trying to pry open a vault with a butter knife. Annie was clearly a loyal and well-trained gatekeeper. I needed a different approach.

"He seemed quite exhausted last night; he mentioned having a lot of meetings and travel. I worry about him pushing himself too hard."

"Mr. Blake does maintain a demanding schedule, sir. His commitments often require long hours and frequent travel. It's part of the nature of his responsibilities."

She paused, and for a moment, I thought she might offer something more personal. But then, the practiced composure returned. "He is, however, very disciplined and ensures he maintains his health to the best of his ability, given his obligations."

It seemed Annie was a master of saying a lot without saying anything at all.

If there was one thing I was good at, it was making really bad, downright inappropriate jokes to elevate the situation. But you can’t really joke with someone like her; instead, you can make them ‘pity’ you. She was a little timid when we met, so she wasn’t another impenetrable block of ice. I could turn on my ‘angelic’ actor face to charm her.

I leaned back slightly, letting a hand drift to the bandage peeking out from my shirt. My gaze, I hoped, looked a little lost as it swept over the ridiculously opulent living room. "It's just... all so overwhelming, Annie," I said, my voice softer than usual, maybe even a little shaky. "This place... it's beautiful, but it feels so empty without Levi. And after yesterday..." I let the sentence hang, a delicate shiver running through me for added effect. "It was so sudden, so… violent." I turned my gaze to her, trying to project an air of fragile vulnerability. "Do you really think we're safe here? I know Levi has everything under control, he always does, but..." My voice trailed off again, a hint of fear in my eyes. "It's just hard not to feel a little… scared."

Annie’s demeanor softened almost instantly. "Sir," she said gently, her voice losing some of its earlier formality, "Mr. Blake has taken extensive measures to ensure your safety. The security here is top-tier. You are in the safest place possible right now."

She leaned forward slightly, her tone becoming more reassuring. "I understand that what happened was traumatic, and it's natural to feel unsettled. But please believe me, Mr. Blake would not have left if he wasn't certain you would be well-protected.”

The 'damsel in distress' act worked on her. Time to crank it higher.

"It's just... I keep having these flashes of yesterday," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep the tremor sounding genuine. I even let my gaze flicker towards the window, as if I could still see the threat lurking out there. "It was so random, you know? One minute everything is normal, and the next... everything changes." I hugged myself slightly, a small, involuntary-seeming movement. "It makes you feel like nowhere is really safe, even here, as beautiful and secure as it is." I looked back at Annie, my eyes wide with a manufactured sense of lingering fear. "I'm not usually like this, honestly. I'm usually... more together. But being attacked... it really shakes you up, doesn't it?"

She reached across the table, her hand hovering hesitantly for a moment before gently resting on my forearm. Her touch was light but surprisingly grounding. "But I want to assure you again, Mr. Blake wouldn't leave you unprotected. He trusts his security team implicitly, and they are among the best. And I am here. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask."

Good. The pity play was working. Now, to gently steer this newfound empathy towards something more useful.

"Has there been any news about what happened yesterday?" I asked softly, keeping my gaze a little unfocused, as if still lost in thought. "Anything at all? I haven't really been watching the TV, and my agent keeps calling about a statement, but I just... I don't know what to say." I shrugged, trying to appear lost and a little helpless.

Annie hesitated for a moment, her gaze softening further. "There have been some initial reports, sir," she said gently. "Mostly just recapping the incident, confirming that you were injured but are expected to make a full recovery. They haven't released many details about the investigation yet, likely to protect its integrity."

She paused, then added in a slightly lower voice, "Mr. Blake did mention that his team is working diligently to uncover who was responsible. He seemed... determined to get to the bottom of it."

The pity play seemed to have opened a small door. Let’s keep it like that.

Just as I was about to press Annie for more about Levi's "determination," her phone trilled, the sudden sound cutting through the quiet tension of the penthouse. She glanced down at the screen, and her eyes widened slightly.

"It's Mr. Blake," she murmured, a surprised look on her face as she answered the call. "Mr. Blake," she began, her tone immediately shifting back to a more formal level. She listened intently for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. Then, her gaze flickered to me, a mixture of surprise and perhaps a touch of apprehension in her expression.

"Yes, sir," she continued, her voice clearer now. "He's... he's doing as well as can be expected, sir... Yes... Understood." She paused, listening again. Then, she looked directly at me, her eyes conveying a silent message I couldn't quite decipher. "Mr. Blake would like to speak with you, sir," she said, extending the phone towards me.

Oh shit.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Levi? Now? After I'd just started to make a little headway with Annie?

I stood up, putting some distance between Annie and myself, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city.

"Hello, Levi," I said, trying to keep my voice even, casual.

A low, smooth voice, laced with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite place, came through the receiver. "Dear Pulla," Levi said, his tone dangerously soft, "it seems my little actor is finding downtime… less than stimulating. Have you been casting for a new role already?"

"Ugh, what?" I blurted out, genuinely thrown by the unexpected jab. Casting for a new role? What was he implying?

"Pulla," Levi continued, his voice hardening slightly, the playful tone now completely gone, "feigning ignorance is not something I find charming, as you well know. My sources inform me you've been quite inquisitive this morning. Asking Annie about my work, my schedule, even my well-being. Such sudden interest. It almost seems theatrical."

"Your sources?" I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief. "Wait a minute... Did you... did you bug the house?"

"You wound me dearly, Pulla," Levi said, a hint of mock hurt in his tone that didn't quite reach his cold words. "What would be the point of bugging the house? Do you think I rely on such crude methods to know what goes on under my own roof? No, my dear, I simply trust the judgment and loyalty of the people I employ. They tend to keep me informed, especially when my delicate husband starts asking pointed questions."

Shit.

My jaw tightened. "So Annie told you," I stated, the accusation clear in my voice. I glanced over at her, my earlier attempt at charming her now feeling foolish. She avoided my gaze, her expression carefully neutral once more. So much for playing the damsel in distress. “It still doesn’t change the fact that I was concerned,” I retorted.

"Concern," Levi echoed, the word laced with sarcasm. "Of course you were, Pulla. Your concern is always noted." There was a pause, and I could almost feel his gaze boring into me through the phone line. "However, there are more direct ways to express your concerns to me. You have my number, after all. Now," he continued, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more business-like, "I trust Annie is taking good care of you?"

"Yes, she is," I replied, my voice clipped. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily Annie had deflected my questions. "Perfectly adequate."

"Excellent," Levi said, the satisfaction evident in his tone. "That's precisely what she's there for. Now, Pulla, I need to get back to my… meeting. Please try to relax and allow Annie to ensure your comfort. I will be in touch later."

The line went dead, leaving me standing by the window, the phone still pressed to my ear. I lowered it slowly, a knot of frustration tightening in my chest. He hadn't revealed anything, and he'd made it clear he was aware of my little game. And Annie… Annie had played her part perfectly.

No damsel in distress act, no sniffing around since Annie and bodyguards are here. So what do I do? Do I just… trash this penthouse? It’s not like it can make a dent in Levi’s fortune. But it might make him either completely shut me out, or make him unleash his cold fury. So let’s try something reasonable.

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“Annie. You being a spy for Levi really fucking hurt. I need a breather from this place.”

Annie, who had been quietly tidying the breakfast area, paused, her movements still and her gaze fixed on a spot just beyond my shoulder. The directness of my accusation seemed to have taken her aback, even if it wasn't entirely unexpected.

"Sir," she began, her voice measured and carefully neutral, "my priority is Mr. Blake's instructions and your safety."

"Well, my safety feels a lot like imprisonment right now," I retorted, the frustration lacing my tone. "This penthouse feels like a cage. I need some air, Annie. Just a walk outside.”

"Sir, please," Annie repeated, her voice a little softer this time, tinged with what might have been a hint of sympathy, though it was hard to tell. "You know Mr. Blake is acting in your best interest. There are still..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "...uncertainties. He wouldn't want you to be exposed."

"Exposed to what, Annie?" I shot back, my frustration mounting. "More ninjas rappelling down the building? I was attacked inside his 'impregnable' fortress. A little fresh air isn't going to suddenly make me a target again." I took a step towards her, my tone hardening. "What? Are you going to chain me to the furniture? Is that part of Mr. Blake's 'protection' plan?"

Annie took a small step back, her eyes flicking briefly towards the door as if considering calling for backup. "Sir, with all due respect, I am following Mr. Blake's direct orders. He has instructed me to ensure your well-being within the penthouse. I am not at liberty to disregard those instructions." Her voice remained calm, but there was a firmness in her stance that hadn't been there before.

"So, I'm a prisoner then," I stated flatly, the realization settling in with a bitter taste. "That's what this is. Not protection, but confinement." I ran a hand through my hair, the anger simmering beneath the surface. "Fine. If I can't go out, then you can't blame me for being a little… restless in here."

“What do you mean by that, sir?”

“Well, go to some room in this gigantic house because I am going to ruin this place. C’mon, chop chop.”

Annie's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of alarm crossing her features. "Sir, I must respectfully request that you do not damage Mr. Blake's property."

"Oh, I'm way past 'respectfully requesting' anything, Annie," I said, a manic grin spreading across my face. The frustration had finally tipped over into a reckless kind of energy. "Levi wants to keep me locked up? Fine. He wants to control me? Not going to happen. You can either watch or you can go.”

I took a step towards a nearby vase, a ridiculously expensive-looking thing, and gave it a playful nudge, sending it wobbling precariously. "So, Annie," I repeated, my eyes glinting with a rebellious light, "are you staying for the show?"

"Sir, please! I implore you!”

The expensive ceramic shattered against the marble floor. Fragments scattered like colorful shrapnel, and the water within bloomed outwards in a dark stain.

Annie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Sir! Please, stop!"

I watched the pieces on the floor, a strange sense of satisfaction mixed with a lingering anger churning within me. "That," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "was for the lack of fresh air." I turned to face Annie, my eyes still glinting. "Now, what shall we break next?"

Annie took another step towards me, her voice trembling slightly. "Please, Raphael," she pleaded, using my name for the first time, a sign of her escalating desperation. "Think about what you're doing. This won't solve anything. It will only make Mr. Blake..." She swallowed hard, "...react badly."

"Oh, I'm counting on it, Annie," I said, a humorless smile twisting my lips. "Badly is precisely the reaction I'm aiming for. Maybe if he sees I'm not going to be a docile little prisoner, he'll finally give me some answers. Or better yet," my gaze drifted towards a large, abstract painting on the wall, "maybe he'll come back himself to see what all the commotion is about." I took a step towards the artwork, my fingers reaching out to touch its surface. "What do you think, Annie? Should we redecorate?"

Annie lunged forward, her hand reaching out to grab my arm. "Raphael, no! Please! That painting is... irreplaceable." Her voice was tight with panic.

“No touching, Annie. Injured shoulder, with a bullet, remember?”

“Please stop, sir.”

“Or what? You going to keep me here longer? Hm?”

“Sir, this is just for your safety, once the investigation is over…”

"Once the investigation is over," I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You sound like a broken record, Annie.”

I took another step towards the painting, my fingers now brushing against the textured canvas. "Irreplaceable, you say?" I tilted my head, examining the artwork with a newfound critical eye. "Art is subjective, Annie. Perhaps a little… modification would increase its emotional value. Wouldn't you agree?" My fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the frame.

Annie's breath hitched. Her eyes darted from my hand on the painting to my face, a mixture of fear and desperation swirling within them. "Raphael, please! Don't do this. You'll regret it."

"Regret?" I echoed, a sardonic smile playing on my lips. "I already regret trusting Levi's 'protection.' I regret not seeing this gilded cage for what it is sooner. A little artistic expression might just be the most honest thing I've done since I woke up in this house." My grip on the frame tightened. I could feel the canvas stretching slightly under the pressure. "So, Annie, last chance. Are you going to try and stop me?"

Annie took a hesitant step forward, her hands held out in a plea. "Raphael... think about Levi. He... he cares about you."

I scoffed, my grip on the frame remaining firm. "Cares? Is that what you call keeping me locked up like a prized possession? Is that what you call not telling me who tried to kill me? His 'care' feels a lot like control, Annie. And I'm done being controlled."

With a sudden, decisive movement, I yanked the painting off the wall. The tearing sound of the canvas ripped through the tense silence as the artwork came free, leaving a gaping space of pale wall behind it. I held the painting for a moment, looking at the now-damaged canvas, a strange sense of release washing over me.

"Well, Annie," I said, a wry smile returning to my face, "that's one less 'irreplaceable' thing in this bloody house." I tossed the painting carelessly onto a nearby sofa. "What's next?"

"That's enough, Raphael," she said, her voice firm, all traces of pleading gone. She reached for the small device clipped to her belt. "I have to inform Mr. Blake."

"Go right ahead, Annie," I said, a defiant grin spreading across my face. "Tell him his precious artwork is no more. Tell him his delicate little Cyrusian is having a tantrum. Maybe he'll finally understand that I'm not some doll he can lock away in his fancy house."

I turned my attention to a nearby bookshelf, my eyes scanning the rows of leather-bound volumes. "Now," I mused aloud, running a finger along their spines, "which of these literary masterpieces shall face their untimely demise?"

Annie’s fingers tightened on the device at her belt. "You don't understand, Raphael. You're escalating this unnecessarily."

"Unnecessarily?" I scoffed, pulling a particularly thick volume from the shelf. It felt heavy in my hand. "Annie, my life was threatened in this very place. I'm being kept here against my will, fed vague reassurances, and treated like a fragile ornament. Forgive me if I find a little redecorating to be a necessary form of stress relief." I hefted the book, testing its weight. "Perhaps a little light reading… thrown forcefully against that ridiculously ornate mirror?" My eyes gleamed with mischievous intent. "What do you say?"

Annie didn't respond verbally, but her hand remained firmly on the device. Her eyes, however, were fixed on me, a complex mix of frustration and something akin to pity swirling within them. It was clear she was weighing her options, likely debating whether to call for backup immediately or try one last attempt to de-escalate the situation.

I took her silence as an invitation to continue my performance. With a dramatic flourish, I hurled the heavy book across the room. It struck the ornate mirror with a satisfying thwack, leaving a network of fine cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.

"Oops," I said, feigning surprise, though the act felt hollow now. The initial rush of anger and defiance was starting to give way to a weariness, a sense of the futility of it all. Still, I couldn't stop now. I had crossed a line, and there was no going back. "Looks like someone needs to invest in some shatterproof glass." I turned back to the bookshelf, grabbing another volume, this one thinner but with sharp-looking gilded edges. "Next up: projectile literature!"

Annie finally seemed to make her decision. Instead of reaching for her device, she took a step towards me, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Raphael," she said, her voice softer again, but with a newfound urgency, "wait. Please. Let's not do this. I... I might be able to help you."

Her words caught me off guard. I paused, the book still held loosely in my hand. "Help me?" I echoed, skepticism lacing my tone. "How? By telling me what kind of expensive vase I should break next?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "By... by talking to Mr. Blake. Maybe... maybe I can explain things in a way that he'll understand. About how you're feeling... about needing answers."

Was this another tactic? Or was she genuinely trying to de-escalate the situation before I completely destroyed the penthouse? A sliver of doubt flickered in my defiant resolve.

"And why would you do that, Annie?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "Just a few minutes ago, you were his loyal informant. What changed?"

Annie hesitated, her gaze flicking down for a moment before meeting mine again. "Because," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't think this is the right way. Mr. Blake... he can be reasonable, sometimes. But not when he's angry. And seeing his home like this... it will only make things worse for everyone."

She took another step closer, her eyes pleading. "Let me try, Raphael. Just... just put the book down. Let me call him. I'll tell him you're upset, that you need to talk to him. Maybe... maybe we can find a way to resolve this without further damage."

“If you think Levi would care about some shattered glass and destroyed painting, you are fucking wrong. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone. At all. He never does. So either he himself comes here and chains me from my ankle or I am trashing this place.”

Annie's face fell slightly at my harsh words, but she didn't back down. "Perhaps," she conceded, her voice softer but still firm, "but he will care about the disruption. He values order, control. This... this is chaos. And chaos attracts attention. Attention he might not want right now, especially with..." She trailed off, as if catching herself.

"Especially with what, Annie?" I pressed, my suspicion piqued. "With the investigation? With whoever attacked me? See? You know more than you're letting on."

"Yes," Annie admitted, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes darting nervously towards the door as if expecting someone to appear. "With the investigation. It's... delicate. Mr. Blake wants to handle it discreetly. This kind of... incident... would draw unwanted scrutiny."

“Yeah? He could’ve just told me to be quiet for a while, told me to act, but no. He decided what’s best, without telling me, and he fucking locked me into this place.”

“I am deeply sorry, Raphael.”

"What did you just say?" I asked, a flicker of confusion amidst the anger.

But before she could elaborate, my attention was caught by movement in the periphery. Two imposing figures, the bodyguards who had been present earlier, were now striding purposefully into the living room.

"Sir," the larger of the two said, his voice low and authoritative, "Mr. Blake has been informed. He has instructed us to ensure your well-being.”

“Oh fuck off.” I flicked my hand. The larger bodyguard moved with surprising speed, his hand clamping down on my injured shoulder. I hissed in pain, the sudden pressure sending a jolt of agony through my arm. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. The other bodyguard moved to flank me, effectively cutting off any escape route.

"Get your hands off me!" I yelled, struggling against their combined strength. They were both significantly larger and stronger than me, and my injured shoulder put me at a distinct disadvantage. I tried to twist away, but they held me firm, their movements precise and practiced.

"Sir, please cease your resistance," the larger bodyguard said, his voice still calm, but with an underlying edge of steel. "We are under strict instructions."

"Instructions to what? Drag me kicking and screaming to a padded cell?" I spat, my voice laced with fury. I kicked out at the other bodyguard, connecting with his shin, but he barely flinched.

They tightened their grip, and I knew I couldn't fight them. I was outnumbered, outmatched, and injured.

"Where are you taking me?" I managed, my voice a strained whisper against their unyielding grip. My injured shoulder throbbed in protest, a dull counterpoint to the sharp sting of defeat.

As they steered me, the other bodyguard subtly produced a small vial and a hypodermic needle from an inside pocket. Before I could fully register the glint of metal, I felt a sharp prick in my arm.

"What the hell was that?!" I exclaimed, trying to pull away, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over me. My limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.

"A mild sedative, sir," the bodyguard who administered the injection said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "To ensure your comfort and cooperation until Mr. Blake arrives."

Comfort? Cooperation? My thoughts were already becoming fuzzy, the edges of my anger blurring. They continued to guide me through the ransacked living room, past the shattered remains of the vase – a testament to my futile rebellion. Annie watched, her face a blurry mask of conflicted emotions I couldn't quite decipher.

They led me to a less conspicuous set of double doors, opening into a short, private hallway that branched off from the main area. My bedroom.

They deposited me unceremoniously onto the soft expanse of my bed. The plushness felt suffocating. My eyelids felt heavy, and the sounds around me seemed to recede.

I was alone, the sedative pulling me down into a heavy, disoriented calm.