A felon?

Initially, her wits refused to acknowledge the word itself.

Perhaps, she was in denial.

Her heart was pounding at irregular beats as if she needed oxygen more than before. Daphne took one step back, and the wrong footing caused by her self-evident agitation—she almost fell flat because of that.

The man looked, for the lack of a better term, entertained.

She remained in a slight daze while she watched the man in front of her enjoy himself, staring at her like she was a new form of amusement to him for the first time in a long while.

Hot tears formed on the corner of her eyes when she began to realize something.

She was wrong. She was not saved at all.

The insignificant amount of worry, coupled with uncertainty that she felt when she woke up, right there and then, she should have known that it was what they called ‘intuition’. The smallest of doubts could mean something, yet she knew as to why she chose to set aside that uneasiness, though.

Perhaps, she somehow found solace in deceiving her own self. It was the easy way out, and even for a split second, she would have enjoyed it. She would have preferred it all over again if she was given another chance.

At this specific point in time, she refused to let reality win because she knew that she would only get hurt. By fair means or foul, she desired to get away from the unsettling truth, welling deep within this perilous territory.

“W-who are you?” Daphne asked in a small voice, faintly perturbed about the man’s sudden quietness. His curious, yet intense gaze had been giving her the chills ever since she grew conscious of his existence. “How long have you been t-there?” She was astonished that she still found her voice, despite everything.

She should not panic, or else, all rational thoughts would fly out of the window. She could think of this situation as another opportunity to think reasonably, weigh her chances, and make a plea-bargain with them.

She heaved a weary sigh, and thought it through.

There was one person who had become the voice of reason of their household.

Dahlia Garza.

Daphne should try to think and act like her. She believed that if her elder sister was in her current position, she could do it. However, she was nowhere near her, and she had no one, but this sketchy man with her in what she originally thought a hospital room.

This man, who would not even tell her his name, looked composed—as if he had been in this kind of situation before.

She held her breath, and looked up at him, terrified.

Was he the kidnapper?

He certainly did not look like one, getup aside. “W-what do you want from us?” she asked once more. It did not matter to her if he was not interested in answering all of her questions. She had to get that off her chest, so asking him was the obvious and necessary choice. Her cautious gaze darted toward the bolster by his waist.

Daphne swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a passive look upon her face.

She should not let up even once.

Lowering her guard in the presence of a man like him must be deemed dangerous.

“Do not look so frightened. This armament is not for you.”

She was perplexed for about half a second, and gasped. “H-have I wronged you in any way before, and I-I was not aware of it?” her voice barely audible. She shifted on her feet as she looked down on the Triexta carpet, fidgeting with her fingers nervously. “I may have been ignorant for long, but please know that it was not my intention to—”

“It is not like that,” he interjected, chuckling.

Daphne stared at him, baffled. “Then, what is the handgun for?”

He lifted an eyebrow, and stood up. That particular movement was intimidating, it forced her body to take one step back to allow the man make his aura known to all beings. He was categorically a force to reckon with.

All of a sudden, she felt like having an upset stomach just by taking in his appearance and overall magnetism.

“P-please…”

“Please what?” he asked, walking over toward her.

Stopping right in front of her, she just found herself completely petrified. She could not move a muscle, and her mind suddenly went blank. It really felt weird, knowing that she would never stand a chance against an armed man, and her only wish was just to pass out, instead of feeling utterly threatened and helpless before him.

Her vision of him slowly became blurry from the tears already forming in her eyes, successfully blocking the image of the scary man. She heard him hold his breath for a fraction of second, and she thought she was just hearing things.

Daphne waited.

Daphne waited for it, but nothing came.

It was as if she was waiting in vain for she was not exactly sure what was coming, but still, she somewhat looked forward to it. She tried to peek one eye open, and she was immediately surprised by what she had witnessed.

She did not hear his footsteps this time.

The man was back on the Monobloc chair, sitting right in the corner, his arms crossed while openly watching her movement. Gone was the playful look in his eyes, and the sigh of relief that blew past Daphne’s lips was discernible.

“Bryon Markins.”

She blinked her tears away, and tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“You asked for my name,” he reminded her, his tone slightly irritated.

“Oh…” she blurted out dumbly.

“I want nothing in particular, especially not from the likes of you.”

His choice of words caught her attention.

She was certain that she detected hostility in his tone.

It was rather condescending.

Daphne kept quiet after that. Bryon Markins did not look angry, but he appeared to be malevolent. She would not want to challenge him now, especially after confirming that he was carrying a weapon with him.

“That agent rarely commits a mistake, but the Boss has not said anything himself,” he murmured to himself before looking straight into her eyes, his blue orbs growing wicked. “And as for your last question—no, you have not wronged me. You are a negotiable instrument as far as I know, Ms. Daphne.”