Emma barely had time to react before rough hands seized her, yanking her forward with enough force to make her stumble. The police officers didn't speak, didn't offer an explanation as they dragged her through the station doors. The moment she stepped inside, the weight of a dozen glares fell on her. Officers, detectives, even people in handcuffs awaiting processing, everyone seemed to stop and look.
The whispers were instant. The air was thick with accusation.
Her heart pounded as she was hauled down the dimly lit hallway, her wrists bound so tightly in steel cuffs that they bit into her skin. The further they took her, the heavier the air became, suffocating in its finality. She was forced into a cold, metal chair in the interrogation room, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing like vultures circling their prey.
The detective in front of her didn't sit. He didn't need to. His presence alone was an attack, looming, unforgiving. He tossed a thick case file onto the table, the impact making her flinch.
"You did all this alone?" His voice was sharp, each syllable laced with suspicion.
Emma's throat tightened. "I—I don't know what you're talking about," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
The detective exhaled, shaking his head as if he'd expected her to lie. "Cut the act," he snapped. "You demanded ten million dollars for his safe return. That's not pocket change."
Her stomach twisted. "That's not true! I never—"
The detective's patience snapped. His palm slammed onto the table with enough force to rattle her bones. "You think this is a game?" His voice was pure steel, his glare slicing through her. "The evidence is stacked against you. The phone calls, the text messages, the money transfer attempt. It all leads back to you, sweetheart. So unless you have something useful to say, this only ends one way."
Emma felt the panic clawing up her throat. "Where's the child?" she asked, desperate, needing something, someone to prove her innocence.
Silence.
The detective leaned in, his voice dipping into something even darker. "Still unconscious." His gaze was unrelenting, his next words a death sentence. "Critical condition. And you better pray he wakes up."
The world spun.
"Because if he doesn't," he continued, "you're done." His smirk was cold, merciless. "You kidnapped the wrong kid, Emma. You didn't just take any child. You took his son."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
"Nathan Sterling." The detective let the name hang in the air, letting the weight of it sink into her bones. "The man who practically owns this city. And if you think he's going to let you walk away from this?" He leaned back with a smirk. "Then, you're dumber than I thought."
Everything inside her screamed that this was a mistake. That this wasn't happening.
But it was.
They refused her a lawyer. They ignored her demands for a phone call. No one would defend her. No one would believe her.
By the time they threw her back into her cell, her legs gave out beneath her. She hit the floor, her breathing ragged, the walls of the small, suffocating space closing in around her.
And then—
The guards came for her again.
This time, they led her somewhere different.
The room was dimly lit, the air inside thick with something colder than hatred. It wasn't just a place for questioning. It was a place for judgment. And waiting for her, seated like a king before a condemned prisoner, was him.
Nathan Sterling.
He didn't have to say a word to command the room. It was in his posture, the way he sat with calculated ease, fingers tapping idly against the surface of the table. Power radiated from him like an unspoken warning.
He was young, early thirties, maybe—but there was nothing soft or inexperienced about him. His sharp jawline looked carved from stone, his suit dark and tailored to perfection. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but it was his eyes that truly made the room feel smaller. Ocean-blue, piercing and cold, clouded with rage.
Emma couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
He studied her in silence, letting the tension stretch, the weight of his presence suffocating.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
His voice was lethal, a low rumble that sent chills down her spine. There was no shouting, no raised tone, just certainty. The kind that told her he already knew how this was going to end.
Emma shook her head frantically. "I—I didn't do anything! This is all a misunderstanding!"
He didn't blink. Didn't move. And yet, the air between them became heavier.
"A misunderstanding?" His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the words before tearing them apart. "Let me ask you something, then." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "On Monday, what did you do with my son?"
Her breath caught.
Monday.
That was when it happened.
When the boy was taken.
Her hands trembled. "I swear—I had nothing to do with it."
For the first time, his expression changed.
A smirk. Dark. Void of humor.
"Nothing to do with it?" His voice dropped, every word infused with danger. "Then tell me, why is my son in a hospital bed fighting for his life?"
Emma shook her head, her pulse erratic. "Please... you have to believe me—I didn't touch him!"
Nathan exhaled slowly, like he was trying to restrain something inside himself. But his eyes told her the truth.
He had already made up his mind.
"You made a mistake," he said, his voice pure ice. "A very big mistake."
Emma flinched as he pushed his chair back, standing to his full height. He was taller than she expected, his presence towering over her like a shadow of inevitable doom.
"You think I care about your excuses?" he asked. "You took my son. For ten million dollars." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "That's what he was worth to you? Ten million?"
Emma's heart pounded. "I didn't take him!"
Nathan's expression darkened. "I don't believe in coincidences," he said. "And I don't believe in mercy."
Her stomach dropped.
"You're going to suffer," he promised, his voice dipping to something almost inhuman. "For every second my son has struggled to breathe, you will suffer tenfold."
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. "Please—"
"And I won't stop there," he continued, cutting her off with terrifying ease. "Your family. Your friends. Your accomplices, if you had any." He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of amusement passing through his cold gaze. "They'll all pay."
Emma's breath came in quick, desperate gasps. "No... no, please..."
But Nathan Sterling was already walking away.
Because in his mind, this was already over.
She wasn't just guilty.
She was ruined.