Chapter 7
1015 Words
Hannah's face drained of all color. Her mouth fell open, lips trembling as she tried to form words. For a moment, she resembled a ghost - pale, haunted, frozen in time.
"What did you just say?" she finally whispered, her voice cracking.
The guard shifted uncomfortably. "Atlas Prime, ma'am. He's been spotted in the city."
"That's impossible!" Hannah's voice exploded through the room, making both men flinch. Her hands flew to her throat, clutching at invisible pearls. "He's dead! He has to be dead! We made sure of it!"
The guard's eyes darted nervously between Hannah and Atlas. "The reports are confirmed, ma'am. Multiple sightings across the city. Sir Aaron has already increased security for the entire family."
Hannah began pacing, her bare feet slapping against the marble floor. Her breathing became erratic, each inhale a desperate gasp. "This can't be happening. Not now. Not with the wedding so close."
"We don't know his intentions, ma'am, but Sir Aaron thought you should be informed immediately."
Hannah stopped abruptly, seeming to remember James, was witnessing her breakdown. She then straightened, forcing her features into a mask of composure.
"Thank you. That will be all." Her voice was clipped, professional, though it wavered at the edges.
The guard hesitated, glancing suspiciously at Atlas once more.
"I said that will be all!" Hannah snapped. "Leave us!"
The guard retreated, closing the door behind him. The moment the latch clicked, Hannah collapsed against Atlas, her body trembling violently.
"Hold me," she pleaded, burying her face against his chest. "Just hold me."
Atlas wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the terror coursing through her body.
Each tremor, each frightened breath was his small victory, the first taste of the revenge he'd waited five years to savor.
He struggled to contain his smile, to maintain the concerned expression of James Reed while inside, Atlas Prime celebrated.
"Who's Atlas?" he asked innocently, his voice soft with manufactured concern. "Hannah, you're shaking."
She pressed herself tighter against him, as if trying to disappear into his embrace. "No one. He's no one. Just a ghost from the past."
Atlas stroked her hair, remembering how she'd once done the same to him, whispering promises of forever that had turned to ash in his mouth. "A ghost that scares you this much? Hannah, talk to me. I can't protect you if I don't know what we're facing."
She pulled back slightly, her mascara smeared beneath reddened eyes. For a long moment, she seemed to debate whether to speak. Finally, she sighed.
"Atlas was... someone I used to know. My ex." She moved to the window, arms wrapped around herself. "It was years ago, before Aaron."
Atlas followed, maintaining a respectful distance. "And you thought he was dead?"
Hannah's reflection in the glass looked hollow, haunted. "We all did. He... there was an incident."
"What kind of incident?"
Her shoulders tensed. "It's complicated."
"I think I deserve to know what I'm potentially protecting you from," Atlas pressed, injecting just enough authority into his voice to make her turn.
"He was Aaron's adopted brother," she finally admitted, the words tumbling out. "Marius, Aaron's father, brought him home from some orphanage. He was always odd, always watching, always trying too hard to belong."
Atlas clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain his neutral expression as she rewrote their history.
"We dated briefly," Hannah continued, the lie flowing easily from her lips. "I never truly loved him. How could I? He was nothing compared to Aaron. When Marius died, it became clear that Atlas didn't belong in our world."
"So what happened?" Atlas asked, his voice remarkably steady despite the rage building inside him.
Hannah's eyes darkened. "We... removed him from the family. There was a confrontation. Things got physical." She swallowed hard. "He disappeared afterwards. Everyone assumed he was dead."
"And now he's back," Atlas stated flatly.
"Yes." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And if he's back, it's for revenge. Atlas was always... intense. Obsessive. He won't let go of the past."
Atlas wanted to laugh at the irony of her words. Instead, he moved closer, taking her hands in his. "No matter what happened before, I'm here now. I won't let anyone harm you."
Hannah's gratitude was palpable as she gazed up at him. "Promise me you'll stay close."
"Always," he assured her, reveling in her fear, in the delicious irony that she was seeking protection from the very man she feared.
A sharp knock interrupted them.
"Ms. Hargreaves?" A female voice called through the door. "Sir Aaron requests your presence in the main study immediately. It's urgent."
Hannah's eyes widened. "Tell him I'll be right there." She rushed to her closet, pulling out clothes. "James, wait for me here. I need to see what Aaron wants."
Atlas nodded obediently, watching as she dressed hastily and applied makeup to hide her distress. Within minutes, she was transformed back into the polished fiancée of Aaron Finnegan.
"Don't leave this room," she instructed, gripping his arm. "I'll need you when I return."
After she left, Atlas moved swiftly. He placed tiny listening devices in strategic locations throughout her suite, ensuring he would hear every conversation, every frightened whisper. From his pocket, he removed a small vial filled with a clear liquid, adding three drops to her evening wine carafe.
His phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number: "Package delivered to target's office as requested."
Atlas smiled. Phase two was beginning.
In Aaron's study, Hannah entered to find him pacing frantically. On his desk lay a small wooden box with the Finnegan family crest.
"What's wrong?" she asked, approaching cautiously.
Aaron pointed shakily at the box. "This arrived ten minutes ago. No return address, no explanation."
Hannah slowly opened it. Inside lay a single photograph - Atlas Prime on the night of his exile, bloodied and broken. Written across it in what appeared to be fresh blood were the words: "I PROMISED I'D RETURN."
As Hannah's scream echoed through the mansion, Atlas slipped silently from her suite, moving like a ghost through the corridors.
The hunt had truly begun.
- Writer
