Taming Her Beasts

Chapter 4

I pushed the rising panic down as I moved deeper into Daddy’s workplace, telling myself I was overreacting, that I just needed to breathe and find him. But I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before I collided abruptly with someone—an older man, maybe mid‑forties or early fifties, sharply dressed and standing too close.

My body stiffened on instinct. Something about him sent a prickling alert through my nerves, the kind that warned me of danger long before my mind could name it.

“Oh—I’m so sorry, sir,” I said quickly, stepping back. My voice wavered despite my attempt to keep it steady. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No need to apologize, miss. The pleasure is all mine.”

His smile was polite, but wrong—too smooth, too interested. His eyes lingered on me in a way that made my stomach twist. He looked me over like he was memorizing something, analyzing me, and the sensation crawled unpleasantly across my skin.

I forced a stiff nod and slipped past him, refusing to let my instincts distract me. I was here for one reason: to find Daddy and understand why he had left me behind in the middle of the night. Nothing else mattered.

But as I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes following me. Watching. Tracking.

I tried to push the sensation down. Tried to stay focused. But the hairs on the back of my neck stood up all the same.

At the reception desk, I drew in a breath and steadied my trembling hands.

“Excuse me,” I said, keeping my tone firmer than I felt. “I’m Mr. Humingsworth’s wife, and I’d like to speak with him, please.”

The receptionist froze.

For a full heartbeat, she just stared at me—wide‑eyed, startled, as if the name itself was a warning.

“Oh—yes, miss,” she stammered suddenly. “Please wait right here while I get someone for you.”

Her heels clicked sharply across the marble, echoing through the lobby as she hurried away.

I sank into one of the couches, my heart hammering against my ribs. Fear and anger churned together, making me dizzy. Where was he? Why did he leave without me? Why wasn’t anyone telling me anything?

Minutes dragged.

Five.

Ten.

Twenty.

Each time footsteps approached, I jolted upright only to deflate when they passed. By the time thirty minutes ticked by, my nerves were stretched thin.

Finally, the receptionist returned, her expression soft with pity.

“Miss,” she said, almost whispering, “your husband left early this morning, and we… we haven’t heard from him since.”

“What?!”

The word ripped out of me, sharp and panicked. My hands clutched the edge of the couch, knuckles whitening.

“I’m very sorry,” she said again. “I wish I could tell you more.”

“What time did he leave? And where was he heading?” I demanded, desperation overpowering my fear.

“I’m sorry, miss… I can’t disclose that. It’s company policy.”

Frustration flared hot in my chest, but before I could push harder, another voice—smooth, calm, too close—cut through the moment.

“Excuse me… did I hear you say you’re Mr. Humingsworth’s wife?”

My heart stopped cold.

I turned—and there he was.

The same man I had run into earlier.

The same unsettling smile.

The same assessing eyes.

My breath stuttered. “Yes,” I said slowly, my voice tightening. “Why?”

“You may return to your desk, Sidney,” he said to the receptionist, his tone silky but authoritative. “I’ll handle things from here.”

“Yes, sir.” She left quickly, almost relieved to escape.

I felt myself take a small step back. Something about him pressed on my instincts like a heavy hand.

He watched me with that same smirk—knowing, confident, predatory.

“Now, miss,” he said, lowering his voice as he stepped closer, “there’s no need to be upset.” He leaned in, far too close, his breath brushing my ear like a warning disguised as comfort. “Everything will be okay… as long as you do exactly what I say. And don’t cause any problems.”

A shiver ran through me—cold, sharp, terrifying.

My body went rigid.

Every instinct screamed danger.

Around us, employees chatted, typed, answered phones—completely unaware of the storm that had closed in around me. Completely blind to the way this man’s presence wrapped around me like invisible chains.

I scanned the room for an exit. For help. For anything.

But he stood close enough to block my path, close enough to cage me with his voice alone.

And in that moment, the truth settled over me like ice—

I was alone.

I was trapped.

And this man knew far more about what had happened to my husband than he intended to say.