Chapter 8: Panic Attack
1090 Words
Cattleya’s POV
She laughed, a mocking sound that grated on my nerves. "Guess I don't need to repeat myself, Cattleya. See you around."
With a provocative sway of her hips, she turned and walked away. Her laughter echoed behind me, a taunting melody that sent a surge of anger through my veins.
I stormed into the elevator, my mind racing. Upon reaching my condo, I slammed the door shut, the echo amplifying my frustration.
I sank into the soft cushions of the red velvet sofa, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"One step at a time," I muttered, my voice low and determined.
I cracked my knuckles and opened my laptop, eager to delve into the world of Jaxon Moretti.
His online persona was meticulously crafted, a pristine image of success and power—no scandals, no controversies—just a carefully curated facade.
My phone rang, interrupting my investigation. It was Vianne.
"Hey," I answered, my tone neutral.
"Miss Catt, we have dinner with Mr. Spencer tonight to discuss the Michelangelo Pieta," she began, her voice filled with excitement. "You know, the bigwig in the city who bought it for his gallery?"
A wave of indifference washed over me. Art, once a passion, now felt like a distant memory.
"Cancel it," I said abruptly.
Vianne was visibly surprised. "What? But you waited for this moment to meet Mr. Spencer!"
I stood up, pacing the room. "I'm not feeling well. You can go instead. You can handle it, right?"
Hesitation crept into her voice, but she agreed. "Of course, Miss Catt. I'll take care of it."
With the call ended, I returned to my research, my mind more focused on the man behind the mask than the art world I once thrived in.
I revisited the Inferno Club, desperate for any clue about my sister's life.
I couldn't live with the uncertainty of her tragic death, especially when it seemed everyone was eager to forget her.
As I approached the club, the imposing figure of a guard blocked my path.
He scrutinized me from head to toe before speaking. "Invitation?"
I raised an eyebrow, challenging his authority. "Last time I checked, I didn't need one to get in here. I've been here before."
His expression hardened. "There's an event tonight, ma'am. Only those with invitations can enter. It's a private affair for elite members."
Frustration boiled within me. I couldn't believe my luck.
I sighed in frustration, "I don't have one."
"Then you stay out of the way, Next." he said as he glanced at the person behind me.
“Do you know who I am?”
The guard glanced at me, “No, but I think you’re one of the spoiled brats who lived in a grand mansion.”
I stood in the corner, my eyebrows drawn together in a frown. Never in my life had I been treated with such disregard. I was accustomed to gliding effortlessly into any event, a familiar face in every crowd.
But here, at the Inferno Club, the owner and staff seemed oblivious to my existence.
A soft scoff escaped my lips. As I turned to leave, I caught sight of Ariella’s friend.
Her eyes widened in shock. "Catt! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
I raised an eyebrow, mirroring her surprise. "And you, of all people, what brings you to this place?"
She fidgeted nervously, her lips parting and closing. "Listen, you need to get out of here. This isn’t the place for you."
A determined glint appeared in my eyes. "And why is that? I'm here to find answers. If you care about me at all, you'll get me in."
Her jaw dropped. "You want my invitation? Are you crazy? You have no idea what goes on in there. It's dangerous."
I smiled coldly, snatching the card from her hand. "So are you."
I presented the invitation to the guard, who, with a reluctant nod, allowed me entry.
The scene that unfolded before me was a grotesque spectacle.
People were lost in a haze of drugs and alcohol, their inhibitions shattered. The air was thick with the scent of depravity.
In the center of the room, a woman was displayed like a grotesque piece of art, her body violated for the pleasure of the crowd.
A wave of nausea washed over me. "What the heck....."
As I turned to run, a strong hand clamped down on my arm, pulling me into the heart of the madness.
A sinister grin spread across the man's face. "Well, well, look who we have here. A fresh face. Sweet!"
All eyes were on me, their gazes sharp and predatory. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, my mind racing.
A forced smile crept onto my face as I blurted out, "I think I've entered the wrong room."
The man with the dragon tattoo tightened his grip on my arm. "Not so fast, sweetheart. Since you're here, you might as well join the fun. Try our special cocktail. It'll make all your troubles disappear."
I shook my head vigorously, my heart pounding. "No, thanks. I'm good." I tried to pull away, but his hold was ironclad.
"What are you playing at? You belong here!" His voice was a low growl.
Panic rushed through me.
He thrust a glass into my hand, and the crowd erupted into a chant.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!"
Just as I was about to become another victim in this nightmare, the grand doors swung open.
Jaxon Moretti stood in the doorway, his face a mask of fury. His bodyguards moved swiftly, clearing a path through the crowd.
A cold dread settled over me as he turned his icy gaze on me.
A silent order passed between him and his guards.
Before I could react, I was bundled out of the club and shoved into a waiting car.
Jaxon's voice, cold as steel, echoed in the confined space. "Did I make myself clear, Catt? YOU…. Stay out of my way?"
Terror seized me as I replayed the horrors I'd witnessed. A place like that shouldn't exist.
It was pure, unadulterated evil.
"Are you listening to me?" Jaxon's voice cut through my thoughts, his grip on my arm tightening.
A gasp escaped my lips as a wave of panic flushed over me.
My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest constricting with each inhale. I hadn't experienced an asthma attack since I was a child.
How could this be happening now?
Concern flickered in Jaxon's eyes. "Catt, breathe. Just breathe. Stay with me."
- Writer
