Chapter 3
344 Words
Whispers of the Madrigals
Nathan barely had time to react before strong hands grabbed his arms and shoved him into the backseat of the black car. His heart pounded as the car sped off into the night, the city lights blurring past. The two men sat on either side of him, their expressions unreadable.
“You should’ve left it alone, kid,” the man on his left muttered. His voice was low, almost disappointed.
Nathan swallowed hard, keeping his voice steady. “Where are you taking me?”
No one answered.
The car drove in silence for what felt like hours before stopping in front of a grand estate—gates taller than any Nathan had ever seen, cameras watching from every angle. The Madrigal mansion.
The men led him inside, through dark, polished hallways lined with expensive paintings. The air smelled of old money and something else—something dangerous. Finally, they stopped before an office door. One man knocked once, then pushed it open.
Inside, a man sat behind a massive mahogany desk. Salt-and-pepper hair, sharp eyes, and a presence that demanded attention.
Janelle’s father.
“Mr. Madrigal,” Nathan said, keeping his voice even.
The older man looked up, his fingers tapping against the desk. “You’ve been asking questions about my daughter.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened. “She disappeared for a week. Then she came back… different.”
A small smirk played on Mr. Madrigal’s lips. “And you think that concerns you?”
Nathan hesitated. “She does.”
For the first time, something flickered in the older man’s eyes—amusement, maybe even approval. He stood, walking over to the window.
“Janelle wasn’t supposed to get close to anyone,” he said. “But she got too comfortable. And you—” he turned to Nathan, his expression unreadable—“you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Nathan’s fists clenched. “Then tell me. What happened to her?”
A silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Finally, Mr. Madrigal exhaled, as if debating
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