Chapter 3: Hands Around the Throat
There was no hesitation, no second chance for doubt. In a fraction of a second, the man exploded into motion. He rushed forward from the doorway, crossing the threshold of the vault before the woman even realized he was there.
Before she could scream or drop her device, his hand clamped firmly around her throat, pinning her violently against the solid wall of cash stacks. The impact rattled the heavy paper currency, sending a dull, muffled thud through the vault. The woman gasped, her eyes going wide with pure, unadulterated terror as the air left her lungs.
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The contrast was stark: the vibrant, blood-red evening gown crushed against the cold, industrial steel of the vault and the suffocating mountains of cash. Struggling against his iron grip, her hands flew up to claw weakly at his tailored sleeve, her voice cracking under the pressure.
“It’s not what you think!” she choked out, tears of panic spilling over her eyelashes as she stared into a face twisted with cold, unforgiving rage.
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