Chapter 5 Heart-Pounding Moments

Patrick had seen Rhea's calm and gentle side countless times, but this was the first time he'd seen her so flustered, like a startled kitten.

He found it... refreshing.

A smirk played at his lips as he teased her, "You climbed over yourself. I couldn't push you off if I tried."

Her cheeks flushed pink.

"That's impossible."

He chuckled, enjoying her embarrassment.

"Next time, I'll record it on my phone-just to have proof."

Rhea was mortified, quickly turning away as she reached for her shirt, not noticing she'd buttoned it wrong in her haste.

Watching her slender figure as she fumbled with her clothes, Patrick's mind drifted back to last night.

In her sleep, she had curled up against him, trembling as if she were having a nightmare. He'd pulled her close, comforting her, his fingers grazing the sensitive spot on the back of her neck where his mark should've been.

The urge to claim her had been overwhelming. But then, she'd murmured a name in her sleep-"Christopher."

How many times had she done that?

How much did she have to love this man to call his name so often, even in her dreams?

Patrick had tried to find out about this Christopher, but nothing had turned up. When he'd asked her, she'd avoided answering.

The smirk disappeared from his face as he fastened his watch.

"I might be out late tonight. Make up an excuse for my grandmother, will you?"

Rhea's hand froze mid-button. She knew he'd be with Amy.

The humiliation stung, sharp as needles. It took her a moment to gather herself enough to speak.

"I'll talk to Diane about the divorce. I know it's been hard on you."

Patrick's gaze softened, but his reply was cryptic.

"It's been hard on you too."

After breakfast, the driver took Rhea to *Timeless Treasures Antiques*.

She worked through the day, focused on her tasks, until the end of her shift when she received a call from the driver.

"Mrs. Fabian, I'm afraid my car was hit by a drunk driver. I'll need to wait for the police. Could you take a cab home?"

"Sure, no problem."

Bag slung over her shoulder, Rhea walked out of the antique district. As she turned a corner, two men appeared, blocking her path.

"Rhea, right?" said a tall, thin man. "Come with us, please."

Rhea's instincts sharpened as she sized them up.

They looked to be in their late twenties, wearing sunglasses at night, their movements tinged with something... off. A faint, earthy scent lingered around them.

Her pulse quickened.

"Where are we going?"

The tall man answered, "There's an old scroll we need you to restore. Don't worry, we'll pay you market rates."

Rhea relaxed a little.

"You can bring the scroll to my shop for repairs."

The other man, bald and stocky, scowled.

"Why bother talking? Just take her."

Rhea didn't wait. She spun around, running as fast as she could. She only made it a few steps before the bald man grabbed her arm and shoved her into a black sedan.

As the car started moving, the tall man rummaged through her bag and pulled out her phone.

"Call your family and tell them you're taking a few days off with friends so they won't worry."

Rhea's first instinct was to call Patrick, but she remembered he'd be with Amy.

She didn't want to bother him.

She asked the man to find her mom's number.

When the call connected, she said, "Mom, I'm going away with some friends for a few days. Remember to take your diabetes medication..."

Before she could say more, the man took the phone and powered it off. He pulled a black cloth from his pocket and tied it over her eyes.

The car drove on, seemingly for hours, before finally coming to a stop. When the blindfold was removed, Rhea found herself in a rundown building.

They led her up a set of stairs to the third floor, into a small, dimly lit room. In the center stood a large table with a safe on top.

The tall man opened the safe and pulled out an ancient scroll, about a meter and a half long, badly damaged.

Rhea recognized it immediately as the masterpiece of the Four Sacred Werewolf Artifacts Kings-Oswald.

His most expensive piece was rumoured to have protected one of the largest European wolfpacks for centuries, with an estimated market value of over four hundred million.

If properly restored, this scroll could easily fetch tens of millions at auction.

No wonder they'd taken such a risk to bring her here. They couldn't bring it to her shop, which meant the scroll had likely been stolen or illegally excavated.

"How long will it take to restore this?" the tall man asked.

"It's large and heavily damaged. I'll need at least two weeks."

"Fine. Write down what tools and materials you need, and we'll get them."

Rhea took a pen and wrote a list of supplies, handing it to them.

The tall man nodded.

"We'll go get everything. Just rest for now."

As the door locked behind them, she looked around. The room was well-stocked with a bed, table, chair, and even food-clearly prepared in advance.

Outside the window, mountains stretched endlessly, the landscape barren and unfamiliar, dotted with faint, distant lights. It seemed she was far from the city.

Her stomach rumbled. She opened a packet of instant noodles, eating a few bites and drinking some water. After washing up, she lay down on the bed, but sleep wouldn't come.

Had anyone noticed she was missing? Would Patrick even be worried?

Probably not. He was likely still with Amy at the hospital. The thought of him rushing to Amy's side made her heart ache.

The night passed slowly, and when she finally drifted off, it was already past midnight.

Over the next three days, Rhea worked steadily on the scroll, carefully washing and treating the fragile paper. Each day brought her closer to finishing, but also closer to a growing fear.

Late one night, as she was trying to sleep, she heard footsteps outside her door, pacing back and forth.

The following night, she woke to the sound of dogs barking and hurried footsteps.

Rhea jumped up, quickly putting on her clothes.

The door creaked open, and the tall man strode in, grabbing her wrist.

"Come on."

The bald man went to grab the scroll.

Just as they reached the exit, a group of men rushed up the staircase. Leading them was Patrick, dressed all in black, tall and imposing, with his intense gaze fixed on her.

Behind him were police officers, armed and ready.

A surge of relief washed over her, so overwhelming it felt like a dream.

She stared at Patrick, her voice trembling.

"Is it really you, Patrick?"

"It's me." He strode forward, but before he could reach her, the tall man yanked her toward the window, pressing a knife to her neck.

"Drop your weapons!" he shouted. "Back up, or I'll kill her!"

The blade bit into Rhea's skin, and pain blurred her vision.

Patrick's fists clenched, his gaze blazing with fury.

"Drop your guns! Get out, all of you!" He was barely holding back, his wolf side clawing to break free to protect her.

At his command, the officers put their guns down, stepping back.

The bald man kicked the guns to the corner of the room.

The tall man forced Rhea onto the windowsill.

"Jump!"

Rhea clung to the window frame, terrified. This was the third floor. If she jumped, she'd be seriously injured or worse.

"Jump, damn it!" Impatient, the man grabbed her arm, ready to push.

And then, in a flash, a piercing scream shattered the silence.