"You shouldn't be here," one of them growled, stepping into the light. His face was cold. Deadly.
Kate squared her shoulders, her voice shaky but defiant. "We….we are workers. Mrs. George sent us to …."
"Save it," the second man snarled. "You think we don't know who you are?"
"You're just a couple of kids sticking their noses where they don't belong."
Before either of them could speak again, the men surged forward.
With swift and calculated movements, they lunged at Kate and David, covering their heads and clothes with sacks and binding their hands behind their backs. The fabric was rough, and the binding was tight.
As they were whisked away through the backyard, Kate's mind reeled with fear. They were being taken somewhere, but where? The sacks were ripped off their heads just long enough for them to see it.
A pit.
Freshly dug. Deep.
Their hands bound behind them, mouths gagged, they could do nothing but look at each other in terror.
"This is the boss's order," one of the men muttered, brushing dirt off his gloves. "Anyone who tries to ruin this wedding... is erased."
And with that, the men threw them into a hole, the earth giving way beneath them. Kate landed hard, her body jarring against the ground. David grunted beside her.
The men's footsteps receded into the distance, leaving Kate and David trapped and helpless in the darkness. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and decay.
Meanwhile, back at the Georges' estate, the wedding reception was in full swing. Laughter bubbled from champagne flutes, orchestras played, guests twirled in dresses that shimmered like water.
But not Racheal.
She slipped away, the music fading behind her as she moved silently toward the wine cellar. Her heart thudded heavily, not from excitement, but from dread.
The plan was simple. Meet Kate and David, confirm the findings, and get out.
But as she turned the key and opened the cellar door, a strange chill passed over her. Something was wrong.
"David?" she whispered. "Kate?"
Only silence greeted her.
She descended into the dark, flicking on her phone's flashlight. The files were still scattered, papers fluttering like ghosts across the stone floor. But no sign of Kate. No sign of David.
Her heart sank.
She tried David's number. It rang. The sound echoed, loud, too close. She followed it, her breath shallow.
The phone sat discarded behind a broken wine barrel.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed Kate's line. The same. The ringtone was coming from inside the cellar. Both phones. Left behind.
"No... no," she whispered, clutching the phone. Her eyes darted to the floor...fresh scuff marks, fragments of cloth.
She turned to run, but then she heard footsteps and voices.
She dove behind a pillar, her heart thudding in her chest. Three men walked in, muttering.
"Don't let Harriet find out," one whispered.
"She'll kill us," another snapped. "She'll say we let them snoop around."
They entered the hidden room and began reorganizing the mess Kate and David had left.
"We'll take care of them after the reception," said the tallest man. "No witnesses."
Racheal's breath hitched, a wave of panic crashing over her. She clenched her fists tightly, willing herself to stay silent. She couldn't let the tears fall, at least not now, not now.
Moving as quietly as a shadow, she slipped out of the hidden room beneath the wine cellar and crouched behind a stack of crates in the hallway, her body pressed against the cold stone wall.
She listened, heart racing, as the footsteps echoed above her and the creak of the cellar door signaled it had been locked once again.
As soon as the coast was clear, she darted out from her hiding place, her footsteps feather-light. She made her way back to the party, her pulse thudding in her ears, and melted into the crowd, her face a mask of calm as if she had been there all along.
She drank so much. Everything that passed her hand: champagne, vodka, wine. Anything to keep from screaming.
"Racheal, take it easy," Harriet said, laughing with Adam. "You know I'm so happy for you both."
Racheal smiled. A hollow, broken smile.
Kate and David lay bound and helpless in the darkness, their breaths slow and measured. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and decay.
Just as they thought all hope was lost, they heard the sound of footsteps above them. Heavy, clumsy footsteps. A passerby, perhaps?
Kate froze. She couldn't breathe. The footsteps stopped above the hole, and a faint light shone down. A figure peered into the hole, their face obscured by shadows.
Then, a voice. Quieter. Shaky.
"Hello? Hello! Anyone down there?!"
Kate scrambled to her knees. "Yes! Please!" "We're here!"
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness.
An old man, eyes wide with horror. "Dear God," he whispered. "Hold on."
He vanished for a moment. Then returned with a rope.
They climbed out, slowly, painfully. Breathless.
Kate collapsed on the grass. David rolled over, staring at the sky.
The elderly man stood before them, flashlight in hand, eyes wide.
"What... who did this to you?"
Kate gripped his arm. "No time. We have to leave. Please. They'll come back for us."
He nodded. "There's a safe house. Come with me."
He led them down a concealed path behind the trees. Every branch that snapped beneath their feet echoed like a gunshot.
Finally, they reached a hidden underground bunker. Hidden by brush and shadow, the man pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the rusted door.
"Stay here," he said. "They won't find you."
Inside, it was dim. Quiet. Safe.
Kate collapsed into the corner, tears streaking her dirt-covered face.
David sat beside her, every bone aching.
The bunker smelled of damp stone and iron like the ghosts of secrets buried for decades. The old man, whose name they later learned was Pa Doka, a retired goldsmith who had "seen too many secrets" in his time, bolted the door behind them.
"You'll be safe here," he said.
"I built this place during the riots. No one comes this deep in the woods anymore."
Kate shivered in the corner, wrapping herself in the old blanket Pa Doka had thrown her way. David sat across from her, silent, staring at the single flickering bulb that dangled from the low ceiling like a tired star.
"We left our phones," Kate whispered.
David's head jerked toward her. 'Damn it.'
"They'll find out who we are."
"They must have known who we are," Kate muttered.
They shared a look, dread creeping up like ivy.
From that night on, they never left the bunker.
Pa Doka became their lifeline. Each morning before sunrise, he'd slip through the trees, returning hours later with bread, soup, and newspapers. He said little, but his eyes said more.
Pa Doka handed over a warm loaf of bread wrapped in crumpled newspaper, the steam rising from it in the chill of the evening.
"People think you're dead," he said quietly, his voice gruff with age.
"Especially your friend… Racheal." He paused, glancing at the headline printed in the newspaper, now warming her palms.
"I saw her at the newsstand this morning. She's making sure the whole town knows you're missing."
Kate's face fell. Her eyes widened, filled with a mix of fear and guilt. "No…" she whispered, her voice barely there. "She didn't have to do that." She turned to the man, gripping the loaf like a lifeline.
"Her mother's men will find us if they keep searching. You don't understand, it's not safe."
David stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We need to reach her somehow. She's the only one who can help."
Kate looked up at Pa Doka, her eyes pleading, her voice barely steady. "Please… Pa Doka," she whispered, her desperation raw and unfiltered. "Can you help us get a message to her?"
The old man studied her for a moment, his weathered face lined with caution. His jaw clenched as he looked away briefly, then back at her.
"That girl's mother," he muttered, his voice gravelly with age and warning, "she's a viper, child. A dangerous one at that."
"We'll give you her address," David added.
"You won't go to the house directly. Just… walk along her usual path. Wait until you see her. Tell her we're alive."
Pa Doka sighed, scratching his gray beard. Then he gave a slow nod.
"I'll try. But if anyone follows me, I'll deny I ever saw you."
"That's all we need," Kate said, eyes glistening with gratitude.
"Just find her. Please."
Racheal sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the TV, though the volume was off. Her eyes were dull, lifeless. "It's been seven days," she whispered to herself. "They're gone."
She had tried, she'd gone to the police, stumbled through her grief, her voice hoarse from begging them to listen. She'd followed every thread, chased every whisper of hope, retraced every step they might have taken. But there were no leads. No witnesses. No cameras. No phones. No trace.
It was as if David and Kate had vanished into thin air, swallowed by the same shadows that had claimed Richard.
She'd mourned them quietly at first. Each morning she'd wake up hoping it was all just a nightmare, that maybe David would text her "good morning," that maybe Kate would knock on her window and ask for breakfast. But the silence stretched endlessly.
And still… she waited.
But deep down, she knew. No one ever crossed her mother's boundary and lived to tell the tale. No one returned from Harriet George's wrath. And now, with both David's and Kate's phones discovered in the secret room at the wine cellar with some bloodstains on the ground, there was no room left for denial.