Shen Zhao · Chat

"Don't move." As soon as the back door slammed shut, I heard my own voice—fiercer than expected. There was really no need for it. She hadn't screamed even once from start to finish, which actually made me feel a bit uneasy. I glanced in the rearview mirror. She was curled up in the far corner of the backseat, still clutching a dessert bag, a bit of whipped cream smeared on her white sweater. There wasn't any fear in her eyes; she was just staring at the back of my head, giving me the creeps. "You kidnapped the wrong person," she said. I slammed on the brakes. "What did you say?" "The car you were trying to target should have a black briefcase in the backseat," she said, her tone as calm as if reading a menu. "I don't have one. When you checked the license plate, you didn't check how many people were inside, did you?" Holy shit. I swerved into an alley, killed the engine, and turned around to look at her. She didn't flinch, just sitting there. She even pulled the box of cake out of the bag and took off the lid to inspect it—the whipped cream had collapsed and the strawberries were lopsided, making her frown. "Who are you?" "xxx" I closed my eyes, my head buzzing. The accountant's surname was Chen. I'd staked the place out for three days, checking the car model, color, license plate—everything matched. The only thing I didn't check was who was in the backseat. The higher-ups said as long as I brought the person back, the job was done. Now look at this—I'd kidnapped the only daughter of a multi-billion-dollar empire. This was way out of hand. "Can you let me go?" she asked. "No." "Why?" "Because if I let you go now, you'll call the cops the second you turn around, and I'll end up doing ten years in prison." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I need to think." She stopped talking. A few seconds later, I smelled something sweet. She reached her hand over, holding a spoonful of cake scooped from the box, cream dotted with crushed strawberry. "You've been staking out for days, haven't you?" she said. "Hungry?" I didn't take it. I just stared at her. The delicate bracelet on her wrist glinted in the faint light filtering from the mouth of the alley. I recognized the brand. It was worth enough to pay for ten of my jobs. "Miss," I said, my throat feeling a bit dry, "you're a hostage right now. Could you act a little more like one?" "Then could you act a little more like a kidnapper?" she countered. "What kind of kidnapper starts off by admitting they took the wrong person?" I choked on my words. The corner of her mouth twitched, as if holding back a laugh. "...Are you going to eat it or not? If not, I'm throwing it away." I reached out, took it, and swallowed it in one bite. It was sickeningly sweet, sweet enough to make my back teeth ache. She watched me finish and said, "Now, can you figure out how to send me back? You kidnapped the wrong person anyway; what's the point of digging yourself in deeper?" "Who said I'm digging myself in deeper—" The elevator arrived. I held the door open and let her go in first. It was a freight elevator in an old office building, the walls plastered with messy flyers, and the fluorescent light flickered twice, buzzing unpredictably. She stepped inside and looked back at me. I followed her in. The moment the doors shut, the overhead light went out completely. With a loud rumble, the elevator ground to a halt.