Total Control

"What's your home address?""1314 Amity Crossroads.""Can you describe the intruders?""Around thirty, tall, maybe six-foot-five... glasses...""Did they hurt you physically?""Could you walk us through exactly what happened this morning?""Are you certain there was a person inside that bag, or just guessing?""Did you hear anything suspicious during the night?"Click.

Sebastian pressed the stop button on the audio player.The recording ended with a soft mechanical click.He sat down across from her, expression unreadable, voice almost gentle."Now... is there anything you'd like to tell me, Liliane?"She couldn't speak.

Her whole body felt submerged in ice.The phone call had lasted over half an hour.Her first time dialing the police.The officer had asked everything—everything.And she'd answered it all. Word by word. Scene by scene. Name by name.When it was over, they had said, "We'll take it from here."The call disconnected.

But what happened next?Liliane didn't know how long it usually took the police to act after a report like that.All afternoon, she couldn't sit still.She wanted to check if anyone had shown up. Maybe patrol cars.Maybe they had already been arrested.But she was also afraid.Afraid of tipping anyone off.

Afraid that if she got too close, someone might realize she was the one who called.Afraid they'd hurt her. Or worse.She spent hours at the library, trying to read—Failed.Words blurred. Pages turned. Nothing stuck.An entire afternoon wasted, consumed by anxiety.And then... night fell.

She walked home, stomach twisted into a thousand knots.She wasn't sure what she expected.Maybe flashing sirens.Maybe Sebastian in handcuffs.

Maybe someone waiting with a knife, ready to silence her forever.But what she got was—Nothing.No police.No questions.No chaos.The house looked exactly the same.Exactly.The same.No one stopped her when she walked in.

No one asked what she'd been doing.No one even looked at her differently.She went upstairs. Changed clothes. Took a shower.Then came back down to practice piano.The bodyguards were polite as ever.They even helped her adjust the piano bench.Sebastian was already at the dinner table.The same smile on his face.

The same gang.The same house.The same nightmare.Liliane sat down, heart pounding, vision swimming—And ate dinner with killers.Their calm, unbothered faces left Liliane even more uncertain.She wasn't stupid enough to ask if the police had shown up—But she also didn't have the strength to practice as if nothing had happened.Anxious and distracted, her fingers stumbled across the keys.The notes came out unsteady, discordant.

She feared her clumsy playing would give her away—Would betray everything churning beneath her skin.So she rushed through a few exercises, forced a performance, then excused herself.Said she was tired. Said she'd go rest.Before heading upstairs, Liliane poured herself a cup of warm milk.A small gesture.

A shield.She hoped it would give the Boss one less reason to step into her room tonight.She didn't know if it was guilt, paranoia, or instinct—But tonight, she could feel his eyes on her.And it terrified her.Everything seemed fine.The lights were off.She was curled in bed, beginning to think maybe—just maybe—she'd made it through the night.Then the door opened.

It was him.Sebastian.Fresh from a shower, calm as ever.But instead of milk in his hand, he held something else.A portable audio player.The recording had finished.Silence pressed in like snowfall."I'm waiting for your explanation."His voice was even. Too even.To Liliane, it felt like standing naked in a blizzard.How?