Celia Ray spends an ordinary morning in her suburban home. Her parents leave early for work, their cheerful goodbyes fading with the sound of the car pulling away. The house feels unusually still — sunlight spilling through the kitchen blinds, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound.
Moments later, the doorbell rings.
On the porch stands a man, carrying a duffel bag. He introduces himself as a repair technician, claiming there’s been a service order for the water heater. His tone is polite, his smile disarming — enough for Celia to hesitate, uncertain but not wanting to appear rude.
When she opens the door, the tone of the morning shifts.
The man’s eyes linger too long. Before she can act, he lures her toward the garage, pretending to check the water heater. The air grows colder, the sound of his boots on the concrete echoing ominously. When Celia turns, she finds herself cornered. His mask of professionalism drops, revealing the predator beneath.
He moves with quiet precision — clearly prepared, as though he’s done this before. Celia struggles, but he overpowers her, binding her hands and silencing her before she can scream. The scene unfolds in tense, fragmented flashes — her heart pounding, the smell of engine oil and rope, his calm breathing as he methodically plans his next move.
He isn’t there for theft or revenge. His intent is ransom. Celia’s parents, he believes, will pay anything to get their girl back.
As he blindfolds her and drags her toward his truck, Celia’s mind races. Every sound, every bump in the road becomes a clue. She listens, memorizing directions, desperate to leave a trail or find a chance to escape.
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