It Started With A Lie

Where is she?

I went downstairs in my pajamas, yawning as I scratched my head. I walked into the kitchen, frightened by the sight that I was beholding. I wasn't embarrassed with my look; my hair was a bird nest, and my clothes were crumpled from my constant toss and turn. I was so shocked that I was rooted in my spot, staring with unbelieving eyes at the man standing in a suit in my kitchen.

How? What? Why? Is he here?

Mr. Rivers POV

One hour ago

"Sir, where are you?" The driver's voice caused me to look out the car window to see where we were. I stared at the trees in the distance, but mostly at the road that would lead me to where she was hiding.

Let's see how far you can run now that I have entered the rabbit den. I bet your heart will start to race, like prey cornered by a predator with no way to escape. I have you now, my little rabbit.

I stepped out of the car as soon as my chauffeur opened the door, smiling as I basked in the warm sunlight. I inhaled deeply. The countryside isn't so bad after all; the air is fresh and clean. This morning air is so refreshing, unlike the one in NYC.

I checked my phone, responding to a few texts, when I stepped on something. My shoes slipped a little, and as I looked down, I frowned. My face was immediately showing both an unhappy expression and a disgust expression. I just brought these shoes, only for them to get ruined by dog poop.

Don't these people clean up after their pets? It stinks. I didn't dare to move, but I didn't want to continue to stand in dog poop. Finally, my chauffeur took notice when I didn't continue to move forward.

"Sir, why did you stop?" He asked, leaning his body to the left, trying to get a look in front of me to see the reason why I stopped.

"Go get me a new pair of shoes," I requested without telling him the reason. I didn't have to repeat myself as he rushed off to get me a new pair of shoes. I quickly switched my footwear. Mr. Smith frowned, covering his nose, as he reached down to take up the abandoned shoes. With my now-clean shoes, I started moving forward again, but this time I paid attention to where I was stepping. I didn't want to step in more dog poop.

I was a little surprised when I arrived at my destination. It was not quite what I expected; let's just say my thoughts on country folks living conditions are poor, but this is decent. I could stay here for a few days because I don't think it'll be hard to pull my little runaway rabbit out of her hole.

Fixing my suit, I knocked on the door, taking a slight step back, waiting for someone to answer. The door swung open, revealing a middle-aged woman. She was wearing an apron and holding a dishrag in her hand, while the other held the door open. I smiled to myself, thinking this would be easy as she looked like a kind-hearted woman, but my view changed when she suddenly said, "I'm not selling; get lost." And then she slammed the door in my face.

My face dropped as I frowned. I thought country folks were the kindest and nicest people on earth. I guess that isn't so. She just slammed the door in my face, and I didn't get to say anything. When I recovered from my shock, I knocked on the door again, only to hear the middle-aged woman yelling. "I said get lost, an' you better get off my property."

Whoever said that dealing with country people is easy was a lie. A scene immediately popped up in my head, showing me knocking on the door again. There was no answer until the middle-aged woman opened the door, and I was greeted with a shotgun. "Didn't I tell you to get off my property?" Country people are known to have guns in their houses, especially shotguns. Chills ran up my spine, but I shook it off. I'm a businessman; what should I fear? I've faced worse clients than a middle-aged country woman coming out of the door with a shotgun.

I quit hesitating and knocked on the door again. "I'm not buying; I'm here for your daughter!" I shouted loud enough so that she could hear me through the door. The door immediately swung open faster than the first time I knocked, and shocked, I stepped back a little.

"My daughter? What a fine man like you doing over this side of town?" She eyed me up and down, judging my outer appearance. She was giving me that suspicious look, like she didn't believe me.

"As I said, I'm here to see your daughter, madam. Is Harmony Green here? Or did I get the wrong address?"

"Harmony? "There is no Harmony living here, just me and my husband, Harry." She answered, looking behind me at my chauffer, distrust clearly written on her face. I don't blame her; she won't see a strange man showing up on their doorstep looking for her daughter. I will have to convince her that I am not a danger to her and her family—to Harmony, well, not yet. I smirked, thinking about all the things I'm going to do to her. I want her to submit completely to my begging. My face remained stoic, not showing the thoughts I had about her daughter on my face.

Please let this big bad wolf into her chicken pen so that I can eat up her little chick. "My name is Vincent Ryan Rivers, and this is my business card." I gave her my business card with my name, company number, address, and, of course, my company name on it. Of course, she wasn't fully convinced, so I concocted a lovely, sad romance story. Women love sad romance stories; they would believe them even if the story had a lot of holes in it. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL MY FOLLOWERS AND READERS. SORRY FOR THE LATE WISH BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS UPDATE.

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