So instead of being manacled into a dark dungeon, she's sitting on a comfortable sofa in an elegant living room – or, considering the amount of books on the shelves and the sturdy desk in the corner, more likely a library or a study. The room is illuminated by the warm glow of the fireplace. On the low mahogany table in front of her is a bowl of fresh fruits, as well as an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses.

But the most interesting thing in the room is sitting beside here.

Slade Wilson.

She now knows a lot more about him than she did a few weeks ago. And even if they know he has a nefarious agenda, Oliver never depicted him as a monster, mostly remembering with sadness and regret. As to Felicity, remnants of her first encounter with still linger, and she can't exactly forget the man with the charming smile.

Which means, she's probably not as scared as she should be.

“Mr Wilson.”

“Miss Smoak. You remember.”

“I could hardly forget you. You gave me one of the best foot massage I ever had.”

That elicits a sharp laugh.

“Am I a prisoner?”

“Not exactly. I just wanted to have a little talk with you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well you know where I work – and obviously, where I live – which, to be honest, is kind of creepy – so you could have called. There was no need to give in to some criminal tendencies.”

Amusement flickers in the eyes that meet hers. “Ah, but it is more fun that way. You see, Miss Smoak, you kind of put a big dent in my plans.”

“Me?”

“For the past few years I was led to believe that the most important woman in Oliver Queen’s life was Laurel Lance. But when I arrived in Starling City, it became quickly obvious that things had change, and the lovely miss Lance seems to be out of the picture.”

“Oh, believe me, Laurel is still very much in the picture – and Sara too,” she mutters, gritting her teeth

“Do I detect an hint of bitterness?”

She gives him an innocent smile. “Bitter ? No. No. No one is bitter.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Don’t tell me you were planning to kidnap Laurel too and made Oliver choose between the both of us ? Because that would be really lame.”

He seems a bit startled by her frankness, as if it has indeed been part of his plan. But it is fleeting, and there's no trace of it on his face when he answers, “I have no intention of doing you any harm, Miss Smoak. From what I heard and saw, it would be a shame to put a bullet in the brain of someone as smart and beautiful as you.”

“That’s…nice to hear. And Thank you…I suppose.”

He settles down more comfortably in the couch.

“What did Oliver told you about me? Considering your earlier remark, I’m guessing Oliver must have said a few things.”

“He told me that you had been injected with the mirakuru. That he probably wouldn’t have survived without you. And that you lost someone you loved.”

Her voice softens on the last words but his face darkens.

“You don’t know anything about her.”

At that moment, Felicity is suddenly reminded that she’s sitting beside a man that was injected with a powerful drug, and that he could snap her in two like a twig with just one hand. Behind that handsome face and sharp suit is a dangerous man, who came here to get his revenge against Oliver, and he will take down everyone and everything who gets in his way.

And as much as she wants to reach out to him, she must never, ever forget that. Not even for one second.

But Felicity, being Felicity, is nothing if not resilient.

“No, I don’t . But from what I heard, she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would appreciate to have her memory used in the name of vengeance. Then again,” she adds quickly when she meet his furious glance, “I only have Oliver’ side of the story. I would really much to hear yours.”

His whole body is stiff, and the angry look in his eyes is seconded by a haunted one, and for a moment Felicity wonders if he’s going to strangle her or spill his guts.

He suddenly turns his attention to the fire. “You’re free to go. Anthony is waiting for you at the front door and will drive you home.”

She sighs and stand up, smoothing her skirt, waiting for him to say something, but he ignores her, stubbornly looking the other way.

Once at the door, she can’t help but turn around. That’s her mistake.

He's still sitting rigidly, her back to her. She can’t see his face, but she knows, she just knows, that he feels utterly miserable.