LOGINThe moment the lights went out, I felt Vance’s hand tighten around mine.
Nothing about it felt comforting.
It was controlling.
My only safety net sat at the foot of the bed, softly snoring in the darkness.
I forced my breathing to stay steady. Slow. Even. Controlled.
If I panicked, the monitor would give me away.
Or at least… it should have.
A thought suddenly crept into my mind.
Wait.
Earlier Vance said he had been looking for me for weeks.
Had my father not told him I’d been admitted here?
That didn’t make sense. My father would have used that information against Vance the moment he had the chance. Their relationship had never been warm. If anything, it had always felt like a polite standoff.
No.
Something about this felt wrong.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an hour. The room remained silent except for my father’s faint snoring and the distant hum of hospital equipment somewhere down the hall.
Then I heard it.
A soft click.
It wasn’t the light.
A cold realization spread through me like ice water.
The beeping.
I couldn’t hear the beeping anymore.
The monitor.
Vance must have turned it off at the wall.
My chest rose faster despite my efforts to stay calm. Fear clawed its way through my body.
This was it.
He was going to finish what he started.
“You were supposed to die quietly.”
His whisper brushed against my ear, meant for me and me alone.
My entire body went rigid.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t breathe.
I waited.
“Your position as chairwoman should have been mine,” Vance continued softly. “But I suppose I can settle for the generous insurance policy your family insisted on.”
His voice carried amusement.
Like this was all just an inconvenience.
My throat burned as I forced out a single word.
“Why?”
The sound startled both of us.
It was the first word I had managed since he entered the room.
In the darkness, I could barely make out his face now that my eyes had adjusted. His jaw tightened slightly.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then his fingers squeezed my hand painfully hard.
A warning.
If I wanted to live through the next few minutes, I needed to obey it.
My mind raced.
I had two options.
The first was to scream. Now that my voice worked, even if barely, maybe someone would hear me.
But every previous attempt had failed. Even earlier with water, my voice had been nothing more than a broken croak.
Right now, water wasn’t exactly an option.
The second choice was to pretend I was losing consciousness again.
And pray for a miracle.
I widened my eyes slightly, letting them flutter as if exhaustion was overtaking me, before slowly letting them close.
“Knock knock.”
The cheerful voice cut through the darkness.
“You’re very popular today. You have another visitor.”
Nurse Joy.
Relief washed through me so suddenly it almost made me dizzy.
“I’ll be back in five minutes to do some observations and change your drip bag,” she added before leaving the room again.
My father stirred awake.
I heard the unmistakable sound of heels approaching the bed.
“Ah, perfect timing, Anya,” my father greeted warmly. “I was wondering when you’d come.”
No.
No, no, no.
I forced in a breath.
“Murderers,” I whispered weakly.
The word barely escaped my lips before dizziness swept over me.
Vance’s grip on my hand tightened again.
But judging by the lack of reaction from my father, he either hadn’t heard me… or he had misunderstood.
I opened my eyes just enough to see Vance and Anya exchange a quick, satisfied look.
Anya grabbed the empty paper cup from beside the bed and crushed it lightly in her hand before turning toward my father.
She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Mr. Hawkins, I think Charlotte is asking for water,” Anya said sweetly. “Do you know where we could get a cup and straw for her?”
My father cleared his throat, still half asleep.
“Well… since you’re here, I think I’m comfortable stepping out for a moment. I’ll grab one on my way back.”
Terror settled deep in my chest.
My father had always been skeptical of Vance. Of any man who tried to get close to me, really.
But Anya?
My best friend since we were eleven years old.
He trusted her like family.
I heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway.
“I’ll be back shortly, Lottie,” he said gently. “You’re in good hands.”
Good hands.
If only he knew.
Did he not notice the silence?
The absence of the monitor’s steady rhythm?
Hope began to drain from me.
So I did the only thing I could.
I closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep.
“She’s out just like that?” Anya asked quietly.
“Yes,” Vance replied. “She tends to pass out when she’s overwhelmed. Happens more often than you’d think.”
Anya let out a soft laugh.
“I suppose years of preparation would do that to someone.”
“Keep your voice down,” Vance muttered.
“Oh relax,” she replied. “She’s barely breathing.”
A pause followed.
Then Anya spoke again.
“Honestly, the study was my favorite part.”
Vance scoffed quietly.
“You mean the renovation?”
“Yes,” she whispered with amusement. “Convincing her it needed a full makeover. New walls, new shelves, new paint.”
My stomach twisted.
My study.
“That contractor nearly ruined everything,” Vance muttered. “If he’d asked too many questions, the entire plan would’ve collapsed.”
“But he didn’t,” Anya said lightly. “And Charlotte practically lived in that room.”
“Eight hours a day,” Vance replied coldly.
A chill ran through me.
“Between the vitamins, the tea, and that little renovation project,” Anya continued, “I’m surprised she lasted this long.”
“Patience,” Vance said. “Good things take time.”
Anya moved closer.
“I’ve missed you.”
I heard the faint rustle of fabric.
A low grunt escaped Vance.
“Not here, kitten,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something darker. “We still have loose ends to tie up.”
I wanted to gag.
Unfortunately my throat was so dry that even the thought felt impossible.
And somehow…
I knew those loose ends included me.
The door closes softly behind us. Neither of us speak immediately. Anya still stands near the entrance like she’s afraid moving too quickly will somehow bring Vance back.I watch her carefully now. Really watch her. The shaking hands. The way her eyes keep flicking toward the door. The uneven breathing she’s trying to hide. This isn’t guilt. This is survival.Slowly, Anya lowers herself onto the edge of the sofa.Small.That’s the first thing I notice.She suddenly looks smaller than I’ve ever seen her. Not physically. Emotionally. Like Vance carved pieces out of her until there was barely anything left.I stay standing across from her.“The family knows the baby is Callum’s.”The words leave me bluntly. Direct.Anya goes completely still. Color drains slowly from her face.“What.”“The paternity test came back this morning.”Her breathing catches sharply.“No.”Not denial. Fear. Pure fear.“He knows?” she whispers.“Callum remembers enough from the warehouse to know the truth.”Anya
The penthouse was officially classified as part of an active investigation less than twelve hours after the warehouse was discovered.Forensics took over the entire floor before sunrise.Which meant Vance and Anya were temporarily relocated under monitored confinement while investigators searched the property.That alone should’ve satisfied me.Seeing Vance removed from the penthouse should’ve felt like justice.Instead all I could think about was the baby.I can’t sleep.Every time I close my eyes I hear the sound of crying echoing through that warehouse.Tiny fingers wrapped around hospital blankets.Dark hair.Callum’s eyes.Then Vance’s mother screaming about a nanny that never came.Nothing feels simple anymore.Not revenge.Not betrayal.Not even hatred.The Hawkins manor is silent when I leave just after midnight. Most of the lights downstairs have been turned off, though I can still see the faint glow beneath my father’s office doors.Nobody tries stopping me this time.Azriel
The paternity test comes back the next morning.Positive.Ninety nine point nine percent probability.Callum Hawkins is the biological father.The room falls silent after the doctor leaves.Not shocked.Not anymore.After seeing the baby, after seeing those familiar dark eyes and sharp Hawkins features, I think part of all of us already knew.Still, hearing it confirmed changes something.Makes it heavier.Real.Callum sits closest to the observation window wearing grey sweats and a black hoodie Carter brought from the manor earlier this morning. His elbows rest on his knees, one hand covering part of his mouth while he stares through the glass at the sleeping infant.His son.The thought still feels surreal.The baby looks healthier than last night already. Color has returned faintly to his cheeks after fluids and treatment, though wires and monitors still surround the tiny hospital cot.My father stands near the far wall with his arms folded tightly while Carter paces beside the cou
The note trembles slightly between my fingers as I place it onto the table in my father’s office.Nobody speaks immediately.The room feels too still.Too heavy.Azriel stands beside the fireplace with his arms folded while my father rereads the address for the second time. Carter leans against the bookshelf nearby, expression hardening with every passing second.Callum sits closest to me.Quiet.Too quiet.I explain everything carefully. The penthouse. Anya’s confession. The way she slipped the note into my hand without the officers noticing.Then finally:“She wrote this.”Silence settles heavily over the room.My father studies the paper.“The warehouse.”Azriel nods once.“The same location Callum was found.”That changes the atmosphere immediately.Something colder settles over the room.Carter straightens first.“You think this is connected to what happened to Callum.”“I think it’s possible,” Azriel says evenly.My eyes shift toward my brother automatically.Callum hasn’t moved
A week passes after court.Seven days of silence.Seven days of media coverage, legal paperwork, electronic monitoring confirmations, and endless discussions about security. The confinement order is already in effect. Fifty two weeks of full time home confinement. Electronic monitoring. No unsupervised movement. No financial claims. No alimony. No ownership rights once confinement ends.They agreed to every term.They had no choice.The manor feels quieter now. Not peaceful. Just drained. Like the walls themselves absorbed the tension and haven’t decided what to do with it yet.I sit across from Callum in one of the smaller sitting rooms near the east wing, sunlight stretching weakly across the carpet between us. He’s been discharged as an outpatient against multiple medical recommendations, still pale beneath the bruising near his temple.He claims he’s fine.No one believes him.“You know,” he says carefully adjusting against the couch cushions, “I still can’t believe Anya had the a
She pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against my jaw.Neither of us speaks.The space between us stays exactly where she left it.Then my phone vibrates against the bedside table.Once.Then again.The sound cuts clean through the room.Charlotte steps back first this time, the shift immediate, controlled. The warmth in her expression settles behind something sharper as she watches me reach for the phone.I answer without taking my eyes off her.The voice on the other end is low, professional.I listen.Then hang up.“What.”“Vance and Anya were transferred overnight,” I say. “Their legal team pushed for relocation under protective grounds.”Charlotte’s expression sharpens slightly.“Protective grounds.”“They argued conflict of interest,” I reply. “Claimed Hawkins influence compromised the original holding facility.”A quiet scoff leaves her.“Creative.”“Effective,” I say. “Especially with the right judge involved.”Silence settles briefly.Charlotte folds her arms loosely
Two weeks. The rest of my family were discharged a week ago. And Callum is still here. That alone tells me enough. Not precautionary. Not routine. Wrong. The room hums with quiet machinery, steady and controlled, the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding something back. Callum looks smaller
For a moment, no one moves. Carter’s words linger in the air, dry and deliberate, cutting through everything like none of it matters. I exhale slowly. Of course. Of course this is how this goes.“It’s nothing,” I say, brushing it off as I step further into the room. “You’ll all be fine.”
The hospital is too quiet. Not silent. Never silent. There’s always something; the steady rhythm of machines, the distant echo of footsteps, muted voices bleeding through walls. But it’s controlled. Contained. Nothing like the chaos from earlier. Nothing like the darkness. Nothing like him.
The address is exactly where he said it would be. Industrial. Isolated. Wrong. I kill the engine but don’t get out immediately, my gaze fixed on the building ahead. From the outside, it looks abandoned; concrete walls, broken windows, no visible lighting beyond a faint flicker somewhere deep insi







