CHAPTER 31: CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Chapter Thirty-One

Alicia’s POV

Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. My father’s hulking figure stumbling through the doorway, reeking of whiskey and rage. His fists finding me in the dark. The sound of Sophie’s muffled crying from the corner where she’d learned to hide.

This city had taken everything from me once. Now it wanted more.

The alarm shattered what little rest I’d managed. I stared at the ceiling, my body heavy as lead, before finally dragging myself upright. Each step toward the nightstand felt like wading through concrete.

I silenced the alarm. My phone sat beside it, screen dark and waiting.

Why did everything suddenly feel like it was collapsing?

I picked it up with trembling fingers. One new message. Unknown number.

My throat went dry.

What did he want now? He’d sold me three years ago, pocketed his blood money, and disappeared with his new wife and my sister. He’d made it clear I was dead to him. A ghost. His little ghost who looked too much like the woman he’d driven into an early grave.

My mother.

I hovered over the message, fear crawling up my spine. Then I opened it.

The image loaded slowly. Then all at once.

Sophie.

My baby sister stood in a tattered yellow dress that hung off her thin frame. Beside her was a man—sixty if he was a day—his hand possessive on her waist. Her face was blank. Empty. The same hollow expression I’d worn in my own wedding photos.

No. No, no, no.

My fingers moved before my brain caught up, dialing his number. It rang once. Twice. Each second stretched into eternity.

Pick up, you bastard. Pick up.

On the third ring, his laughter cut through the line. Low. Cruel. Amused.

"Little Ghost finally stops ignoring Dada."

Rage burned hot in my chest. "Where is Sophie?"

I strained to hear background noise—anything that might tell me where he was keeping her. Only the distant crash of waves. The ocean. He was near water.

"That depends on your decision, Little Ghost." His tone was light, conversational. Like we were discussing dinner plans instead of my sister’s life.

"What do you mean?"

"Fifty million dollars. Wire it to me in seven days, or Sophie becomes Mrs. Chen. He’s very eager, you know. Likes them young and... compliant."

The floor tilted beneath me. "Are you insane?"

His laughter grew louder. "Insane? Oh, Little Ghost, you haven’t seen me insane yet. But keep refusing and you will. Right before I hand your sister over to a man who’ll break her the way I should’ve broken you."

My hand clenched around the phone. "I don’t have that kind of money."

"Liar!" His voice turned vicious. "You think I sold you to the Blackwoods for nothing? I planted a seed, Little Ghost. Now it’s time to harvest."

The word sold hung between us like poison.

I wanted to scream at him. Call him what he was—a monster, a parasite, a man who traded his daughters like livestock. But Sophie’s face flashed in my mind. Her hollow eyes. I had to stay calm. Had to play his game.

"Why so quiet, slut?" He slurred. Drunk already. Of course he was.

"You have seven days. Don’t disappoint me."

The line went dead.

My legs gave out. I crumpled to the floor, phone still clutched in my white-knuckled grip.

Fifty million dollars. Seven days.

I had maybe a quarter of that saved. Money I’d hidden in a secret account, scraped together from the pittance Travis allowed me. The rest? Impossible. The Blackwoods would laugh in my face if I asked. Layla would probably frame it on her wall—proof that I was exactly the gold-digger she’d always claimed.

Sophie was seventeen. The same age Mom had been when she’d married Dad, seduced by promises of security and love. He’d destroyed her slowly, year by year, until childbirth finally gave her an escape.

I couldn’t let Sophie suffer the same fate. Couldn’t let her marry some predator who’d bought her like property.

I looked at the photo again, zooming in on her face. The way she stood perfectly still, like she’d learned that movement attracted attention. Attention meant pain.

I knew that stance. Had perfected it myself.

Never again. Not her. Not while I still had breath in my body.

I pulled myself up and stumbled to the bathroom. Splashed cold water on my face. Stared at the ghost looking back at me—pale, haunted, drowning.

Get dressed. Go to the meeting. Figure it out later.

I applied makeup with shaking hands, covering the evidence of my sleepless night. Composed. Everything I wasn’t feeling inside.

The hotel restaurant would’ve been easier. Anonymous. But I’d barely made it to the hallway when Maurice appeared, slightly out of breath.

"Mrs. Blackwood, please—the private lounge is already prepared."

"There’s a perfectly good restaurant on the second floor."

He looked at me with barely concealed panic. The kind of look that said if you don’t come, Malachi will make my life hell.

I sighed. "Lead the way."

The lounge was excessive. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Crystal chandeliers. Furniture that cost more than most people’s cars. Everything the Blackwoods touched turned to gold and ash.

"Good morning, Alicia."

Malachi sat at the head of the table, already dressed for war in a charcoal suit. He looked up from his breakfast, those dark eyes immediately cataloging every detail of my appearance.

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and took a seat at the far end. As much distance as the table allowed.

His jaw tightened. Displeased.

"How was your night?" The question was casual, domestic even. Like we were a couple sharing morning coffee instead of two people trapped in complicated orbit.

"Fine."

"You don’t have to attend today if you’re not feeling well." His voice softened slightly. "I can handle the meetings alone."

Something in me cracked at the unexpected kindness. I wanted to collapse into it. Tell him everything. Let someone else carry this burden for once.

Instead, I forced a smile. "I’m fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Alicia—"

"We should leave soon." I stuffed a piece of toast in my mouth, using food as an excuse not to talk.

His forehead creased, but he didn’t push. Just watched me with that unsettling intensity, like he could see through every wall I’d built.

I kept my head down, chewing mechanically. My mind raced in circles.

Fifty million. Seven days. Sophie’s face. That man’s hands on her. How? Where? What do I—

"Alicia."

I looked up. He was standing beside me now, close enough that his cologne invaded my senses. Sandalwood and something darker. Dangerous.

His hand settled on my shoulder—warm, steady, anchoring.

"Are. You. Okay?" Each word deliberate. Demanding truth.

I tried to smile. Tried to push the lie past my lips like I’d done a thousand times before.

But I couldn’t.

Tears blurred my vision. Hot and traitorous, they spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

"I..."

His finger pressed gently against my lips, silencing the lie before it could form.

"Don’t." His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "Don’t ever lie to me again, Alicia."

His thumb traced my cheekbone, wiping away tears with surprising gentleness. The same hands that had threatened violence in my brother-in-law’s hospital room now handled me like I might shatter.

"Whatever it is," he murmured, his eyes searching mine, "you don’t have to face it alone."

And God help me, I almost believed him.