I clenched my fists, my nails digging so hard into my palms I swore I could feel skin break.
“Sixty seconds, Victor.”
He studied me, his gaze slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing my reaction. I had to stay still. Had to be unreadable.
He smirked. “Call him.”
My stomach churned, my hands shaking against my will. “My relationship with good ole Dad doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, it does.” The fake lightness in his tone disappeared, his voice suddenly sharp, vicious. “It definitely fucking concerns me. Who do you think told him where you work and who you’re fucking?”
A cold wave of dread crashed over me. I barely stopped myself from staggering back.
How the hell did he—The alley.
I sucked in a sharp breath as realization hit, but I kept my expression neutral, forcing every emotion down so deep it would never surface.
“So it was you outside the restaurant.” My voice was steady, but inside, my body was shaking. “Were you going to attack me?”
His smirk didn’t waver.
I wanted to hurt him. Three times in my life, I had felt this kind of rage—a fire so all-consuming I thought I might actually kill someone. This was quickly becoming the fourth.
“Answer me,” I demanded, taking a step forward, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline. “Were you going to hurt me or rob me again?”
His expression flickered for a second, like he was considering his next move carefully.
“Calm down.”
“Answer the fucking question.” I moved toward him, every muscle tensed, ready to push, to shove, to swing if I had to. But I stopped myself. I wasn’t him. I wasn’t like them.
“You’re at my home, where you know you’re not welcome. Ever. What do you want? Tell me, or get the fuck out.”
Victor didn’t blink. “You’ll be hearing from me, sis.” His voice was almost sing-song, light, but I didn’t miss the threat underneath it.
Then he turned, walked down the road, and disappeared onto a busy street like he hadn’t just destroyed the fragile balance I’d built for myself.
For minutes—maybe longer—I stood frozen, my brain catching up, my body too stunned to move. Then, as if something snapped inside me, I turned, rushed inside, bolted the door shut, and shoved a kitchen chair beneath the handle for extra security.
It wasn’t enough.
I stared at the locked door, waiting for him to come back, my hands trembling so violently I couldn’t even hold my phone.
Everything I had done for the last few years had been fruitless.
He had found me.
The one man who had the ability to render me paralyzed, to unravel everything I had built, to ruin my life. Jail had been a gift, an escape from him, and now… he was out.
I tried to stop the sobs, but they came anyway.
I cried, hard, for twenty minutes, let myself wallow in fear and anger and exhaustion. Then, forcing myself to breathe, I took a shower, washing him off me.
This wouldn’t break me. I wouldn’t let it.
No more wasted time. No more waiting for things to get worse. I had to find out why my father had gotten out early and what he wanted. The cops weren’t an option—not yet.
So I grabbed my phone, found the number left on my windshield, and called.
