The blade pressed against my ribs, a cold promise of what would happen if I screamed. Each step away from the Kane estate pulled me deeper into a darkness I couldn't see through, guided only by the bruising grip on my arm and the rasp of my abductor's breathing. My Valentino dress—the beautiful trap my mother had selected—tangled around my legs as we moved across the gravel drive toward the gardens.
"Where are you taking me?" My voice sounded steadier than I felt, a professional habit of maintaining composure even as my heart slammed against my chest.
A harsh laugh, deliberately distorted. "Somewhere we can have a private conversation about your father."
My father. The ghost made flesh who'd been standing in that ballroom minutes ago.
The knife jabbed harder, breaking my train of thought. "Faster." The voice was gruff, unrecognizable—intentionally so. Someone who didn't want me to place them.
We rounded the corner of the estate toward the maze of hedges that had been my childhood hiding place. Moonlight spilled across the manicured paths, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach for us with grasping fingers. Without the gala's floodlights, the estate grounds had returned to their natural state—beautiful but treacherous, much like the family that owned them.
"Is this on my sister's orders?" I asked, trying to get them talking, to extract any information I could. "Or my mother's?"
"You should be more concerned about what happens when we stop walking."
Fear coiled tighter in my stomach. The knife at my ribs was real, but it was the implications that terrified me more. My father alive. Eleanor Mercer-Blackwood on the foundation board under an alias. Vaughn's public confrontation with Ivy. The power outage and now this abduction—too many pieces moving at once.
We approached the stone garden shed at the far end of the property. I knew this place intimately; I'd hidden here countless times during my youth, seeking refuge from Ivy's cruelty or my mother's cold disappointment. Now it loomed before me like a mausoleum.
My abductor reached around me to unlock the door, the knife never wavering from my side. As it swung open, the musty scent of earth and old gardening tools washed over me.
"Inside," the voice commanded.
I stepped into the darkness, my eyes struggling to adjust. A battery-powered lantern clicked on, throwing harsh shadows across the stone walls. Tools hung in neat rows—shears, trowels, rakes—each one a potential weapon if I could reach them.
"Sit." The figure gestured to a wooden chair in the center of the small space.
I remained standing. "Not until you tell me what this is about."
The knife flashed in the lantern light. "You're not in a position to negotiate, Delilah."
Something in the way my name was spoken—a hint of familiarity beneath the manufactured gruffness—made me look more closely at my captor. A dark hoodie pulled low, gloves, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of their face. Impossible to identify gender or age, though the height and build suggested male.
"If you're going to kill me, at least have the decency to show your face," I challenged, hoping to provoke a reaction that might give me more information.
A snort. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be talking right now."
The figure moved around me, keeping the knife visible as a reminder. I tracked their movement, calculating distances to the door, to the tools, weighing my chances. Poor, at best.
"Your father expected better from you," my captor said suddenly. "Coming back to Blackwater Bay, working with Vaughn Blackwood? You've disappointed him."
My breath caught. "My father is dead."
"Is that what you saw in the ballroom tonight? A ghost?"
I swallowed hard. "What does he want from me?"
"The evidence you've collected. The photographs from his office. Everything you and Blackwood have pieced together." The knife gestured toward my dress. "Where's your phone?"
"In my clutch. Which I dropped when you grabbed me."
A muffled curse. "Empty your pockets."
"This dress doesn't have pockets," I said. "Feel free to search me if you don't believe me."
The challenge hung in the air for a moment before my abductor moved closer. The knife pressed flat against my throat now as a gloved hand patted roughly along my sides, confirming what I'd said.
"Fine. Tell me what you know about the foundation's board of advisors."
So that was it—Eleanor's revelation had triggered this. "I know that R.F. is Richard Kane. And that E.S. is Eleanor Mercer-Blackwood. Emily Stevens."
A short, surprised pause told me my captor hadn't expected me to know the second part. Advantage, however slight.
"And what do you think that means?" The voice had shifted, less disguised now, more intent on my answer.
"It means my father didn't die five years ago. It means the foundation is being used for money laundering. And it means the Blackwoods are involved somehow—either complicit or investigating." I took a chance, pushing further. "It means Vaughn was framed by my sister on my father's orders."
The knife withdrew slightly from my throat. "Clever girl. Always were. Probably why Richard wanted you gone—too observant by half."
The shift in tone was subtle but clear. Whoever this was knew me personally, had known me before I left Blackwater Bay.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Someone who's trying to keep you alive." The figure stepped back, lowering the knife slightly. "You need to leave town tonight. Go back to New York. Forget everything you've seen."
I laughed, a harsh sound in the confined space. "After what I saw tonight? Not a chance."
"You don't understand what you're up against. This isn't just about Ivy framing Vaughn or your father faking his death. The Kane Foundation has connections to people who make problems disappear permanently."
"Like you?"
A humorless laugh. "I'm a messenger, not an executioner. This time."
"If my father wanted me dead, why send a messenger? Why not just have me killed at the gala?"
The figure was silent for a long moment, considering. Then, with a quick movement, the scarf was pulled down.
I stared into the face of David Mercer, Vaughn's uncle. Eleanor's brother-in-law.
"You," I breathed, pieces clicking into place. David had been one of my father's closest business associates before the scandal. The last person I'd expected to see holding a knife to my throat.
"Your father doesn't know I'm here," he said, his voice normal now. "He thinks you're being handled by one of his regular cleaners. I volunteered to make sure you weren't actually hurt."
"How considerate," I said coldly. "So you're working for my father?"
"It's complicated." He ran a hand through his silver hair, looking suddenly older in the harsh lantern light. "The Kane and Blackwood families have been entangled for generations, Delilah. What you're seeing now is just the latest chapter in a very old story."
"Enlighten me."
David glanced at his watch. "We don't have time for the full history lesson. You need to understand that your father's 'death' was part of a much larger plan—one that's reaching its endgame tonight, during the gala."
"The transaction Maya found. It's happening now, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Fifty million dollars moving through shell companies, ultimately purchasing something your father has wanted for a very long time."
"What?"
"Control of Blackwood Industries' energy division. The last piece of the Blackwood family fortune he doesn't already own through proxies."
I shook my head, trying to process this. "That doesn't make sense. Vaughn still controlled his company when he was arrested."
"Did he?" David's eyebrow arched. "Or did he just think he did? Your father has been buying up shares through shell companies for years. Tonight's transaction gives him majority control, executed while the Blackwoods are distracted by the gala drama and Vaughn's public accusations."
"And Eleanor is what—trying to stop him? Is that why she's on the board under her maiden name?"
David's expression darkened. "Eleanor is playing her own game. She joined the board three years ago to gather evidence, but she's not doing it for Vaughn. She's doing it for her husband."
"Vincent? But he died a decade ago."
"That's what everyone was told." David's eyes met mine. "Sound familiar?"
My blood ran cold. "Vincent Blackwood is alive too?"
"And he's been working from the shadows just like your father, each trying to destroy the other's legacy. Their children are just pawns in their game."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. Ivy and Vaughn. My father and his. All of us manipulated by old men fighting an ancient grudge.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, suspicion creeping in. "If you work for my father—"
"I work for myself," David cut in sharply. "I've been caught between these families for thirty years. I'm done watching them destroy each other and everyone around them."
He moved to the door, checking outside before turning back to me. "Eleanor asked you to meet her at the boathouse at midnight, didn't she?"
I nodded.
"She's going to tell you everything—about the original betrayal, about what really happened fifteen years ago when Vincent supposedly died. About why your father had to disappear five years ago."
"And why are you warning me about this? What's your angle?"
David's expression hardened. "Because I loved your mother once, before Richard took her. Because I was there the night it all went wrong, when the first blood was spilled between our families. And because I'm tired of watching history repeat itself with you and Vaughn."
My heart stuttered. "What are you talking about?"
"You think your attraction to Vaughn is new? Complicated because he was Ivy's fiancé?" David laughed bitterly. "Your parents were engaged to other people too, before they destroyed those relationships to be together. Victoria was supposed to marry Vincent Blackwood. Richard was engaged to Eleanor."
The revelation left me speechless. My mother and Vaughn's father? My father and Vaughn's mother?
"That's not possible," I finally managed. "My mother would have told me."
"Would she? The woman who let you believe your father was dead? Who blamed you for exposing his crimes when you were actually protecting her?"
Memories flashed through my mind—cryptic comments over the years, tensions at social events, the strange electricity whenever the Blackwoods and Kanes were in the same room. All of it suddenly taking on new meaning.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Ask Eleanor at the boathouse. But be careful—she has her own agenda." David checked his watch again. "It's nearly eleven. I need to get back before I'm missed."
"You're just going to let me go? After threatening me with a knife?"
He had the decency to look sheepish. "I needed to make it look convincing in case anyone was watching. And I needed you to listen." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key. "Take this. The gardener's cottage by the north wall—there's a locked cabinet inside with a gun. You might need it before the night is over."
I took the key reluctantly. "How do I know this isn't a trap?"
"You don't. But I'm not the one who's trying to kill you." He moved toward the door. "One more thing—Vaughn doesn't know about any of this. His mother has kept him in the dark about his father, just like your mother did with you. He thinks he's fighting Ivy and Richard, but he has no idea how deep this goes."
"I need to warn him."
"Then you'd better find a phone. Your father's men disabled the one in your clutch remotely as soon as the power went out. They've been monitoring your communications since you arrived in town."
With that final bombshell, David slipped out the door, leaving me alone in the lantern light with more questions than answers and the weight of generations pressing down on me.
I waited thirty seconds, counting in my head, before following. The garden was empty, David already disappeared into the darkness. The gala lights shone in the distance, emergency generators now running, the crisis apparently contained. From here, I could see figures moving about inside, the party reluctantly resuming.
I checked the time on the old clock mounted outside the shed. 10:45 PM. Fifteen minutes since my abduction. An hour and fifteen minutes until I was supposed to meet Eleanor at the boathouse.
First, I needed a weapon.
The gardener's cottage stood like a small stone sentinel at the north end of the property, tucked behind a row of ancient oak trees. I kept to the shadows, hyper-aware of every sound around me, the key clutched tightly in my palm.
The cottage door creaked as I pushed it open, the musty smell of disuse greeting me. A thin layer of dust covered the simple furniture—a table, two chairs, a small bed in the corner. No one had been here for months, maybe longer.
The cabinet David had mentioned stood against the far wall, a heavy oak piece with intricate carvings. The key slid into the lock with a soft click, and the door swung open to reveal not just a gun but an entire cache of documents. Files, photographs, USB drives neatly labeled with dates going back fifteen years.
I lifted the gun first—a .38 revolver, loaded. Next to it lay a sealed envelope with my name written in an unfamiliar hand. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a phone number and the words: "If you're reading this, David did the right thing. Call when you're alone. —V."
V. Vincent Blackwood? Vaughn's supposedly dead father?
I pocketed the note and grabbed one of the USB drives labeled "Kane Foundation 2023." Then, on impulse, I took a manila folder marked "Original Contracts—1985."
The gun felt heavy in my hand as I closed the cabinet and relocked it. I had no place to conceal the weapon in my evening dress, so I tore a strip from the dusty bedsheet and fashioned a makeshift holster, tying it around my thigh and securing the gun against my inner leg. The dress was just loose enough to hide the bulge if I was careful how I moved.
I tucked the USB drive into my bra and held the folder under my arm as I slipped back outside. The path to the boathouse would take me dangerously close to the main house, but there was a secondary route through the woods that I remembered from childhood—longer but less exposed.
The forest edge loomed dark and forbidding beyond the manicured lawn. As a child, I'd invented stories about those woods—witches and wolves and hidden treasures. Now they offered only concealment as I picked my way through undergrowth that snagged at my dress, the silk tearing in places.
The sound of voices ahead made me freeze. Flashlight beams swept through the trees about thirty yards away—security, probably searching for me. I crouched lower, holding my breath as they passed, catching fragments of conversation.
"...said to check the boathouse first...""...waste of time, she's probably back in town by now...""...wants her found before midnight..."
My father's men, not estate security. Looking for me specifically, with midnight as some kind of deadline. Whatever Eleanor planned to tell me, Richard was desperate to prevent it.
I changed direction, circling wider through the woods. The boathouse was still my destination, but I needed to approach from the water side where the searchers wouldn't expect me.
The folder under my arm grew heavier as I walked, my curiosity about its contents almost painful. But this wasn't the time or place. I needed somewhere safe, with light to read by and time to process whatever secrets it contained.
The trees thinned as I neared the shoreline, the soft lapping of water against the dock reaching my ears. The boathouse stood silhouetted against the night sky, a dark shape against the silver-black surface of the water.
I checked my watch. 11:30 PM. Thirty minutes early.
Moving silently along the shoreline, I approached from the blind side of the structure. The boathouse had two levels—the lower section housed the boats, while the upper level was a small apartment where the groundskeeper stayed during summer months. A narrow exterior staircase led to the upper door.
I crept up the steps, wincing at each creak of the aged wood. At the top, I tested the door—locked. Of course it would be. I fumbled in my hair for a pin, finding one of the decorative ones my mother's stylist had used to secure my updo. It took three minutes of careful manipulation before the lock surrendered with a soft click.
The apartment was dark and cold, abandoned for the season. I closed the door behind me and stood motionless, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness. Moonlight filtered through dusty windows, illuminating sparse furnishings—a small kitchenette, a sitting area with a couch and coffee table, a door that presumably led to a bedroom.
I moved to the windows overlooking the dock, scanning for any sign of Eleanor or the men searching for me. Nothing yet, but the night was still young.
The folder in my hands seemed to pulse with secrets. I couldn't wait any longer. I found a small reading lamp on an end table and switched it on, angling it away from the windows to minimize the visible light from outside.
The folder's contents spilled onto the coffee table—legal documents, yellowed with age. Contracts, agreements, and a single black and white photograph that made my breath catch.
Four young people stood arm in arm on this very dock, their faces alight with youth and promise. I recognized my parents instantly—my mother breathtakingly beautiful, my father handsome and confident. Beside them stood another couple: a tall, distinguished man with Vaughn's jawline and eyes, and a stunning woman I recognized as a younger Eleanor Mercer-Blackwood.
The photo was dated July 4, 1985. Three months before my mother and father's wedding. Six months before Vincent and Eleanor's.
I turned my attention to the contracts. Most were standard business agreements between Kane Enterprises and Blackwood Industries, but one document stood out—a partnership agreement establishing a joint venture called Harbinger Energy, signed by both Richard Kane and Vincent Blackwood.
Attached was a handwritten note in what I recognized as my father's distinctive script:
*Vin—*
*With this, we cement not just our business partnership but our future as family. Once the weddings are behind us, Harbinger will be the legacy we build together for our children. Victoria sends her love to Eleanor, and we're both looking forward to the engagement party next month.*
*—Rich*
My hands trembled as I set the note down. The four of them had been friends—close friends. So what had happened? What had turned friendship into a blood feud spanning decades?
A noise outside snapped me back to the present—footsteps on the dock below. I quickly gathered the documents, stuffing them back into the folder and switching off the lamp. Moving to the window, I peered cautiously through the dusty glass.
Eleanor Mercer-Blackwood stood alone on the dock, elegant in her evening wear despite the late hour and chill air. She checked her watch, then glanced nervously over her shoulder toward the main house.
She was early too. And she was alone.
I debated my options. Trust David's story and meet with Eleanor as planned? Or assume this was another trap and slip away while I still could?
The weight of the gun against my thigh reminded me I wasn't defenseless. And if Eleanor truly had answers about my father, about the foundation, about why Vaughn had been framed—I needed to hear them.
I made my decision. Taking a deep breath, I gathered the folder and headed for the stairs.
Whatever truth awaited me on that dock, I was finally ready to face it. The past had controlled my family for too long. Tonight, I would learn just how deep the sins we harbor truly ran. And then I would decide for myself who deserved redemption—and who deserved justice.
As I stepped onto the weathered planks of the dock, Eleanor turned, her face a mask of surprise and relief.
"Delilah," she breathed. "Thank God. We need to hurry—they're looking for you everywhere."
"I know," I said, my hand drifting toward the concealed gun. "But before we go anywhere, you're going to tell me everything. Starting with why you're using your maiden name on the foundation board, and ending with what really happened between our families."
Her eyes darted past me, scanning the tree line. "Not here. It isn't safe."
"No more evasions," I insisted. "I've spent five years in exile because of secrets and lies. I'm done running."
Eleanor's expression hardened, a glimpse of steel beneath the society matron's polished exterior. "Very well. But remember—you asked for this truth." She took a deep breath. "Your father and my husband were more than business partners. They were like brothers—until Richard betrayed Vincent and stole everything from him. Including me."
The confession hung in the night air between us, a ghost from the past finally given voice.
"What do you mean, he stole you?" I asked, though a sickening suspicion was already forming.
"I was engaged to Richard first," Eleanor said, her voice flat. "Vincent was engaged to Victoria. We were best friends, the four of us. Until the night everything changed—the night your father decided he wanted what Vincent had. Always what Vincent had."
She looked out over the dark water, her profile sharp in the moonlight. "He seduced Victoria. Deliberately, calculatingly. When I found out, I turned to Vincent for comfort. One thing led to another, and by the time the dust settled, we'd all switched partners."
"That's..." I struggled to find words. "Messy, but hardly the basis for a decades-long vendetta."
Eleanor's laugh was brittle. "That was just the beginning. The real betrayal came later, when your father used his engagement to Victoria to access Blackwood family financial records. He systematically looted Vincent's inheritance, laundered it through shell companies, then used it to build Kane Enterprises while framing Vincent for embezzlement."
My mind reeled. "But my father was the one who disappeared after financial crimes five years ago."
"History repeating itself," Eleanor said bitterly. "Vincent spent three years in prison for crimes your father committed. When he got out, he swore he'd take everything Richard had built with stolen money. The foundation was part of his plan—a way to monitor Richard's operations while building evidence."
"And then what? My father discovered Vincent was investigating him, so he faked his own death to escape?"
"No," Eleanor's eyes met mine. "Your father faked his death because Vincent had finally gathered enough evidence to expose him. But he made one mistake—he trusted your sister with the information."
"Ivy," I whispered, the final piece clicking into place. "She warned my father."
Eleanor nodded. "She's been his protégée from the beginning. Victoria never had the stomach for the darker side of your father's operations, but Ivy—she embraces it. She helped him disappear, helped him set up new identities, new companies. She's been his hands and eyes while he operated from the shadows."
"And Vaughn? Where does he fit into all this?"
A pained expression crossed Eleanor's face. "My son believes his father died in a boating accident fifteen years ago. I never told him the truth—that Vincent is alive, that he's been working all these years to bring down Richard Kane. I wanted to protect him from this... sickness between our families."
"But Ivy targeted him specifically. She got engaged to him, then framed him for her own crimes. Why?"
"Because Vincent was getting close to the truth. Destroying his son was Richard's way of sending a message." Eleanor's voice hardened. "But he miscalculated. He didn't count on you coming back. He didn't count on you and Vaughn finding each other."
The implication in her words made my cheeks flush. "We're not—it's not like that."
Eleanor's knowing look cut through my denial. "Isn't it? The attraction between you two has been obvious since the first time you met. Another echo of the past." She sighed. "But maybe this time, it can break the cycle instead of perpetuating it."
A distant shout from the direction of the main house made us both tense.
"We need to go," Eleanor said urgently. "Vincent is waiting. He has the final piece of evidence that will expose Richard once and for all."
"Vincent is here? In Blackwater Bay?"
"Not far. I can take you to him." She held out her hand. "Please, Delilah. This may be our only chance to end this before more people get hurt."
I hesitated, my fingers brushing against the gun under my dress. "How do I know this isn't another manipulation? Another layer of lies?"
"You don't," she acknowledged. "But ask yourself this—who has been honest with you since you returned? Your mother? Your sister? Or Vaughn, who came to you with the truth even when it put him at risk?"
The sound of approaching footsteps made the decision for me. I grabbed Eleanor's hand. "Lead the way. But I want to call Vaughn first. He deserves to know what we've discovered."
Eleanor nodded, pulling a phone from her pocket. "Make it quick. We have less than five minutes before they reach the boathouse."
I took the phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dialed Vaughn's number from memory. It rang twice before his voice, tense and wary, answered.
"Who is this?"
"It's me," I said, relief washing through me at the sound of his voice. "I'm with your mother. We're—"
A deafening crack split the night. Eleanor jerked beside me, her eyes wide with shock as crimson bloomed across the front of her elegant dress. The phone fell from my hand as I lunged to catch her collapsing form.
"Eleanor!" I lowered her to the dock, my hands frantically pressing against the wound in her chest. Blood seeped between my fingers, hot and slick.
Her lips moved, trying to form words as I bent closer.
"Trap," she gasped. "Not... Vincent... Run..."
Another shot splintered the wood of the dock inches from my head. I ducked instinctively, pulling the gun from my thigh holster and scanning the tree line for the shooter.
A figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the dock, silhouetted against the distant lights of the estate. Tall, male, moving with the confident stride of someone who knew they had their prey cornered.
"Delilah," a familiar voice called. "It's time to come home, sweetheart."
My blood turned to ice as the figure stepped into the moonlight.
My father.
Richard Kane stood before me, very much alive, a pistol with a silencer held casually at his side. His silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, his smile as charming and cold as I remembered.
"You and I need to have a long-overdue conversation about family loyalty," he said, stepping closer. "Starting with why you're conspiring with Eleanor Blackwood against your own flesh and blood."
Behind me, the dark water of the harbor offered the only escape. Before us, my father advanced with the confidence of a predator who knew his prey was trapped.
In my ear, from the fallen phone, I could still hear Vaughn's voice calling my name.
My fingers tightened around the gun in my hand as I made my choice.