The words echoed long after the call ended.
"They found your mother."
Xander didn't elaborate, and Daisy didn't ask further. She had stared at him like he'd just slit her world open with a single truth, her heartbeat thundering in her chest. The mother she mourned. The woman whose funeral she had attended. Alive?
It didn't feel real.
So she did what made the most sense in that moment.
She left.
Again.
It had been three days.
Three slow, aching days since Daisy walked out of Xander's penthouse barefoot and broken, carrying only her purse and a heart full of confusion.
She didn't go far.
An upscale hotel suite downtown became her temporary shelter. She stayed in, curtains drawn, the TV off, her phone constantly buzzing with messages she couldn't bear to open.
She didn't know what was worse. Xander's silence or the part of her that longed for his voice.
She'd told herself she needed clarity.
What she got was loneliness.
The nights were the worst. Cold sheets. No arms around her waist. No scent of sandalwood and danger. No possessive hands dragging her to the edge and beyond.
She hated how much she missed the sex.
But even more how much she missed him.
She stood before the bathroom mirror one evening, wrapped in a robe, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders after a hot, aimless shower.
Staring into her own eyes, she asked the question that refused to be silenced:
"Who are you without him?"
Because that's what this was about.
Not the contract.
Not the sex.
Not even the secret of her possibly-alive mother.
It was about identity.
Was she more than Xander's pet? His obsession? His soft spot in a brutal world?
Could she build something real, something stable, without the wild pulse of danger and lust and shadows he brought into her life?
She didn't know.
All she knew was that being without him hurt.
And the silence between them had grown so loud, it screamed every time she tried to sleep.
She remembered the way Xander had looked at her when he said those words.
"People who want to destroy you are watching. Because of your father. Because of what he protected."
She should've pressed him.
Should've demanded more.
But she had panicked instead terrified that everything in her life had been a lie. Including her mother's death.
And so she left.
But now?
Now the guilt clawed at her. She had promised not to run anymore. And yet, she did.
Maybe I don't deserve him, she thought bitterly.
A knock at the door
Her heart nearly stopped.
She hadn't told anyone where she was.
She approached slowly, heart racing, and checked the peephole.
It wasn't Xander.
It was Derek.
His personal driver and security lead.
She cracked the door. "What are you doing here?"
Derek looked over his shoulder before speaking. "He told me to find you. Said you'd be here."
Her chest tightened. "And?"
"He's not doing well, Daisy. He hasn't slept. He hasn't left the penthouse. He just keeps replaying that last night. Keeps saying he pushed you too hard."
She looked down. "I needed space."
"I know," Derek said softly. "But I don't think he did."
Silence.
Then Derek added, "He got another call. About your mother. He didn't want me to tell you but she's not just alive. She's being used."
Daisy blinked. "Used? For what?"
"I don't know the full picture, but from what I heard her survival wasn't accidental. Someone kept her hidden. Possibly to use her against your father. Or now against you."
Her blood turned to ice.
Derek slipped an envelope into her hand.
"Don't wait too long," he said, stepping back. "The longer you're away from him, the more vulnerable you are."
And then he left.
She didn't want to open the envelope.
Didn't want the truth it carried.
But she did anyway.
Inside were two photographs.
One showed her mother alive, standing beside a shadowed figure at what looked like a private clinic.
The second?
A picture of her.
Taken two days ago.
Standing outside this hotel.
Someone was watching.
Tracking.
Hunting.
Her fingers trembled.
Suddenly, being without Xander felt less like independence and more like foolishness.
She wasn't just running from love anymore.
She was running from protection.
That night, Daisy couldn't sleep.
She sat on the edge of the hotel bed in a silk camisole, staring at her phone, fighting every instinct screaming at her to call him.
Just one call.
Just to hear his voice.
He's bad for me, she told herself. He's chaos.
But when chaos protects you from something worse it starts to feel like home.
She curled up into the pillow, inhaling a scent that wasn't his, aching for touch that wouldn't come.
A life without him?
She was living it.
And it was hollow.
BACK AT THE PENTHOUSE
Across town, Xander sat in darkness.
Whiskey in one hand. Daisy's necklace in the other.
His phone buzzed.
He didn't check it.
The shadows in the room felt thicker with her absence.
He had built empires.
Crushed enemies.
Controlled everything in his world.
Except her.
And it was driving him mad.
He could still hear her laugh.
Still feel her legs around him.
Still taste her skin.
Xander Mason did not beg.
But if she walked through the door that night he would drop to his knees.
Because without her, the empire felt meaningless.
DAISY'S DREAM
She drifted into sleep just before dawn.
In the dream, she stood in a white room, surrounded by mirrors.
In each reflection, a version of her appeared Daisy the daughter. Daisy the sex pet. Daisy the lover. Daisy the fighter.
But none of them looked whole.
Until one final mirror appeared.
She stepped close.
Inside it stood a version of her she hadn't met yet.
A woman in control.
In power.
But standing next to Xander.
Not beneath him.
Not owned.
An equal.
She touched the mirror.
And when she woke up, She knew exactly what she needed to do.
Daisy grabbed her coat.
Dialed a number.
"Get me a driver," she said. "I'm going back."
Back to the man who shattered her.
Back to the storm that made her feel alive.
Back to Xander.
But this time, she wasn't returning as his pet.
She was coming to reclaim her power.
No more cages.
No more contracts.
Just truth.
And if she had to tear down everything to get it she would.
Because a life without him?
Wasn't freedom.
It was unfinished business.