Three days passed in suffocating monotony.
Kael left for work early and returned late, their interactions reduced to terse exchanges about meals and security updates. The penthouse felt less like a home and more like a holding cell with expensive furnishing. Even the view—forty-three floors of glittering city lights—felt like watching freedom through bulletproof glass.
This is my life now. Waiting in a cage while he plans murder and calls it protection.
Her mother had called twice, confused about why Elara couldn't visit, why every conversation had to happen over the phone. Lying to her was exhausting—"Kael and I are just so busy with wedding planning"—but the truth would be worse.
Your daughter is a prisoner of the man you think is saving your life. The cancer treatments that are keeping you alive are blood money from the Ghost of the Syndicate.
Sarah had been easier to avoid, accepting the "romantic getaway" excuse with enthusiasm that made Elara's chest ache. Her friend was happy for her, thought she'd found a fairy tale ending.
If only she knew fairy tales in Kael's world end with bodies and surveillance.
The arrival of groceries on the fourth day brought a brief distraction. The delivery person was new—younger than the usual staff, with nervous energy that immediately set off alarm bells.
Something's wrong. Why is he so jumpy?
"Where do you want these, ma'am?" He gestured to the bags with hands that trembled slightly.
"Just the kitchen counter is fine." She watched him unload with growing suspicion. "You're new. What happened to Marcus?"
"Called in sick. I'm covering his route." The words came too fast, rehearsed. "Is there, uh, somewhere I should put the receipt?"
Receipt. Marcus never needed a signature for deliveries. Everything was pre-authorized on Kael's accounts.
"I don't usually sign—"
"Company policy changed." He held out a clipboard, and she saw something tucked beneath the standard delivery form. A small cream envelope with her name in elegant calligraphy.
No. No, this is exactly what Kael warned about. This is a trap.
But her hands were already reaching for the clipboard, curiosity overriding self-preservation. The delivery person's eyes darted to the cameras in the ceiling, then back to her.
"Just sign here, ma'am. And maybe read the receipt later. In private."
Read the receipt later. He's telling me the envelope is from Lucien.
She should refuse. Should report this immediately. Should do exactly what Kael had demanded and bring any communication directly to his attention.
But he'll destroy the message before I even know what it says. And this delivery person will probably disappear for daring to help Lucien contact me.
"Thank you," she said, signing with shaking hands. "That will be all."
He left quickly, relief evident in the speed of his retreat. The moment the elevator doors closed, Elara grabbed the envelope and retreated to the bathroom—the only room in the penthouse without cameras.
This is stupid. This is monumentally, catastrophically stupid.
But her fingers were already tearing open the envelope, pulling out a card written in the same elegant script as the flowers.
Elara,
I apologize for the intrusion, but this couldn't wait for more conventional channels. I have information about your family—specifically, your father—that I believe you deserve to know.
Your father, James Chen, didn't abandon you as you were told. He was involved in business with certain people in our world. People who wanted him gone.
I have documentation proving what really happened fifteen years ago. Documents that explain why your mother struggled financially, why your father disappeared without a trace, why certain debts have followed your family for years.
I understand asking you to meet me is dangerous. I understand Kael has made his position clear. But you deserve to know the truth about your past, even if that truth is uncomfortable.
If you're interested, there's a café two blocks from your building. Monday, 2PM. Come alone, or don't come at all. I'll wait thirty minutes.
I'm not your enemy, Elara. Despite what Kael believes.
—L.M.
The words blurred as she read them again, her mind racing through implications she didn't want to consider.
My father. He's talking about my father who supposedly left when I was eight.
Her mother had always said James Chen decided family life wasn't for him, that he'd walked away and never looked back. It had been a wound that never quite healed—the knowledge that she hadn't been enough to make him stay.
But what if that wasn't true? What if there's more to the story?
She stared at the message, at the claims that felt both impossible and terrifyingly plausible. Lucien had resources, connections, access to information that would be buried deep.
But he's also Kael's enemy. This could be manipulation. A trap. Bait to get me alone so he can use me as leverage.
The smart thing—the safe thing—would be burning the message and pretending it never happened. Telling Kael immediately and letting him handle whatever game Lucien was playing.
But then I'll never know. And Kael will make sure Lucien can never tell me.
She thought about her father—the gaps in her memories, the questions her mother never quite answered. The way her mom's face closed down whenever James Chen was mentioned, like discussing him caused physical pain.
What if Lucien's telling the truth? What if everything I've been told about my father is a lie?
Her phone buzzed with a text from Kael:
Kael: Dinner meeting running late. Might not be home until after midnight. Did the grocery delivery arrive?
He's asking about the delivery. Does he know? Is this a test?
Elara: Yes, everything arrived fine.
Not technically a lie. Everything had arrived, including Lucien's invitation to commit what would probably be considered treason in Kael's world.
Kael: Good. Security is aware I'll be late. Call if you need anything.
Call if I need anything. Like permission to learn about my own father. Like approval to make choices about my own life.
She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror—expensive clothes, designer makeup, a ring that cost more than most people's houses. The reflection stared back looking like someone who belonged in Kael's world.
But I don't belong here. I'm a prisoner playing dress-up while he burns down buildings and plans murders in my name.
Monday. Two PM. A café two blocks from her building.
It would be catastrophically stupid to go. Would violate every rule Kael had established. Would probably result in consequences she couldn't imagine.
But it's my father. My family. My past. Don't I have a right to know?
She burned Lucien's message in the bathroom sink, watching the expensive paper curl and blacken. Washed the ashes down the drain like they'd never existed. Returned to the living area trying to look like someone who'd spent the evening reading instead of contemplating treason.
I won't decide now. I'll wait until Monday. See how I feel. Maybe I won't go.
But even as she thought it, she knew she was lying to herself.
The weekend passed in strange suspension. Kael was distracted by whatever he was planning for Lucien, their conversations perfunctory and tense. He'd touch her in passing—a hand at her waist, fingers brushing her arm—but there was none of the intensity from before. Like he was handling something fragile that might shatter if held too tightly.
Or maybe he's just waiting for me to break whatever trust still exists between us.
Sunday night, he found her in the library, book open but unread.
"I have meetings all day tomorrow," he said, settling into the chair across from her. "Viktor will be here if you need anything."
Viktor. His enforcer. His spy. The man who reports my every move.
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will." His dark eyes studied her face like he was searching for something. "You've been quiet lately. More than usual."
Because I'm planning something catastrophically stupid and if you look too closely, you'll see it.
"Just processing. Everything that happened with the flowers, the rules, the... everything."
"Are you angry with me?" The question surprised her with its directness.
Am I? Yes. No. I don't know anymore.
"I'm angry at the situation," she said carefully. "At living in a world where flowers mean death threats and autonomy is a luxury I can't afford."
"But not at me specifically." His voice held something that might have been hope.
I should be furious with you. Should hate you for what you're doing to my life. Should be planning escape instead of planning to meet your enemy.
"I understand why you're doing it," she said, which wasn't the same as approval but was the best she could offer.
He stood and moved to her chair, pulling her up with gentle insistence. His arms wrapped around her in an embrace that felt both protective and possessive.
"I know this is hard," he murmured against her hair. "I know I'm asking you to give up things that should be basic rights. But I can't lose you, Elara. I can't survive losing someone I love again."
Love. He keeps saying love like it justifies everything.
"I know," she whispered into his chest, hating how right it felt to be held by him despite everything.
He tilted her face up, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "After Lucien is handled, things will be easier. Once everyone understands you're untouchable, the security can relax slightly."
Slightly. After he commits murder. That's what my freedom is worth.
"How long?" She made herself ask.
"Until?"
"Until he's dead."
His expression went cold, hard. "Soon. Very soon. Everything is in place."
Everything is in place. To kill a man who might have information about my father.
"Kael—"
He kissed her before she could finish, deep and possessive and completely overwhelming. When he pulled back, his dark eyes burned into hers.
"Trust me," he said softly. "Trust that everything I do is to keep you safe."
Trust. The one thing I can't afford to give you right now.
"I trust you," she lied.
Monday morning arrived with the weight of terrible decisions.
Kael left early, pressing a kiss to her forehead in passing. "Viktor is outside if you need anything. I'll be back by seven."
Seven. Five hours after Lucien's proposed meeting time.
She waited until she heard the elevator descend, then moved through the penthouse with growing purpose. Dressed in nondescript clothes—jeans, a plain sweater, nothing that screamed "billionaire's fiancée." Pulled her hair into a simple ponytail. Minimal makeup.
I'm really doing this. I'm actually going to disobey direct orders and meet with the man Kael wants dead.
The security was the tricky part. Viktor was stationed in the hallway, a constant presence. The cameras tracked every movement. The GPS in her phone would immediately alert Kael if she left the building.
Unless I leave the phone here.
She tucked the device under her mattress, heart hammering at the deliberate deception. Checked her appearance one last time—ordinary, forgettable, nothing that would make security look twice at surveillance footage.
If I do this, there's no taking it back. If Kael finds out, there will be consequences I can't imagine.
But her father's face—or what she remembered of it from childhood photos—flashed in her mind. The years of wondering why he'd left. The questions her mother wouldn't answer. The debts that had shadowed their lives.
I deserve to know. Whatever Lucien is offering, I deserve to know the truth.
She took the service elevator—staff access, less monitored—and emerged into the building's back entrance. The café was exactly where Lucien had said: two blocks away, small and anonymous, the kind of place where millions of New Yorkers got coffee without being noticed.
Last chance to turn back. Last chance to do the smart thing.
But her feet carried her forward, through the door, into the warm interior that smelled of coffee and pastries and normal lives lived by people who weren't engaged to myths.
Lucien sat at a corner table, looking every inch the wealthy businessman in a different way than Kael—lighter, more approachable, dangerous in subtle ways rather than obvious ones. When he saw her, relief and triumph flashed across his handsome features.
"Elara." He stood, gesturing to the chair across from him. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
I wasn't sure either. I'm still not sure this isn't a catastrophic mistake.
"You said you have information about my father," she said, skipping any pretense of civility. "Proof, not just claims."
"Direct. I like that." He pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase, setting it on the table between them. "Everything's in here. Financial records, police reports that were buried, witness statements that were never filed."
Police reports. Buried. This sounds like exactly the kind of thing Kael would have access to and never tell me.
"Why?" She made herself ask. "Why give me this? What do you get out of it?"
His smile was sad, knowing. "Honestly? I'm hoping that learning Kael's world destroyed your father might make you reconsider who you're choosing to trust."
Kael's world destroyed my father. What does that mean?
"I don't understand."
"Open it." He pushed the envelope toward her. "Read it. Then decide if the Ghost is really the hero in your story."
Her hands were shaking as she reached for the envelope, knowing that once she opened it, nothing would ever be the same.
This is it. The moment I choose. Kael's version of reality or Lucien's. Protection or truth. The cage I know or the unknown outside it.
She pulled out the first document—a police report dated fifteen years ago. Missing person: James Chen. Last seen: meeting with "business associates" in the warehouse district.
Business associates. In the warehouse district. Where organized crime operates.
The next document was a financial record showing substantial debt owed to "T.H. Holdings"—a name that made her blood run cold with recognition.
T.H. Holdings. Thorne Holdings. Kael's company.
"Your father," Lucien said quietly, "owed money to the organization that would eventually become Kael's empire. When he couldn't pay, when he tried to run with his family instead of facing consequences... he disappeared."
No. No, Kael wouldn't—he wasn't even the Ghost fifteen years ago. He was just—
"The Ghost wasn't always Kael Thorne," Lucien continued, reading her expression. "But the organization was. The debts were. And when someone tried to run..." He made a gesture of finality. "They stopped running."
She stared at the documents, at her father's name written in official reports. At debts that had apparently followed her family for fifteen years. At witness statements describing a man dragged into a warehouse and never seen again.
My father didn't leave us. He was taken. Killed. Because he owed money to the organization Kael now controls.
"I know this is a lot to process," Lucien said gently. "I know you care about him. But you deserve to know that the world he represents—the Ghost, the syndicate, the empire—is built on destroyed families like yours."
Families like mine. My father is one of the bodies beneath Kael's kingdom.
"Why tell me this?" Her voice came out hollow. "Why not just use it as leverage?"
"Because you're a prisoner pretending to be a princess." His voice was kind, sympathetic. "And I remember what that's like. Before I built my own empire, before I had power—I was where you are now."
A prisoner. He's confirming what I've been afraid to admit.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing." He stood, leaving the envelope on the table. "Keep the documents. Show them to Kael if you want—I have copies. Or burn them and pretend we never had this conversation. Either way, you have information you didn't before."
He moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth? I think you deserve better than living in fear of the man who supposedly loves you. Better than being a possession he guards instead of a partner he respects."
Partner he respects. When was the last time Kael treated me like an equal instead of property?
"If you ever want out," Lucien continued, "really want out—I can help. New identity, new city, protection from his reach. No strings attached, no debt owed. Just... freedom."
Freedom. The word sounds foreign after weeks of control.
"Why would you help me?" She made herself ask.
"Because nobody helped me when I needed it. Because I know what it's like to be owned by someone who calls it love. Because—" He smiled sadly. "Because maybe I'm a romantic who thinks beautiful women shouldn't be locked in towers by monsters, even if the monster wears expensive suits."
He left before she could respond, disappearing into the Manhattan crowds with the ease of someone used to moving unseen.
And Elara sat in the café, surrounded by normal people living normal lives, holding documents that said her father had been killed by the organization now ruled by the man who claimed to love her.
The man who'd promised her complete honesty while hiding the fact that his empire was built on her family's destruction.
I have to go back. If Viktor checks and finds me gone, if Kael sees the GPS is stationary too long, if anyone notices—
But she couldn't move. Couldn't process. Could only stare at her father's name on police reports that had been buried, at debts that had apparently transferred from him to her mother, at the terrible understanding that every dollar Kael spent on her mother's cancer treatment was blood money in the most literal sense.
He knew. All this time, he knew about my father and never said anything.
Her phone buzzed—except her phone was back at the penthouse. She'd left it deliberately to avoid the GPS tracking.
Which means he knows. Somehow, he knows I'm not where I'm supposed to be.
She grabbed the envelope and ran.