The room was cold again.
Fiona's wrists ached from the tight rope binding them, and the faint metallic scent of old blood clung to the concrete floor. Only a small bulb flickered above her, painting the walls with trembling shadows. Hours—or days, she didn't know anymore—had blurred into silence.
But today… felt different.
The kidnapper's footsteps were heavier, angrier, echoing through the corridor before the door creaked open.
"Still alive?" his voice rasped, half amused, half irritated.
Fiona lifted her head slowly, her lips cracked but her eyes steady.
"Yes," she whispered.
He smirked. "Good. They're coming."
Her pulse tightened.
Liam… John…
A part of her wanted to laugh at herself. Why did she still expect anything? Why did her heart still clench at the idea of being chosen?
The kidnapper leaned against the wall, dialing his phone.
"Time to end this."
Miles away, in the Smith family mansion's private study, chaos rattled the air.
Liam paced like a storm barely held together, jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot. His voice had already turned hoarse from yelling at officers.
John, on the other hand, sat frozen on the couch, hands shaking uncontrollably.
The phone finally rang.
Liam snatched it with trembling fingers. "Where is she? I swear, if you—"
"Calm down," the kidnapper drawled. "I said I wanted to negotiate."
John leaned forward. "Please. Tell us what you want. We'll pay anything—just bring Fiona back."
A low chuckle. "Money? I don't need money. I want you to choose."
"Choose… what?" John breathed.
The kidnapper smiled slowly, glancing at Fiona tied to the chair behind him.
"Choose who lives."
Silence hit like a gunshot.
"You have two women," the kidnapper continued smoothly.
"One is Grace, John's lovely wife… two months pregnant."
"And the other is Fiona, your precious little family toy."
He leaned closer to the phone.
"I will release only one. The other… dies here."
John's breath broke. "PLEASE—this isn't—"
"You have ten minutes."
The abandoned warehouse groaned under the night wind as the brothers' SUV screeched into the dirt.
Police waited behind at Liam's furious command; he wanted no interference.
Liam and John ran toward the entrance, desperation clinging to them like smoke. Liam's hands shook around his gun. John's knees nearly buckled.
The kidnapper stepped forward, smirking beneath his hood.
"You arrived quickly," he said. "Good."
"Where is she?" Liam growled.
"Inside," he replied smoothly. "But first—the choice."
Fiona, from inside the shadowed room, heard every word. The thin walls carried sound like a cruel gift.
The kidnapper raised a finger.
"John Smith. You first. Who do you save?"
John's throat closed.
Grace's face flashed in his mind—her smile, her fragile happiness… and her hand resting protectively over her tiny, growing life.
"Grace… she's—she's my wife," John whispered, tears choking him. "She's carrying my child. She must live."
"And Fiona?" the kidnapper asked, amusement curling in his voice.
John shut his eyes, tears slipping down uncontrollably.
"She… she'll understand."
From inside the room, Fiona exhaled slowly.
Of course he chose her.
It didn't even hurt—it felt expected.
Then the kidnapper turned.
"And you, Liam?"
Liam stood silent, jaw clenched so tightly a vein pulsed in his temple. His chest rose and fell violently.
Two women.
One carrying his brother's child.
The other… the girl he had claimed, destroyed, obsessed over, protected, broken—all at the same time.
His world.
But Grace was pregnant. And that tiny life was innocent.
Liam inhaled sharply, shaking.
"Save… Grace," he forced out.
John gasped in relief.
The kidnapper laughed softly. "Both of you made the same choice. Interesting."
Inside the room, Fiona froze.
Her heart didn't break—no.
It simply stilled, as if it finally understood the truth.
Fiona bowed her head.
The rope scratched her skin, her body shivering with exhaustion, but her eyes softened.
So this is how it ends.
Not with mourning.
Not with anger.
But with acceptance.
A faint, fragile smile touched her lips—peaceful, almost serene.
"They chose her," she whispered to herself. "Good."
For once, she wasn't the cause of ruin.
She wasn't the reason someone else suffered.
Grace was pregnant.
A new life was inside her.
Fiona smiled wider this time, though tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"At least… at least I didn't steal that from her."
The kidnapper dragged Liam and John toward the room.
They rushed in—expecting chaos, expecting a broken girl screaming for them.
Instead, they froze.
Fiona sat tied to the chair, head bowed… lips curved into a soft, heartbreaking smile.
Liam's breath stopped.
John's feet went numb.
"Fiona…" he choked out.
She lifted her head, eyes distant but calm.
"I heard everything."
John's face paled. "Fiona… please, don't—"
"It's alright," she whispered soothingly. "Grace is pregnant. She deserves to live. You made the right choice."
Her voice didn't tremble.
And that—more than anything—shattered Liam.
Because he saw it.
Not fear.
Not anger.
But acceptance.
A quiet surrender.
His chest constricted painfully.
He stepped closer, almost reaching for her—
But Fiona simply closed her eyes, letting her smile linger.
The kidnapper tapped his knife against the metal rail.
"Well then," he said, "your choice is made."
And the chapter ended with the air thick, suffocating, as Liam felt—maybe for the first time—what losing her would truly mean.