The words were calm, almost polite, but they carried a chill that made her skin crawl. She stood in her dad's rundown apartment, the faint smell of whiskey and old boxes a stark contrast to the glittering world she'd once known.
Marcus grabbed her arm, his grip shaky, his eyes wide with fear. "Don't open it," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "They know you're here." His face was pale, like the night years ago when creditors had shown up, demanding money he didn't have. Elena yanked her arm free, her anger flaring. Marcus's mistakes had cost her mom, their home, her freedom. Now they'd cost Sofia, and she was done with his cowardice.
"Who's 'they'?" she hissed, keeping her voice low. The knock came again, slow and deliberate, like the stranger was toying with them. "What have you done, Dad?"
"I didn't mean this," Marcus stammered, backing toward his bedroom. "It's complicated, Elena. Just… stay quiet. They'll go away."
She stared at him, disgust mixing with fear. He was the same man who'd promised her mom everything would be fine, who'd sold their life for a quick buck. She turned to the door, her hands trembling but her resolve hard. She'd married Xander to protect Sofia, to rebuild what Marcus destroyed. She wouldn't let some stranger stop her now.
"Elena, don't!" Marcus grabbed for her, but she dodged, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter. It wasn't much, but it felt better than nothing. She crept to the door, her bare feet silent on the worn floor, and peered through the peephole. The man was still there, tall, his dark coat blending with the shadows, his face obscured by a low hat. He didn't look like a thug, he rather looked too polished, like the men her dad used to meet at fancy clubs. That scared her more.
"I know you're in there," the man said, his voice smoother now, almost amused. "We can do this the easy way, or not. Your choice."
Her heart raced. She wanted to call the police, but the texts Sofia pays stopped her. If they had Sofia, any move could hurt her. She needed answers, not a fight. She glanced at Marcus, who was shaking his head, mouthing "No." She ignored him, her hand on the knob. She'd faced worse than this—her mom's funeral, the day they'd left their mansion for good. She could face one man.
She cracked the door open, a knife hidden behind her back, and kept the chain on. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear clawing her chest. "What do you want?"
The man tilted his head, and she caught a glimpse of his face—sharp jaw, cold eyes, maybe forty. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Smart girl," he said. "I'm just a messenger. You've been asking questions, poking around where you shouldn't. My employer wants it to stop."
"Your employer?" Elena's grip tightened on the knife. "Victoria Whitmore?"
His smile widened, but he didn't answer. "You're quick. But you're playing a game you can't win. Hand over what you took from Julian, and your sister stays safe."
Her stomach dropped. He knew about the papers, the envelope Julian had given her with proof of the land deal. But they were back at the penthouse, hidden in her drawer. "I don't have anything," she said, hoping her voice didn't shake. "And if you touch Sofia, I'll... "
"You'll what?" He stepped closer, and the chain strained. "You're out of your depth, Elena. Give us the papers, or we find Sofia first."
Rage surged through her. She wanted to slam the door, stab through the gap, anything to make him leave. But Sofia's face—her laugh, her sketches—kept her still. "Tell me where she is," she said, low and fierce. "Or you get nothing."
The man chuckled, like she'd told a joke. "You're brave. Stupid, but brave. You have until tomorrow night. Bring the papers to the old pier, midnight. Come alone, or Sofia's gone."
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the hall. Elena slammed the door, locking it, her breath ragged. She leaned against it, the knife slipping from her hand to the floor. Marcus was behind her, silent, his face a mask of guilt and fear.
"You knew," she said, turning on him. "You knew they'd come after Sofia. What's the land deal, Dad? Why are they doing this?"
"I can't," he whispered, sinking onto a chair. "It's too big, Elena. You don't understand."
"Then make me!" she shouted, not caring who heard. "You owe me that much. You owe Mom, Sofia, all of us!"
Marcus flinched, like she'd hit him. For a moment, she saw the man he used to be, charming, confident, the one who'd promised her the world. Now he was just broken. "I made a deal," he said, barely audible. "Years ago, with Victoria. It was supposed to save us. But it… went wrong."
Her blood ran cold. "Wrong how? What does it have to do with Mom?"
He looked away, his hands shaking. "Don't ask that. Please."
Elena's eyes burned. Her mom's death had never felt right. Too sudden, too clean. Was this what Julian meant, that the marriage hid something darker? She wanted to shake Marcus until he spilled everything, but the clock was ticking. Sofia was out there, and tomorrow night was coming fast.
She grabbed her phone, ignoring Marcus's pleas, and texted Julian: We need to talk. Now. Where are you? He was her only lead, the only one who'd been honest. His face flashed in her mind, those dark eyes, the way he'd seen her, really seen her. Her heart twisted, a mix of guilt and need. He was Xander's brother, off-limits, but he was her only shot at saving Sofia.
Marcus stood, reaching for her. "Elena, don't do this. They'll hurt you."
"Like you haven't?" she snapped, stepping back. "Stay here. Don't follow me."
She grabbed the knife and her keys, heading for the door. The apartment felt like a ghost of her old life, when wealth meant safety, not secrets. She'd been a kid then, trusting her dad. Now, she trusted no one, not Marcus, not Xander, maybe not even Julian. But Sofia was worth the risk.
As she stepped into the hall, her phone buzzed with a reply from Julian: Meet me at the diner on 5th. 4 a.m. Be careful. Relief hit her, then dread. She was walking deeper into this mess, and every step felt like a trap.
She reached the car, the city quiet around her, and started the engine. But as she pulled out, headlights flared in her rearview mirror, a car following too close. Her heart leapt to her throat. They weren't done with her yet.