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ALEKSANDER

Her phone buzzes.

She’s upstairs—barefoot, smiling, curled on the couch with her siblings like it’s the first time in years she’s been allowed to feel safe.

And these fucking rats think they can crawl out of the gutter now?

Mother.

I answer.

Before she can say a word, I speak.

“You will not speak her name.”

She chokes on a breath.

Her husband picks up, voice too slick, too loud. “We just wanted to—”

I cut him off.

“You wanted to profit. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Crawl back when it’s convenient. When someone else’s blood starts to look like a payday.”

“No, we just thought—”

“You didn’t think,” I say flatly. “If you did, you’d remember who the f**k I am.”

I turn toward the window, let the silence stretch.

“She doesn’t belong to you. Not anymore. She never did. She belongs to me now. And if you ever call this number again, I’ll send someone to remind you what it feels like to be helpless.”

“You’re threatening us?” her mother hisses.

“No,” I say, cold and even. “I’m commanding you.”

More silence.

Then I give the order.

“You’ll come to the wedding.”

Confusion. Then fear.

“You’ll sit. You’ll smile. You’ll keep your fucking mouths shut.”

A pause.

“And you’ll watch.”

I lean in to the silence like a blade being drawn.

“You’ll watch her walk down that aisle. You’ll watch her baby brother in a tux. You’ll watch your daughter become untouchable. Loved. Worshipped. Protected.”

I let that land.

“You’ll come,” I finish, voice like steel, “and you’ll sit and watch. See what your children’s life looks like now.”

Click.

I toss the phone on the table.

And walk upstairs to kiss my girl like I didn’t just make her parents beg to breathe in her presence.