Page 32

Chapter 32

Fantasia

T he air smells different today- fresher, as if it’s ready for something to change. I walk through the town with my daughter in tow, the sun casting a warm glow over the sidewalk. She chatters away, oblivious to my distractions. She’s always been like that- so full of life, so trusting in the world around her. And I’m doing my best to give her a life worth trusting.

The bookstore bell chimes as I step inside, the scent of old paper and freshly printed ink wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. Valeria wiggles in my arms, her bright green eyes darting toward the shelves filled with books she’s too young to read but loves to stack and unstack with chaotic enthusiasm.

Lucy glances up from behind the counter with a radiant smile- until she sees my face. Then her expression flickers to something tight.

“Sarah,” she starts, her voice low but firm. “You need to leave. Now.”

My stomach tightens. “What’s going on?”

Lucy glances toward the front window before stepping closer, keeping her voice quiet but urgent. “There’s a man in town. Came in yesterday asking questions about newcomers- real casual-like, like he was just making conversation.” A jerky glance over her shoulder- door still shut- before continuing. “Said he was passing through, but the way he carried himself? He’s not just sightseeing.” Her voice tightens. “I saw a gun under his jacket too.”

My breath catches hard in my throat. The walls of the bookshop seem to press inward all at once, and Valeria, oblivious to her mother’s impending panic, tugs on the collar of my coat, babbling happily.

Piers.

It has to be.

I stagger back a step, nearly knocking into one of the display tables. My mind races, pulling apart every carefully laid plan I’ve built these last two years, every layer of anonymity I constructed, dissolving like sand in an unforgiving tide.

I was prepared for this, once. I told myself time and time again that if this moment ever came, I would run. That I wouldn’t let myself hesitate.

Run.

Disappear.

Start over.

Again.

But then Valeria wraps her tiny fingers in the fabric of my scarf and tugs, murmuring, “Mum,” in that sweet little voice that has come to mean more to me than any name, any title I ever carried before she existed.

I can’t run anymore, can I?

I swallow hard against the rising lump in my throat and force my breathing to steady. “Where is he now?”

“Down by the mechanic’s,” Lucy says, eyeing me. Judging my reaction. Knowing me well enough to see my mind is at war with itself. “If you leave now, you might be able to slip out unnoticed.”

Slip away. Convince Valeria that “home” is just another place we vanish from. Another life stripped clean before anyone can mark it as ours.

My legs refuse to move.

“Sarah?” Lucy presses, her brows knitting. She touches my arm gently. “You need to decide what to do. Fast.”

Valeria squirms in my arms, reaching for Lucy with grabby hands. “Book!” she demands, oblivious to the tension.

“Not today, love,” I murmur, pulling her closer. “We need to go home.”

I press a kiss to my daughter’s temple and step out of the bookstore, moving as quickly as I can down the sidewalk, back toward home.

The entire walk, my thoughts churn, reckless and incoherent. I left him. I made my peace with it, didn’t I? So why does the thought of facing him now, after all this time, send my pulse spiraling out of control?

If Piers is looking for me, I need to be ready. But what does ready even mean? Do I run again, drag Valeria from the only home she's ever known? Build new walls, new lies, new ways to keep her safe?

Or do I face him? Tell him the truth about his daughter? Let him hate me for keeping her from him?

Inside the house, I’ll have minutes- maybe seconds- to decide.

Do I stand behind my decision?

I don’t know.

Christ, I don’t know.

By the time I reach our porch, my body’s betraying me: keys chiming like alarm bells in my shaking hands, Valeria’s weight slipping on my sweat-damp hip. The door yawns open?—

And the axis of the world tilts.

Harold Ashwood stands in my living room, examining the photos on my mantle with casual interest. When he turns, his eyes lock on me- not with surprise or anger, but with the unsettling look of a man reclaiming something that once belonged to him.

“Well, well,” Harold drawls, his lips curling in something like amusement. “You really thought you could outrun me?”

“I didn’t run from you,” I say evenly, though my pulse pounds in my ears. “I ran from the life that nearly destroyed me.”

Harold snorts. “Romantic,” he mocks. “But I don’t give a damn what you were running from. You almost became more trouble than you were worth to find. But what matters now is that I finally found you.”

Valeria presses her face into my neck, instinctively picking up on my tension.

Then his gaze shifts to Valeria, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“This is unexpected,” he says, his voice silk over steel.

I steady my breathing, smoothing a hand over Valeria’s back, locking away the surge of panic rising in my chest. “What are you doing here, Harold?”

A dark smirk creeps across his face as he crosses the room, arms folded like he’s barely restraining his own amusement. “Do you have any idea how much I had to sacrifice because of you, cousin?”

I square my shoulders, stare locked on his like a blade pressed to a throat. Let him try to find fear in me.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Two years. Two goddamn years of wasted resources trying to track you down, dodging Achilles’s men, moving from city to city like some desperate fugitive. All because my brother, Skylar, nearly died in that fight at Wesley Hall. The fight you started.”

“That was two years ago,” I say carefully. “Your brother survived.”

“Barely.” Harold's expression darkens. “And now I'm going to make it worth my while. We're taking a little trip to Germany. I think your brother will pay handsomely to get you back.”

Two years ago, I might have gone quietly. Accepted whatever fate had in store for me. But now...

I think of Valeria's tiny hands in my hair this morning. Of her laughter when I pushed her on the swing. Of all the promises I made to be better, to be stronger, for her.

I have to find a way out of this.

“I'm married to Piers Warwick,” I say, the words coming out steady and sure. For the first time, I embrace the lie Piers told to protect me. “If you take me, you'll have both Wesley Hall and the Ashwoods hunting you down.”

Harold's expression barely flickers. He tips his head, unimpressed.

“You think that scares me?” he scoffs.

“It should,” I counter quickly, pushing past the fear clawing at my throat. “You know what Wesley Hall is capable of- what they do to people who cross them. And Piers... you’ve seen what he’s like when someone threatens what’s his. If you take me, you're not just making an enemy- you’re making two.”

I shift Valeria higher on my hip, feeling the warmth of her little body against mine. “You think you can outrun them? Piers will burn the entire coast to the ground to find me. And Wesley Hall?” I let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “They don’t stop. Ever. You won’t just be looking over your shoulder- you’ll be living like a ghost, jumping at shadows for the rest of your life.”

Harold’s gaze narrows, calculating. He’s weighing my words, testing them for weakness.

“You’re bluffing,” he says, but there’s less certainty in his voice now.

“You sure about that?” I push harder. “If you think they won’t find you- if you really believe you’re smarter than both of them- then go ahead. Take me. But you’re not just signing your death warrant- you’re guaranteeing Valeria’s too. Because they won’t stop with you. They’ll go after anyone you’ve ever worked with, anyone who’s ever owed you a favor. They’ll pick them off one by one until there’s no one left to run to.”

I tighten my hold on Valeria, keeping my voice cold and certain. “You want to disappear, Harold? Fine. But taking me won’t get you there. It'll only make sure you never stop running.”

For a moment, the room feels too still, like the air itself is holding its breath. I watch Harold closely, searching for any sign that my words have struck a nerve- that maybe, just maybe, I’ve planted enough doubt to make him back off.

Instead, his laugh breaks the silence- low, bitter, and hollow.

“Even better,” he sneers. “Two payouts instead of one.”

My stomach drops.

He gestures to someone behind me. “I'm already fucked. Might as well make it count.”

Panic surges through me like ice water. I clutch Valeria tighter and turn, preparing to bolt down the hall toward the kitchen exit. But before I can take a step, rough fingers clamp down on my arm, yanking me back.

“Don’t fight,” Harold says, almost absently. “You’ll only make this harder than it needs to be.”

The other man plucks Valeria from my grip, and for the first time in two years, true terror grips me.

She doesn’t cry right away- just gasps in startled offense before she lets out a wail so loud it shatters me from the inside out.

I lunge, twisting against the grip holding me, my fingernails clawing at the man who stole her from me.

“Don’t,” Harold warns, stepping closer, his breath at my ear. “Or she'll be the first casualty.”

Panic rises hot and strangling in my throat.

I go still.

Valeria’s cries pierce through my composure, but all I can do is stand there, my whole body trembling as the man restraining me tightens his hold.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Harold says smoothly, like he hasn’t just shattered my entire world in the span of five minutes. “So play nice, cousin. Do what you’re told, and she stays safe.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, locking down the scream building inside me.

I meet my daughter's terrified eyes, and my heart shatters. But I nod, forcing my breathing to stay even. “Alright,” I say quietly. “I'll go with you.”

Harold's smile is triumphant. “Smart girl. Now, let's move quickly. I have a car waiting.”

As his men shepherd us toward the door, I take one last look at our home. The stuffed bunny fallen beside the couch. The picture books scattered on the coffee table. The life I built here, piece by piece.

“Mum,” Valeria whimpers, her little face streaked with tears.

“It's okay, love,” I whisper, though nothing about this is okay. “Mum’s right here.”

I have no choice now. No room to run. No escape.

I have to cooperate. For her.