Page 33

Chapter 33

Fantasia

T he private jet's engines hum beneath my feet as we soar over the Atlantic. My wrists are bound with zip ties, pulled tight in front of me where I can see the angry red marks already forming beneath the plastic. My fingers flex uselessly, tingling from poor circulation, but all I can think about is Valeria.

I begged him. Begged him to let me hold her.

“She’s just a baby,” I’d pleaded, voice breaking. “She’s scared- just let me calm her down.”

But Harold didn’t care. He only sneered, his grip tightening painfully on my arm as he shoved me into my seat.

“You’ll get her when I say you can.”

Now, from several rows behind me, I hear Valeria’s muffled cries. Each wail cuts through me like a knife, raw and jagged. She sounds hoarse, her voice thin from crying too long without comfort. My mind races. Her cries shatter what little composure I have left, splintering my thoughts. I remember every scraped knee I kissed better, every fevered forehead I soothed, every whispered promise that she’d always be safe in my arms. And now, those promises mock me. I can’t reach her. I can’t stop her tears. All I can do is sit here and listen, powerless.

I press my bound hands to my face, stifling a sob. The plastic digs into my skin, sharp and unforgiving, but I barely feel it. My chest aches, my breath catching on the knot lodged in my throat.

Hold on, baby girl, I silently beg. Just hold on a little longer. I’ll figure out a way.

Harold sprawls in the jet’s leather seat as if this were a routine commute, one arm slung over the armrest. He hasn’t stopped studying me since takeoff- those predator’s eyes tracking every twitch of my fingers, every swallow. That smirk plays at his mouth, but the eyes above it? Corpselight.

“You think this is over, don’t you, Fantasia?” His voice is low and cold, like ice cracking over deep water.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, closing the space between us. The air feels tighter, the cabin smaller. My pulse hammers in my ears.

“You think I’m just going to let you waltz away once you’ve done your part.” His smile twists into something crueler. “You’ve caused me more trouble than you’ll ever know. This whole time, I’ve been waiting for this moment. Now, it’s my turn to collect.”

He settles back into his seat, still watching me like a cat watching a cornered mouse. His fingers begin to drum against the armrest- slow, calculated taps that grind against my nerves. Each tap feels like the ticking of a clock counting down.

“Two years,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time. “Two years I've been planning this moment.” The tapping stops. He shifts, his knuckles rapping hard against the armrest now.

“You know what kept me going?” His smile widens, thin and vicious. “Imagining all the ways I could make you suffer for what you did to my brother.”

He doesn’t stop there. He describes, in vivid detail, exactly how he plans to break me. The psychological torment. The ways he'll use my daughter to control me- to keep me obedient and afraid.

He rattles on, and I don’t say a word. There’s no use. Every time I open my mouth, he just grows more infuriated. But then, somewhere between the silence of my thoughts and the noise of his rants, I hear my own voice, soft but steady.

“I’m sorry, Harold.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “I never wanted Skylar to suffer. I didn’t want any of this. The choices I made then- I was a different person. Desperate. Angry.” I swallow hard “I just... I’m relieved that he made it. That he survived.”

The words feel hollow the second they leave my lips, but it’s the truth. For all that’s happened, for all the mistakes I’ve made, I genuinely feel sorry now for all the cruel things I’ve done.

But Harold doesn’t care. The crack of his palm against my cheek is sharp, sudden. My head snaps to the side, pain blooming across my face and the sting of the hit still lingering. I bite my lip hard, trying to hold back the tears, but they sting my eyes anyway and the taste of blood mixes with the bitterness in my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up!” he growls. “Don’t you dare speak his name. And I don’t want to hear your pathetic apologies, Fantasia. You think that’s going to fix what you’ve done? You’re nothing to me now. Nothing but a pawn. So keep your mouth shut.”

Valeria's screams reach a fever pitch, sharp and relentless, cutting through the cabin like a siren. Her cries bounce off the walls, shrill and panicked. My heart squeezes tight, like it’s being wrung dry.

“Can't you shut that brat up?” Harold snaps at one of his men.

“She won’t stop squirming, sir,” the man grumbles, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

My breath catches. I grit my teeth, fighting the instinct to scream with her. I need to stay calm- for her. For both of us. This is it. My only chance to get her in my arms.

If I push too hard, Harold will dig his heels in just to spite me. But if I say nothing... if I just sit here while my baby cries herself hoarse...

I force down the panic and school my expression into something calmer. Measured.

“Please,” I say, my voice strained but steady. I force myself to meet Harold’s eyes, swallowing the panic rising in my chest. “You have to let me hold her.”

He barely spares me a glance, tapping agitated fingers against the armrest. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not fine,” I snap, my desperation bubbling to the surface. “She's fifteen months old, Harold. She doesn’t understand what’s happening- all she knows is that she’s scared and alone.” I shift in my seat, ignoring the bite of the zip ties around my wrists. “If she doesn’t calm down, she’s going to make herself sick. Is that what you want? A sick, screaming baby for the entire flight?”

His fingers tap faster.

“Look, you want to keep me quiet? Fine. But if you want her to stop screaming, you need to give her to me.” I lean forward as far as I dare, keeping my voice low and urgent. “Let me hold her. Just for the flight. That's all I'm asking.”

Valeria's sobs reach a heart-wrenching peak, her little voice breaking with exhaustion. Harold curses under his breath and finally waves his hand dismissively.

“Fine. Give her the kid. Just for the flight. I can’t think with all this noise.”

One of Harold’s men retrieves Valeria from the back, his grip clumsy and indifferent. My daughter is red-faced and gasping for air between sobs, her tiny fists flailing.

“Careful!” I bark, panic sharpening my tone as the man jostles her.

He shoves her into my bound arms, and the moment her trembling body presses against mine, Valeria burrows into my chest, her fingers clutching at my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go. Her cries taper to pitiful hiccups, her breath shuddering against my skin.

I press my lips to her damp forehead, breathing in her familiar scent. My arms ache from the awkward angle, but I don’t care. All I can feel is her warmth, her heartbeat thumping fast against mine.

“Shh, love,” I whisper against her temple. “Mum's here. Mummy’s got you.”

Slowly, her breathing evens out, her exhausted body going limp against mine.

I close my eyes, pressing my cheek to the top of her head.

In this moment, with her safe against me, nothing else matters.