Page 87 of Rescuing Aria

“You’re wasting your breath.” My voice stays level. “I’m not leaving her.”

Wolfe smiles, but it’s hollow—like his face remembers the shape of the expression, even if he’s forgotten how it’s meant to feel.

“Didn’t think so. But I had to offer. Optics. You’ll be fed. Given water. Monitored. But for now…” His gaze drops to the restraints, his mouth twitching. “You stay here.”

I tense—not from fear, but from instinct. The itch to move, to fight, coiling under my skin.

“If you hurt her?—”

“I won’t.” The words cut sharply. Offended. Defensive. “But Marcus will. And she deserves to know what kind of man raised her.”

He steps to the door, fingers brushing the panel beside it. A low mechanical click signals the lock disengaging. He pauses there, half-shadowed by the hall light, then looks back.

“She’s lucky, you know.” His voice is quieter now, almost reflective. “To have someone like you. A man who’ll walk through hell to save her.” His head tilts slightly, admiration laced with something darker. “But that kind of interference?” He shakes his head once, slow. “That, I can’t allow. Things need to happen. She needs to see the truth.”

His smile returns—thin and final.

“Get comfortable, Jon. This part of the story? It’s not about you.”

The door closes. The click of reinforced steel echoes like a sentence.

And I’m left alone. Restrained. Pulse steady. Jaw clenched.

Not because I’m afraid.

But because I believe Wolfe means every word he says, and that makes him far more dangerous than I ever imagined.

I immediately test the restraints, searching for weaknesses. The chair is bolted to the floor. The restraints show no sign of poor maintenance or improper application. Over the next few hours, I catalog details—the time between guard checks, the type of locks on the door, the camera angles.

But beneath the professional assessment runs a current of dread.

Not for myself.

But for Aria.

She is family. More than Marcus deserves.

Something is very wrong here. Wolfe’s words weren’t just the ranting of a criminal seeking revenge. They held conviction—and worse, they held pain.

I remember Marcus in the car—his instinct to save himself first, the way he blamed Aria for the kidnapping, the possessiverather than protective nature of his concern. Not the behavior of a loving father. Something cold settles in my stomach at the implications.

Whatever truth Wolfe is planning to reveal, I suspect it will shatter Aria more thoroughly than any physical threat could.

And I need to reach her before that happens.

TWENTY-FOUR

Aria

The soft knockat the door barely registers. I’m still cataloging my surroundings: heavy damask curtains over windows that don’t open, antique furniture that could fetch thousands at auction, and the unsettling knowledge that everything in this room has been selected with purpose.

“Come in,” I call, expecting another guard.

Instead, a slight figure slips through the doorway. It’s the girl from before. The one with no name. Her movements are careful, measured—the deliberate steps of someone trained to be invisible. Her eyes remain fixed on the floor as she sets a tray on the dresser.

“Mr. Wolfe requests your presence for dinner in one hour,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m to help you prepare.”

“Please, tell me your name.” I stand, moving slowly so as not to startle her.