Chapter 128 *
Scarlett’s POV
I pushed open the door to my room. Everything was back in place. Exactly how I'd left it before the packing disaster.
The bed was made. My books were on the shelves. My laptop sat on the desk.
Like nothing had happened.
I dropped my bag on the floor. Walked straight to the bed.
My heart was pounding. This was the moment of truth.
I got down on my knees. Reached under the mattress. My fingers found the edge of the black waterproof bag.
Still there.
I pulled it out just enough to check inside. The gun was exactly where I'd hidden it. Both magazines too.
Relief flooded through me.
They hadn't found it. Nobody knew.
I shoved the bag back into place. Stood up. Brushed off my knees.
My secret was safe.
That tight knot in my chest finally loosened.
Three days passed. The weekend came.
I was lying in bed. Staring at my phone. Scrolling through nothing in particular.
Then I saw the date. November ninth.
My stomach dropped.
Dad and Mom had died almost a year ago. Eleven months and three weeks.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
How had I not thought about this sooner? How had I let almost a full year pass without really processing it?
My throat felt tight. My eyes started burning.
I rolled over. Buried my face in the pillow.
The tears came fast. Hot and painful.
I missed them. God, I missed them so much.
Dad with his quiet laugh. The way he'd ruffle my hair when I did something that made him proud.
Mom humming in the kitchen. Her hands always smelling like flour and vanilla.
And now they were gone.
A knock on the door made me freeze.
I wiped my face quickly. Tried to pull myself together.
"Come in."
The door opened. Damon stepped inside.
He took one look at me and stopped.
His expression changed instantly. Concern. Then something darker. Protective.
"What happened?" His voice was sharp. "Who did this?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Your face." He walked closer. His jaw was tight. "You've been crying. Who upset you?"
I almost laughed. Of course that's where his mind went.
Someone must have hurt me. Someone needed to pay.
"Nobody did anything," I said. My voice came out rough. Scratchy from crying.
He didn't look convinced. "Scarlett."
"I'm serious." I sat up. Pulled my knees to my chest. "Nobody hurt me."
He crossed his arms. Waited.
I took a breath. "I was just thinking about my parents."
His expression shifted. Less angry. More confused.
"You want to see them?" He pulled out his phone. "I can have the car ready in twenty minutes. We'll go to the Romano estate right now."
I shook my head. "Not them."
He frowned. "Then who?"
"My real parents." The words came out quiet. "The ones who raised me. In Montana."
Understanding dawned on his face. Followed immediately by anger.
"The ones who made you work construction sites?" His voice got cold. "Those parents?"
My head snapped up. "What?"
"I saw the records, Scarlett." He started pacing. "You were in high school. Working twelve-hour shifts. Lifting heavy materials. That's child labor."
Heat flooded my face. "That's not what happened!"
"Then explain it to me." He stopped. Turned to face me. "Because from where I'm standing, they exploited you."
"They didn't exploit me!" I stood up. My hands clenched into fists. "God, the internet really does make up whatever bullshit it wants."
"I didn't get this from the internet." His voice was firm. "I had people pull employment records. Tax documents. Everything."
"Then your people are idiots!" The words burst out. "Because they don't know what they're talking about!"
He just looked at me. Waiting for an explanation.
I took a breath. Forced myself to calm down.
"Dad worked at the construction site," I said slowly. "To supplement our income. It was his second job."
Damon's expression didn't change.
"I used to go there after school sometimes." I kept going. "To hang out. To bring him lunch. Sometimes I'd help carry stuff. Small stuff. Nothing dangerous."
"That's it?" His voice carried doubt.
"That's it." I met his eyes. "I wasn't some child laborer. I was a kid who wanted to spend time with her dad."
The silence stretched between us.
Then his shoulders dropped slightly. The tension eased.
"Okay." His voice was quieter now. "Okay. I believe you."
He walked over. Sat down on the bed next to me.
"I'm sorry." His hand found mine. Squeezed once. "For assuming."
I didn't pull away. Just sat there holding his hand.
"They died almost a year ago," I said. My voice cracked slightly. "And I miss them."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up.
"We're going to Montana." He was already heading for the door. "Tomorrow morning. First flight out."
My chest felt tight. "You don't have to do that."
He stopped. Looked back at me.
"Yes I do." His voice was firm. "You want to see them. So we're going."
Then he was gone. The door closing softly behind him.
I sat there alone. Staring at the empty doorway.
My heart was doing something stupid again. Something warm and painful at the same time.
The next morning came too fast.
I was standing in the main entrance. My overnight bag in one hand. Coffee in the other.
Damon appeared at the top of the stairs. He was on his phone. Talking to someone in rapid Italian.
He saw me and ended the call.
"Ready?"
I nodded.
The drive to the airport was quiet. I stared out the window. Watched New York disappear behind us.
Montana felt like another lifetime ago. Another person's memories.
The private jet was waiting on the tarmac. We boarded. Settled into the leather seats.
I tried to sleep during the flight. Couldn't.
Just kept thinking about Dad and Mom. About the house. About the life I'd left behind.
When we finally landed, the Montana air hit me like a wall. Cold. Clean. So different from New York.
Damon had rented an SUV. Black. Expensive. Completely out of place in this small town.
I gave him directions. We drove through familiar streets.
Everything looked smaller than I remembered. The grocery store. The post office. The high school.
We pulled up outside a small shop on Main Street. The only place in town that sold flowers.
"Wait here," Damon said. He was already unbuckling his seatbelt.
I frowned. "What? Why?"