Chapter 167
Chapter 167
She lowered her gaze to the folder on the coffee table. Her eyes turned to ice.
Heath was already suspicious. She needed to move faster.
---
Deep into the night, the Visconti Villa sank into silence.
Dahlia lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She waited a full hour, listening until she was certain the hallway was completely still, then crept out of bed without a sound.
She didn't turn on the light. Using the moonlight filtering through the window, she felt her way to the door and pressed her ear against it for several seconds. Nothing.
She eased the handle down, pulled the door open, and leaned out to scan the hallway. Empty.
Barefoot, she moved silently down the corridor to Amara's study.
The door was unlocked. One quiet turn of the handle and she was inside.
She slipped in, pulled the door shut behind her, and went straight to the desk. She switched on her phone's flashlight and began searching the drawers.
The lease agreement she'd photographed last time wasn't enough. She needed something stronger—direct correspondence between Amara and Hawk, or paper records of their financial transactions.
She pulled open the second drawer and found a stack of bank transfer receipts.
She flipped through them quickly. Several listed a recipient company she'd never seen before, with amounts ranging from hundreds of thousands to over a million dollars.
She pulled out her phone and photographed them one by one.
As she snapped the last image, she heard a faint click.
The sound was barely there—like a camera shutter. But Dahlia hadn't pressed anything.
Her phone was on silent. It couldn't have made that noise.
Her head snapped up. Her gaze swept the room and landed on a decorative piece atop the bookshelf.
A ceramic owl. The birthday gift she'd given Amara last month.
Its eyes glowed with a faint red light in the darkness.
Dahlia's stomach dropped.
She'd been played.
Before she could react, footsteps sounded outside the door. It swung open hard, and hallway light flooded the study, illuminating Dahlia's ashen face.
Amara stood in the doorway in a silk robe, phone in hand. The screen showed a live surveillance feed of the study.
She looked at Dahlia crouched by the desk, phone still clutched in her fingers, and her expression went dark.
"Get enough pictures?"
Her voice was low, but Dahlia could hear the fury boiling beneath every word.
Dahlia rose to her feet, phone still in hand, fingertips trembling. She opened her mouth to explain, but Amara didn't give her the chance.
She stepped forward, snatched the phone from Dahlia's hand, then seized her wrist and dragged her out of the study and into Dahlia's own bedroom, shoving her inside.
"Mom—"
Dahlia stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the bed.
Amara stood in the doorway, her gaze frigid. "You've truly disappointed me."
She stepped back and locked the door from the outside.
Dahlia froze for a split second. The moment she realized what was happening, she threw herself at the door and pounded on it with both fists.
"Mom, open the door! You can't lock me in here!"
Amara's voice came through the wood, stripped of all warmth.
"Stay put. When this is all over, I'll let you out."
Footsteps retreated down the hall and faded to nothing.
Dahlia slid to the floor, her back against the door, tears streaming silently down her face.
---
The following afternoon, Sophie dialed Dahlia's number for the third time. The automated message told her the phone was powered off.
She set her phone down and frowned.
Dahlia might be unreliable, but she wasn't the type to go dark without reason—especially not when she was actively gathering evidence against Amara for Arabella. She should have been keeping the lines open.
The more Sophie thought about it, the worse it felt. She picked up her phone and called Arabella.
"I can't reach Dahlia. Phone's off, messages aren't going through. I think something's happened to her."
Arabella was quiet for a few seconds. "When did you last hear from her?"
"Around ten last night. She texted saying she'd gotten something new."
Sophie paused. "Nothing since."
Arabella's voice dropped. "She may have been caught. I'll contact Ulysses and have him check on her."
She hung up and immediately dialed Ulysses.
He was in a meeting. Seeing Arabella's name on the screen, he stepped out of the conference room. "Hello?"
"Dahlia might be in trouble."
Arabella spoke fast. "She texted Sophie last night saying she'd found something new, then went completely silent. I think Amara caught her."
Ulysses's brow furrowed sharply. "I'm heading back now."
He hung up. He didn't even return to the conference room—just grabbed his keys and walked straight out of the building.
He drove hard all the way back to the Visconti Villa. When he pushed through the front door, the living room was empty.
He took the stairs two at a time and stopped at Dahlia's door. He tried the handle.
Locked.
"Dahlia?"
He knocked.
A voice came from inside—hoarse, cracked with tears. "Ulysses? Is that you?"
"It's me."
His voice went low. He gripped the handle and wrenched it hard. It didn't budge. "The door's locked?"
"Mom locked me in. She took my phone. She won't let me out."
Dahlia's voice filtered through the door, shaking with suppressed sobs.
Ulysses stepped back, assessed the door for one second, then drove his foot into the lock.
The frame shuddered with a thunderous bang, but held.
He kicked again. On the third strike, the lock gave way. The door flew open and slammed against the wall.
Dahlia stood just inside—tear-streaked, hair tangled. The moment she saw Ulysses, fresh tears spilled over.
Ulysses didn't waste words. He reached out and pulled her forward. "Let's go."
They'd barely reached the bottom of the stairs when they saw Amara.
She stood in the center of the living room in a crisp suit, handbag in hand, as if she'd been about to leave.
Her gaze swept over Dahlia's face, then settled on Ulysses. A cold smirk curled her lips.
"Bold move, Ulysses. Kicking down my daughter's door."
"This is the Visconti Villa's door."
Ulysses stood at the foot of the stairs, looking down at her. His voice was arctic.
"You're an outsider. You have no right to lock any door in this house."
Amara's expression flickered, but she recovered in an instant. She took two slow, deliberate steps, her gaze drifting between Ulysses and Dahlia, and spoke in no particular hurry.