CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

For my parents' arrival, I insist on getting up and putting on normal clothes. I refuse to let them find me confined to a hospital bed. They’ve already spent too much time in distress, and I won’t add to their worries.

A nurse hands me a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, which I slip into. They fit nicely. She’s a petite Thai woman, and we’re of similar build. Wearing these kinds of clothes again feels strange.

After getting used to light summer dresses, the denim feels stiff and heavy against my skin.

I skip wearing shoes—my feet are still healing from the burns I sustained while wandering through the warehouse ruins.

When my parents finally walk into the room, I’m already seated in a chair, waiting. My mother steps in first. The instant her eyes land on me, her face crumples, and she rushes toward me, tears streaming down her face.

My father is right behind her, and within seconds, they are both embracing me, crying with relief and talking a mile a minute.

I smile and hug them back, doing my best to reassure them that I’m fine, that my injuries are minor, and there’s no need for concern.

But I don’t cry. I can’t. Everything feels distant and surreal—even my parents seem more like treasured memories than real, present people. Still, I force myself to act normal; I’ve already put them through too much.

Eventually, they compose themselves enough to sit and talk.

"He got in touch with you, didn’t he?" I ask, remembering Lucifer’s promise. "He let you know I was alive?"

My father nods, his expression tense. "A couple of weeks after you disappeared, a deposit showed up in our bank account," he says quietly.

"One million dollars—from an offshore account that couldn’t be traced. Supposedly, it was winnings from a lottery we had entered."

My jaw drops. "What?" Lucifer gave my parents money?

"At the same time, we got an email," my dad goes on, his voice unsteady. "The subject read: 'From your daughter, with love.' It had a picture of you. You were on a beach, reading a book. You looked so beautiful, so at peace..." He swallows hard.

"The message said you were safe, that you were with someone who would care for you—and that we should use the money to pay off our mortgage. It also warned that going to the police would put you in danger."

I stare at him in disbelief, trying to imagine what they must have felt. A million dollars...

"We had no idea what to do," my mom admits, wringing her hands anxiously. "We thought this could be a crucial lead in the investigation, but at the same time, we didn’t want to risk your safety, wherever you were..."

"So what did you do?" I ask, intrigued. The FBI never mentioned anything about a million-dollar deposit, so my parents must have kept it quiet. Still, I can’t see them simply accepting the money without trying to find me.

"We used it to hire a team of top private investigators," my dad explains. "The best we could find. They traced the deposit to a shell corporation in the Cayman Islands, but the trail ended there." He hesitates, meeting my gaze.

"We’ve been using that money to search for you ever since."

"What happened, sweetheart?" my mom asks, leaning forward. "Who took you? Where did the money come from? Where have you been all this time?"

I smile and begin answering their questions. At the same time, I study them, soaking in their familiar faces. My parents are an attractive couple, both still healthy and fit.

They had me in their early twenties, so they’re still relatively young. My dad has just a few streaks of gray in his dark hair, though there are more now than I remember seeing before.

"So you were really spending your days swimming in the ocean and reading on the beach?" My mom looks at me in shock as I recount my daily life on the island.

"Yes." I flash her a bright smile. "In some ways, it felt like an extended vacation. And he did look after me, just like he promised you he would."

"But why did he take you?" my dad demands, frustration evident in his voice. "Why did he kidnap you?"

I shrug, avoiding a deep dive into Sarah and Lucifer’s overwhelming possessiveness. "That’s just the kind of man he was, I suppose," I say nonchalantly. "Dating me the normal way wasn’t really an option for him, given his line of work."

"Did he hurt you, sweetheart?" my mom asks gently, her dark eyes filled with concern. "Was he ever cruel to you?"

"No." My voice is soft. "He was never cruel to me."

There’s no way to make my parents understand the complicated nature of my relationship with Lucifer, so I don’t even try.

Instead, I skim over the details of my captivity, focusing only on the good parts. I tell them about my early morning fishing trips with Daphne and my newfound love for painting.

I describe the breathtaking scenery of the island and how I got back into running. By the time I pause for a breath, both of them are staring at me strangely.

"Nora, sweetheart," my mom asks hesitantly, "are you... are you in love with this Lucifer?"

I laugh, but the sound is hollow and brittle. "Love? No, of course not!" I don’t know what made her think that, especially since I’ve been avoiding mentioning Lucifer at all. The more I let my thoughts drift to him, the more I feel the ice inside me might shatter, letting the pain rush in.

"Of course not," my dad agrees, his eyes locked onto mine. But I can tell—

He doesn’t believe me.

Somehow, both of them seem to sense the truth—that my rescue has left me more shattered than my abduction ever did.