Chapter 23 Nobody’s Puppet
Grace hailed a taxi the moment she rushed out of the hotel building, she kept her head down as the taxi rolled past her street, her pulse hammering in her throat.
Maddox's car was parked three houses down from hers, idling at the curb in wait. She could see his silhouette through the windshield, hands gripping the steering wheel, head turned toward her house.
He was waiting for her.
"Keep going," she told the driver, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to talk to him.
The man glanced at her in the rearview mirror, brow raised. "You sure, miss? This is the address you gave."
"I'm sure. Just... keep driving."
She ducked lower in her seat, tucking herself into the corner as they passed. Her chest felt tight, her breathing shallow. She told herself it was because she didn't want to face him, didn't want to see the guilt or the excuses or whatever half-truth he'd try to sell her.
But deep down, she knew it was more than that.
She was afraid of what she might do and she was ashamed of what she’d done with Enzo the night before.
And for that? She had no idea why that feeling stayed.
Grace was afraid she'd break down, that she'd forgive him, let him explain and somehow convince herself it wasn't as bad as it was.
It wasn’t until the taxi turned the corner, and Maddox's car finally disappeared from view that Grace exhaled slowly, her hands trembling in her lap.
But her mind didn't settle. Instead, it wandered back to the hotel room, to the way Enzo had looked at her when she tried to leave. The sharpness in his expression when she said it didn't mean anything. The way his voice had dropped in response. Hell, had he even responded? Had she given him time to?
She shouldn't be thinking about him nor should she be replaying the way his hands had felt on her skin, the way his body had moved against hers, the way he'd whispered her name like she was the only woman he’d ever wanted.
Grace pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to shove the memories down. It didn't work.
"Where to now, miss?" The driver asked.
Grace swallowed hard. "Briarview’s General Hospital."
She needed answers and if her father had orchestrated all of this, if he'd been the one to push Maddox into drugging her, then she was going to make him admit it. Better to hear it from the horse’s mouth after all.
They made it to the hospital and Grace paid the taxi man with money she had somehow swiped from the bedside table at the hotel. The hospital smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee, her shoes squeaked faintly against the linoleum as she made her way down the hall toward her mother's room, her heart pounding harder with every step.
Grace turned the corner and froze.
Her father was standing just outside the door, arms crossed, his face set in a grim line and beside him, leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, was the blond bastard named Vance.
Grace instinctively glared at him.
Vance looked up first, his eyes locked onto hers and a slow, cold frown spread across his face. "Speak of the devil," he said harshly.
Her father's head snapped toward her, and his expression darkened immediately. "Grace."
Grace just stood there, glaring at both men.
Vance straightened, his smile widening. "We were just talking about you."
"I'm sure you were," Grace said, her voice sharp.
Her father stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?"
Grace slowly shifted her focus to him, “Trouble I've caused, Papa?” Her words were slow and filled with disbelief. The audacity of him to play the victim card so quickly.
"Yes." He closed the distance between them in three long strides, his hand closing around her arm hard. "You embarrassed Vance. You embarrassed this family and after everything he's done for us, this is how you repay him?"
"Let go of me," Grace said quietly.
"You're going to apologize," Grant said, furious. "Right now."
"Papa—"
"Right now, Grace."
He shoved her forward.
Grace stumbled, her knees hitting the floor hard. Pain shot up her knees and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. She landed at Vance's feet, her hands flat against the cold tile.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Vance crouched down in front of her, tilting his head like he was examining something curious. "You know," he said softly, "I've been very patient with you."
Grace lifted her head glaring up at him. "Patient?"
"Very." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, she jerked back and his smile thinned. "But patience has its limits."
"Grace," her father snapped. "Apologize."
She looked away from Vance, up at her father. Her throat felt tight, her chest aching. "Did you do it?"
Grant frowned. "Do what?"
"Did you ask Maddox to drug me?"
Her father's expression didn't change, but aside from the slight narrowing of both eyes.
Grace's voice shook. "How did you threaten him? What did you say to make him agree to it?"
Grant's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Threaten him?" He laughed, short and bitter. "I didn't threaten anyone."
"So, how—"
"He agreed to do it on his own, Grace." Her father shook his head, as if she were being unreasonable.
"The boy saw reason and understood what was best for everyone involved. Even you."
Grace felt the words like a slap.
"Best for everyone…" she repeated slowly.
"Yes." Grant gestured toward Vance, “This man has been funding your mother's treatments for months. Months, Grace. Do you have any idea how much that costs? How much we owe him?"
"I didn't ask him to do that."
"Well, someone had to," Grant snapped. "Because God knows we couldn't afford it on our own."
Grace's hands curled into fists. "So you sold me."
"I made a practical decision."
"You sold me to him."
"I secured your future!" Her father's voice rose, echoing down the hallway. "This family's future. Your mother's future and, you threw it all away because you're too stubborn to see what's right in front of you." He lashed out further. “You weren’t born with a silver spoon. At this rate, you’d end up with some drunkard in the slums.”
Grace pushed herself to her feet, scoffing. “You mean like you?”
The moment she said so, her father’s hands shot out and slapped across her cheek.
It was the first time he’d hit her, and the shock was so great, she froze up.
"Enough," Vance said, his voice interrupting.
“Why? Don’t want to hear your own vile acts?” Grace said turning to him.
“Grace!” Grant shouted.
Vance stood slowly, ignoring her words, his eyes never leaving her face. "I'll forgive you," he said quietly. "All of this. The embarrassment, the disrespect. I'll forgive it."
Grace stared at him. "I don't want your forgiveness."
"You'll want it when your mother's treatments stop."
Her throat bobbed upwards in a gulp.
Vance smiled. "Come with me. Right now. I need someone to take care of me after last night's... disappointment." He gestured vaguely toward the hall. "Bring me something to eat, make sure I'm comfortable. Do that, and we'll forget this ever happened.” He smirked to add. “Although… that would be in my hotel room.”
Grace felt bile rise in her throat as she turned to look at her father and scoffed, Grant looked away.
“No, don’t do that papa, look at me, look at what you’re allowing to happen.”
Behind Vance, the door to her mother's room opened, and Sarah wheeled herself out, her face pale and tired, her hands clasped in front of her. "Grace," she said softly. "Be reasonable."
That was the last straw. To think that the one person who she thought still cared about her would support such a suggestion.
"Reasonable, you say…"
"This is what your grandmother would have wanted."
Grace froze.
Her mother's eyes were wet, pleading. "Remember why she gave you that necklace, to always think about family. Vance can take care of you."
"No," Grace whispered.
"Grace—"
"No."
Her hands moved before she could think, reaching up to the chain around her neck. Her fingers found the clasp, and she yanked it open. The necklace slipped free, the stone pendant looking so out of place.
Her mother gasped. "Grace, don't—"
“I always thought it was ugly anyway,” Grace said turning to look at Sarah as she dropped the necklace to the floor, lifted her foot, and brought it down hard.
The pendant shattered beneath her heel, pieces scattering across the tile.
"Grace!" her mother cried.
Grace looked up, her vision blurry with unshed tears.
"You're not my family anymore," she said, her voice trembling but steady. "None of you."
She turned toward Vance, her jaw tight. "And I will never marry you. Not over my dead body."
Vance's expression darkened.
“Grace, you don’t mean that—” Grant began.
“I mean every word, go look for someone else to sell.”
Grace didn't wait for a response.
She turned and walked away her footsteps echoing down the hall. Behind her, she heard her father call her name, but she didn't stop, didn't even look back.
She kept walking.
And she didn't let herself cry until she was outside.
Meanwhile…
In a room lit only by candlelight, a woman's eyes snapped open, her hand lifting toward the air as if feeling for something invisible. Her lips began moving, silent at first, then forming words.
"The protection spell has been broken."
Behind her, a figure stepped forward from the shadows. "Are you certain?"
The woman nodded, her expression grim. "I can feel it. The barrier's gone."
The figure smiled. "Good."
"We've found her."