Chapter 81 Chapter Eighty
ARA
Throughout dinner, I was unable to get my mind off the notes. It felt as though the world itself was conspiring to deny me even a moment of peace.
I tried to ignore the twist in my stomach—the anxiety and fear pulsing beneath my skin—but it was impossible.
After all these years, what could my father possibly want from me now?
More troubling was the question I couldn’t escape: how deeply had he managed to penetrate Thayne’s security?
A part of me wanted to warn Thayne immediately, to tell him that something had slipped through the cracks. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when I still didn’t understand my father’s motives, and certainly not when uncertainty itself felt like a weapon.
I kept my expression carefully neutral, unwilling to let the turmoil inside me slip through the cracks. If only I’d gotten a look at the man who had slipped the note into my hand…
Would he come back? What if I never saw him again?
Thayne must have sensed my withdrawal. His hand found my thigh and gave a gentle squeeze, grounding and intimate all at once.
Awareness flared low in my body, unwelcome in its timing. I wished my mind were quieter, less tangled in fear, so I could lose myself in him instead of my thoughts.
Thayne turned toward me, his lips parting as if to speak.
The door burst open.
“Thayne, we can’t do the press release you requested.” Munroe’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.
Thayne’s hand stilled on my thigh, though he didn’t pull away. “What?” he asked sharply. “Why?”
Munroe hesitated, just long enough for dread to bloom. Wait, had he found out already that there was a breach in Thayne's security?
“Sasha is missing. Her captor left a note behind.” Munroe finally said.
What? How come?
“He's relentless, I'll give him that.” Thayne said through clenched teeth. I was certain he was referring to his father, but why did I get the feeling it wasn't his father who had kidnapped Sasha?
“What did the note say?” Thayne asked Munroe.
“It only said HELLO.” Munroe answered, air quoting the last word.
Wait—had he already discovered that there’d been a breach in Thayne’s security?
“Sasha is missing,” Munroe said at last. “Her captor left a note behind.”
My breath caught. What? How—?
“He’s relentless, I’ll give him that,” Thayne muttered through clenched teeth.
I was sure he meant his father. Yet unease crept in anyway, cold and insistent. Why did I suddenly feel like this wasn’t his father’s doing?
“What did the note say?” Thayne asked.
Munroe lifted his hands, air-quoting as he spoke. “It only said ‘Hello.’”
My blood turned to ice.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. The note the security guard had slipped into my hand read: Hello, dear daughter.
The thought felt insane even as it formed—but what if my father had ordered Sasha’s kidnapping? What if he’d left the note behind?
But why Sasha?
She was Thayne’s PR agent. Without her, his public image would be exposed, undefended. Vulnerable.
Still, it felt petty. Pointless. Unless there was something else at play. Something I wasn’t seeing yet.
I forced myself to breathe slowly through my nose, trying to steady my racing heart.
Thayne dragged his fingers across his temple. “What does that even mean? Have you pulled the CCTV footage?”
Munroe nodded. “Yes.”
“We have to find Sasha. Every single day is proof that this game is a bloody one.” Thayne pushed to his feet, fury coiled tight in his posture. “They want blood? Fine. Then we’ll paint the road red.”
He leaned down first, capturing my lips in a brief, fierce kiss, more promise than comfort.
When he pulled back, he ran his thumb slowly over my lower lip, as if committing the moment to memory.
“I have to go after her,” he said quietly. “You’ll be safe here. I promise. Your sisters too.”
“Will you be okay?” I asked.
He licked his lips, his eyes dark. “I will be. For you.”
My heart fluttered traitorously. I kissed him once more before forcing myself to let go.
“There’s a phone in the bedroom,” he added. “In case you want updates.”
I nodded, offering a small smile. He trusted me now, and I trusted him too.
When he was gone, the silence pressed in, giving my thoughts room to sharpen. My father’s note resurfaced, louder this time. The more I turned it over in my mind, the more I suspected that my father had taken Sasha.
But I wasn't sure, because as of recently, things no longer made sense.
You could say a spade was a spade today and tomorrow it would turn into a bread knife.
I was soaking in the tub, absently scrolling through my phone, when a notification appeared on Sasha’s page.
Posted one second ago. That was strange. How was she posting from the kidnapper's den?
Curious, I tapped play.
Sasha appeared on the screen, dressed in white. She looked exhausted, dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes, and her lower lip was split and swollen. My chest tightened.
She spoke carefully, each word measured.
“Slade Junior has been my worst client. He is extremely violent and unstable. He caused Madison’s miscarriage the same day he announced his engagement to Ara Irvington, whom he is keeping against her will.” As Sasha spoke, her face barely moved.
Her expression was carefully arranged, too controlled, like someone afraid that the slightest deviation would cost her dearly.
What the fuck was she talking about?
Her eyes flickered once, briefly, to something off-screen, and the movement was so small it might have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn’t know her.
“He has traumatized Madison and attacked his own brother over a power struggle. As his PR agent, it is my duty to tell the world that a man like him belongs in prison. He should be arrested and held accountable for his crimes.” Her voice was steady, but fear threaded through it, unmistakable. Like lines memorized under threat.
Her eyes were hollow, pleading in a way words couldn’t. I knew then she wasn’t speaking freely. This wasn’t a confession, it was a performance, staged from captivity.
Sasha would never say this. She had been forced.
But by who?