Chapter 85 Chapter Eighty-four
ARA
A nightmare ripped me awake. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart slamming so hard it hurt, and then I saw him.
Thayne. Hanging. Chains bit into his wrists, hoisting his arms above his head, his body suspended just enough that his boots barely brushed the floor.
Thick iron links disappeared into the ceiling, unmoving.
How…?! How was Thayne here? He had asked Munroe to double security watch. He had taken extra measures to secure the fortress. It was a different case for me being here, but him?
“Oh my God—no. No, no, no!” I screamed, scrambling forward on pure instinct. “Thayne!”
Pain exploded through my arms. I hadn’t even realized I was restrained until the chains snapped taut and yanked me backward.
Metal burned into my wrists, forcing a cry out of me as I crashed to my knees.
Fuck. I was chained too. Panic clawed up my throat as I dragged my gaze back to him.
Bruises mottled his torso, deep purples and sickly blues layered over angry red welts. His shirt was gone.
His skin was split in so many places, dried blood streaking down his ribs and matting his hair where it clung to his forehead.
My chest felt like it was collapsing inward.
“Thayne,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Please! Please wake up! Thayne!”
His head lifted slowly. Too slowly.
One eye was swollen nearly shut, his jaw tense as if he were holding back pain with sheer will.
When his gaze finally found mine, something fierce flashed there. It wasn't fear. Never fear. I didn't think I'd ever seen Thayne with a look of fear on his face.
“Ara,” he rasped. “Are you hurt?”
The question shattered me.
“You’re bleeding,” I sobbed. “They did this to you because of me.”
He shook his head once, a sharp movement that made him wince. “Listen to me,” he said hoarsely. “This isn’t on you.”
Footsteps echoed from somewhere, unhurried and measured thuds of boots against the metal floor.
A door creaked open somewhere behind me, and I stiffened.
“Well,” a man’s voice said calmly, almost pleasantly, “this reunion is long overdue.”
The sound of it made my blood freeze, not because I recognized it but because I didn’t.
The footsteps continued from behind me, each one landed with confidence, like he knew exactly where he was and exactly what he owned inside this room.
I twisted as far as my chains allowed.
The man stepped into the light. He was tall and impeccably dressed. Dark hair streaked faintly with gray at the temples. His face was sharp, controlled, and disturbingly handsome in a way that felt wrong, like beauty polished over rot.
My chest seized and tightened painfully.
This was him. My father. The man who ruined my mother's life.
Something deep in my bones recoiled and screamed, recognizing the danger before my mind could catch up.
“You,” I breathed.
He smiled at the sound of my voice.
“So,” he said softly, studying my face like a collector examining a long-lost artifact, “you look just like her.”
My stomach dropped.
“Don’t talk about my mother,” I snapped, my voice shaking violently. “You don’t get to say her name.”
His smile widened. “Oh, but I do,” he replied mildly. “She screamed it often enough.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
I gagged, nausea roaring up my throat. “You’re lying,” I said, even as something inside me shattered. “You never knew her.”
He chuckled. “She fought,” he said conversationally, strolling closer. “I’ll give her that. Her feistiness made the experience… memorable.”
I screamed. I don’t even remember deciding to.
The sound tore out of me, a pained, animalistic sound ripping my throat apart as I thrashed against the chains, the metal chains biting into my skin.
Thayne roared my name.
My father turned his head slightly, irritated, like Thayne was a background noise.
“Ah. Yes,” he said. “The problem.”
He walked over to Thayne and stopped inches from him.
“You should be proud,” he continued, addressing me without looking away from Thayne. “He bled beautifully for you.”
“The moment I break free from these chains, I will kill you,” Thayne growled, every word drenched in promise.
My father laughed.
“That fire,” he said. “That’s why you had to be broken first.”
He finally looked back at me.
“I didn’t come for pleasantries, daughter,” he said. “I came to collect.”
“Collect what? What else could you possibly want to collect after stealing my and mother's dignity the day you raped her?” I retorted, my entire body trembling.
His gaze dropped pointedly to my stomach.
“You,” he said simply. “And what you’re carrying.”
My heart stopped. Thayne went utterly still.
“You're a sick psychopathic bastard, do you know that? I'm carrying his baby, and you have nothing to do with it.” I said, wanting to reach out and claw out his eyes with my fingers.
“I’m offering you a gift,” he said smoothly. “A chance to become the heiress to my business empires.”
“I want nothing from you.” I spat. He had to be crazy. Heiress of his business empires? What would happen to Nadia, then? Did he think I was stupid?
“Oh, you will.” He said, flashing me a villainous smile.
He clapped once and whistled twice, and footsteps sounded from behind me.
My skin prickled. There was something about the rhythm, the weight of those steps, that made my stomach twist with dread. I knew them, but my mind refused to place why.
Thayne's head snapped up, and he cursed loudly under his breath, shock and anger and disappointment flashing in his eyes.
“Munroe? What the hell—?”
The name hit me like ice water. Munroe? As in, Thayne's best friend and personal bodyguard.
He stepped into view. He looked exactly the same. Same composed posture, same professional calm, same loyal right-hand-man aura he’d worn for years at Thayne’s side.
Except now, he wasn’t looking at Thayne.
He was looking at my father,
And he bowed, low enough to show allegiance.
My heart dropped straight through the floor.
“No,” I whispered. “No… that’s not possible.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “This was never meant to be personal.”
Thayne exploded like a nuclear bomb.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled, lunging forward despite the chains biting into his wrists. “I trusted you with everything. With my life, with Ara's life. I trusted you by my side, you traitor!”
Munroe exhaled slowly. “Because that’s where I was needed.”
My father chuckled behind me, rich and pleased by Munroe's response.
“You see? Loyalty is a matter of perspective.”
My nails dug into my palms as everything clicked into place.
“You were the breach,” I said hoarsely, staring at Munroe. “The cameras. You've been feeding and supplying him information until this very moment?”
“Yes,” Munroe admitted. “From the very beginning.”