173

173
Laila’s POV

I continued to run through the dark, damp basement, my heart hammering in my chest as the man pursued me relentlessly. Each of my footsteps echoed in the vast, empty space, and I couldn’t believe I had come here alone. What was I thinking? What had possessed me to ignore Lance’s warnings? I should’ve listened to him. Now, here I was, running for my life, the walls closing in around me as I realized I had made a grave mistake.

I stumbled, my foot catching on something hidden in the shadows, and fell to the ground. Pain shot through my knees, but I didn’t have the luxury to stop and nurse the wound. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, and my pulse quickened. “Hamilton,” I gasped, my voice trembling with fear, “Please… you don’t have to kill me.” I wasn’t sure if I was pleading for my life or bargaining for a way out, but I had to try something. “I’ll give you money! I’ll give you anything you want! I’ll give you back the company! Just please… don’t kill me.”

The man’s laugh was cold and cruel, cutting through the silence of the basement like a blade. "You think you're still important to me?" he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your company means nothing anymore. I’ve already made my money—one hundred million dollars, to be exact. I don’t need it anymore. What I want is you dead, Lila."

Tears began to form in my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t care. My heart clenched in my chest as the reality of the situation hit me. My mind raced. He wanted me dead. Not just for money, but for something more sinister. It was all about power. And now, with Mr. Williams gone, there was no one left to stop him. He was going to take over everything.

I tried to steady my breathing, but it was difficult to focus as Hamilton’s words haunted me. He was talking about my father. My beloved father, who had died in such a tragic way. How had it happened? How had he really died?

Before I could stop myself, the words left my lips. “How did you kill my father?” I whispered, barely able to speak the words as the weight of the truth pressed down on me. “He loved you. He trusted you. He took you into our home. And you…” I swallowed hard, my throat thick with emotion, “you killed him.”

Hamilton’s eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction, a sick smile curling on his lips. “Of course, I killed him. It was so easy,” she said, her voice laced with malice. “Your father had chronic heart failure, remember? He was supposed to be fine with his pills. But when I learned he was going to write his will—putting me and my daughter in it—I couldn’t let that happen. So, I swapped his heart pills with the wrong ones. And that day, I made sure to provoke him. I made him so angry, his blood pressure skyrocketed, and he had a heart attack.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. It was like a punch to the gut. I had always suspected something wasn’t right, but to hear it in such cold, calculated words—words that confirmed my worst fears—was unbearable. I tried to breathe, but it was hard. My hands shook at my sides, and I struggled to keep my composure.

"But you didn’t even let him die peacefully," I choked out, my voice breaking with emotion. "You left him to die, didn’t you? After you provoked him, you didn’t even take him to the hospital immediately. You left him there, struggling, fighting for his life, only to die on the way to the hospital."

She laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound that sent chills down my spine. “I enjoyed every moment of it, Lila. Watching him struggle, knowing that he was going to die, and I would finally have everything.”

I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. How could someone be so heartless? How could she do this to the man who had loved her, who had trusted her? My father had been nothing but kind to her, and this was how she repaid him? It was unthinkable. I felt my chest tighten, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I tried to make sense of it all. But there was no making sense of it. It was just evil. Pure evil.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks, my hands trembling as I tried to steady myself. But Hamilton wasn’t finished. She motioned to one of the men standing nearby. “Cut off her hands,” she ordered, her voice cold and emotionless. “Bring them to me. I’ll be right here waiting.”

Panic surged through me. My mind raced as I realized what she intended to do. They were going to mutilate me. But then, something within me snapped. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t die here, not like this. I had to fight back. My father had taught me how to defend myself—how to fight when the odds were against me. It was time to use everything he had taught me.

I quickly spun around and kicked the man closest to me, driving my foot into his stomach. He gasped, crumpling to the floor, but I didn’t stop. I used the momentum to spin and land a punch on another man’s jaw, sending him staggering backward. The third man charged at me with a knife, but I was ready. I dodged the blade and kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The men were no match for me. I had trained for this. The lessons my father had given me—lessons I had long forgotten—were coming back to me now. One by one, they fell. I punched, kicked, and fought until all of them were lying on the floor, groaning in pain, their faces battered and bloody.

Hamilton’s face twisted in disbelief as she took in the sight of her men lying defeated at my feet. She didn’t know what to do. Then, with a snarl, she turned and bolted, running for the exit. But before she could escape, the sound of sirens filled the air. The police had arrived.

The officers burst in, grabbing Hamilton with ease. She fought against them, but it was no use. "Hamilton," one of the officers said, his voice firm, "You are under arrest for the intentional homicide of your husband. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law."

I watched in silence as they dragged her away. It was finally over. The woman who had destroyed my family, who had taken everything from me, was going to pay for her crimes. A small part of me felt satisfaction, but it was overshadowed by the grief and pain that still clung to my heart.

Nolan appeared beside me, his expression softening as he saw me standing there, bloodied but alive. Relief washed over me, and before I could think, I threw myself into his arms, holding him tightly. "You came for me," I whispered, my voice muffled against his chest. "You found me."

"Of course I did," he said softly, his voice full of concern. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Tears welled up in my eyes once more, but this time they were tears of gratitude. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for saving me.”

But even as I clung to him, something nagged at me. Nolan was acting differently. There was something in his eyes—something I couldn’t quite place.

"You’re not hurt, are you?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

I shook my head. "It’s just a scratch. I’m fine."

But Nolan seemed lost in thought. Then, suddenly, his face changed, his eyes widening as if he had just realized something.

“Lila… I know you. You’re Miranda, aren’t you?” he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "I’ve been looking for you for years."

My heart skipped a beat. "What? I’m Miranda?"

He nodded, taking my hand in his. "I loved you once, Miranda. I’ve loved you all my life. I never forgot you, even after you married Desmond. When I heard you were dead, I thought my world had ended. But here you are. Alive. It’s really you."

I stared at him, confusion clouding my mind. "But… I don’t know you. I never knew you. How could you have loved me?"

Nolan pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of a young woman, a younger version of myself. "I took this picture years ago. I saw you beating up a gang member, and I thought you were the most beautiful, fearless woman I had ever seen. But then I found out you were married, and I had to let you go."

My breath caught in my throat. Was it possible? Could it really be me he had fallen for all those years ago?