Chapter 42 Chapter 42

Chapter 42 Chapter 42


The hospital parking lot was colder than I had remembered.

Or maybe it was the way Stanley looked at me—as if I were dirt on the sole of his shoe.

His words still echoed in my mind:

"I'm glad someone's finally putting you in your place."

And that smug grin when he spoke them—like he'd won a prize.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles hard as bone, my breath fogging up the inside of the windshield. Moved not an inch. Not for a very long time. Sat there in stale quiet, the bag of pills from the pharmacy untouched on the glove compartment shelf, the pills themselves this nasty reminder of what I had allowed myself to become.

But Liana—she was the problem.

The reason my name hit the streets.

The reason I’d been forced to slink around in the dark like a goddamn criminal.

The reason Stanley thought he had the right to look at me like that.

No.

Enough was enough.

I yanked my phone out of the center console and dialed my lawyer—Carlton Fields. A buttoned-up bastard with a face like a hawk and a record of winning impossible cases.

He picked up on the third ring, voice smooth, awake. "Mr. Ashford. Late call."

"Do you get what I sent?"

"The statement, the shots, the defamation claim—yes. We've seen it all."

"And?"

A beat. The pause that told ill tidings.

"Ah, actually, Dominic… do you really want to pursue this lawsuit against Ms. Rhodes?"

I rested back against the leather, drumming fingers along the side of the steering wheel. "I wouldn't call if I wasn't."

He sighed. "Her allegations are serious. Domestic violence. Emotional trauma. She's suing you too. You know about that?"

"I'm not ignorant."

"There is physical evidence in this case. Police reports. Therapist depositions. Even text records. If this becomes public, it won't just be nasty. It could kill you."

"She already buried me," I snapped. "You think I give a damn how it's going to look to the public anymore?"

Carlton didn't blink. He never blinked. "I'm simply stating the risk. If your goal is to get vindicated in court, I'll try. But I can't promise you a win, Dominic. Not with the ammunition she's got."

"I'm not asking for your best," I growled, my voice low. "I'm asking you to get the hell done. I don't care how. Hook or crook, however you have to do it. I'm paying you to make it go away. I want my name back."

There was silence.

Then, "Understood."

I hung up and let my head roll back against the seat.

There was a day when I was held in respect by others. When the face that everyone knew carried power, prestige, influence. When reporters interrogated me, not shot me side-eye. When boardrooms fell silent the instant I entered.

Now I was a rumor behind the closed doors. A ghost in business circles. A lawsuit waiting to happen.

All thanks to her.

Liana had taken something more than just my daughter—she'd taken my identity, and cast me as the villain.

I would not let her get away with it.

I turned the engine on, my car humming to life as the cold air outside smoothed the world into a gray blur.

\---

I pulled up my driveway at about 1:30 a.m. The silence of the night was so complete it almost felt like a setup. No wind. No insects. No cars. Just the gentle hum of my tires on the road.

I killed the engine, sat for a moment. Heart still racing from the discussion. From remembering Stanley's self-satisfied face. From realizing that everything was slipping through my fingers and I was the only one trying to hold on.

I stepped out onto the porch, a chill weight on my chest. My door was open—just the slightest crack—but it was enough to bellow violation.

That door had been locked. Shut. I remembered the clear click of the bolt before I left. I remembered twice checking it.

Nobody had my key.

Nobody was meant to be inside.

I leaned in for the handle, cautious and quiet. My heart thudded behind my ears as I pushed it open with my foot.

The hinges creaked like a warning.

The corridor was black. Quiet. Too quiet.

I didn't go in.

I just stood there, staring out at the black, a knot forming in my stomach.

Then—so subtle I almost missed it—the hum of movement.

A whisper of a creaking floorboard above.

Someone had been in the house.

Not a break-in. Not a thief. No broken glass. No searching. No hysteria.

This was deliberate.

Planned.

They were waiting.

And they wanted me to know they'd been here.

I did not move. Couldn't.

Not when the light upstairs went on—

then went off---

then on again.

I stepped back.

And the door—

slowly started to close by itself.

With a soft, echoing click. it closed.

From the inside.