Chapter 3

Eliza POV:

Before I could answer, Derek was descending the stairs, his movements swift and silent. He grabbed my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin like claws, and hauled me to my feet. I didn't make a sound, my breath catching in my throat.

He dragged me through the silent, cavernous house into a dark, wood-paneled office that smelled of leather and whiskey. He shoved me into a chair in front of a massive desk and flicked on a large monitor.

The screen lit up with a live feed from a security camera. The room was stark and white, clinical. In the center, strapped to a metal-framed bed, was Burt Mckenzie. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tubes ran in and out of his body. He was paralyzed, a living statue.

As I watched, a burly orderly entered the room. He roughly changed one of Burt's IV bags, slapping his arm with unnecessary force. Then, he took a cup of water, held it just inches from Burt' s face, and slowly poured it onto the floor. A cruel smirk played on his lips. Burt couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even blink away the single tear that tracked down his temple.

"This is a private facility," Derek said, his voice a low, chilling whisper right beside my ear. "Very expensive. I pay them to keep him alive. Just like this. So he can feel every second of his miserable existence."

He leaned closer, his breath cold against my cheek. "He is a constant reminder of what happens to people who hurt my wife. You," he said, his voice dropping even lower, "are also a constant reminder. Every time she looks at you, she sees him. She relives eight years of hell."

He straightened up, his shadow looming over me. "So this is the deal. You will stay out of her sight. You will not speak to her. You will not look at her. You will make yourself invisible. If you cause her one more second of pain, if I hear her cry your name in her sleep one more time... I will make you disappear. Do you understand me?"

The image of Burt, helpless and tormented on the screen, was burned into my mind. I could only nod, my body trembling so hard I thought I might fall apart. He was not my father. He was my captor. But seeing him like that... it was a promise. A threat of what this powerful, ruthless man could do.

I was confined to the staff quarters, a small, sterile room in the basement next to the laundry. My life became a ghost's existence. I ate my meals from a steel dog bowl left on the floor outside my door-bland rice and steamed vegetables, what the doctor had prescribed. I never saw my mother. I never saw Derek. I only saw the resentful faces of the staff and the cruel, taunting smirk of Kylie.

One sunny afternoon, I was sitting on the back steps, trying to soak up a little warmth. Kylie marched out, Zeus trotting at her heels. She was holding a new, sparkling dog bowl made of ceramic.

"I've been looking for this," she said, pointing a finger at my simple steel bowl on the ground.

"That's... that's my bowl," I whispered.

"Liar!" she shrieked. "You stole Zeus's bowl! You're disgusting! You probably have diseases!"

Before I could react, she grabbed a heavy crystal vase from a nearby patio table and brought it crashing down on my head. A burst of white light exploded behind my eyes, followed by a dull, spreading warmth. I touched my forehead and my fingers came away sticky with blood.

Kylie's face was twisted with a terrifying, gleeful rage. "You're a monster, just like him! I wish you were dead!"

She pointed at me, her voice ringing out across the perfectly manicured lawn. "Zeus! Get her!"

The Doberman, trained and loyal, didn't hesitate. It lunged, its powerful body knocking me off the steps. I landed hard on the grass, the wind knocked out of me. The dog's teeth clamped down on my wrist, not a playful nip, but a real bite. Pain, sharp and immediate, shot up my arm.

I didn't scream. I couldn't. All I could do was look up, my gaze searching, pleading. I saw her. My mother, Eleanora, was standing at a second-story window, looking down at the scene. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. I saw a flicker of something-shock, maybe even horror. A desperate, silent cry for help formed in my heart. Mommy, please.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she reached out and closed the curtains, plunging her room, and my world, into darkness.

The last bit of hope inside me shriveled and died.

Zeus started dragging me across the lawn, his teeth still locked on my arm. The grass was cool against my bleeding head. I felt strangely calm. This was it, then. This was how it ended.

Suddenly, a car screeched to a halt in the driveway. A door slammed.

"What in God's name is going on here?!" a deep, authoritative voice boomed.

An older man, tall and imposing with a shock of silver hair, was striding across the lawn. He grabbed the dog by the collar and, with a strength that surprised me, pried its jaws open.

He knelt beside me, his face a mask of fury and concern. "Are you alright, child?"

This was Hadley Mccall, Derek's father. The patriarch.

The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital. The lights were too bright, the smell of antiseptic too sharp. A nurse was stitching the gash on my forehead, her touch gentle. I didn't cry. I didn't even flinch. The pain in my wrist from the dog bite was a dull throb, but the wound in my heart from my mother's closed curtains was a vast, empty canyon. I felt nothing.

Late that night, the door to my small room burst open. Dionne, Eleanora, and Kylie rushed in, their faces pale with panic. My mother's eyes were red-rimmed and frantic. For one wild, impossible moment, I thought they were here for me.

But Kylie ran straight past my bed. "Grandma, is Daddy okay? Is he going to be okay?"

Eleanora was staring, not at me, but at the empty space beside my bed, her hands twisting together. "Where is he? They said he was in a serious accident."

A nurse hurried in behind them. "The family of Derek Mccall?" she asked.

They weren't here for me. They were here for him.