Revenge in Ruin

Chapter 2:My Daughter

“So... are you coming back?”

The question was barely a whisper, sinking into the quiet of the room as a man sat down next to a girl on the sofa. The worn leather groaned beneath his weight.

The girl looked up, her jaw tight. “Even if I’m not coming back, why do you care?” With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled her phone onto the cushions. It bounced with a dull thud. “You should be happy if I’m gone,” she added, forcing her voice to sound casual as she stared intently at her chipped nails, refusing to meet his eyes.

The man's jaw twitched. He didn't fire back. Instead, he looked down, his gaze locking onto his own scarred knuckles as he slowly rubbed his hands together a nervous habit he couldn't hide. The silence in the living room grew suffocating.

“Admit it, Max. You’ll be thrilled if I leave," she said, her voice rising with sudden irritation. She shoved her hands between the cushions, aggressively hunting for the phone she had just thrown. "Once they find out I’m gone, they'll stop coming after you. You’ll finally be safe.”

“No, I won’t be happy," he replied. His voice cracked, a raw, fragile sound that cut through the room. It cut him deep to know she truly believed those words. "Who told you I would be happy without you? I know... I know I don't talk with you often, but that doesn’t mean I am not happy with you.”

The girl's hand froze between the couch cushions. The honesty in his shaking voice forced her to snap her head up. She went entirely still. Max's eyes were glassy, swimming with unshed tears that caught the dim light of the room.

“Why the hell are you crying?" she asked, her anger instantly morphing into pure disbelief. She felt exposed, cornered by his vulnerability. "And why are you taking this so personally? Man, you get paid to take care of me, Mr. Max.”

A single tear finally escaped, tracing a wet path down Max's lined cheek. “Why can’t I cry, knowing my daughter is leaving me?”

The words hit her like a physical blow to the chest, knocking the air right out of her lungs. Girl bolted to her feet, her fingers trembling violently as she shoved a cushion aside and snatched her phone.

“First of all, thanks for taking care of me," she said, her voice sharp, a desperate shield to mask the panic clawing at her throat. "And second of all, I am not your daughter. I don’t know what the hell made you say that.”

Without giving him a chance to answer, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the house, throwing her weight into the heavy front door. It slammed shut with a deafening bang that rattled the windows.

The moment her boots hit the wooden porch, her angry mask crumbled. She collapsed against the cold exterior wall, sliding down an inch as she choked in a breath. She was breathing heavily, her chest tightening like a vice while a wave of pure panic rushed through her veins. Her heart raced against her ribs, loud and frantic.

Inside, left behind in the sudden, heavy silence of the empty living room, Max let out a long, shaky breath. He reached up, wiping the dampness from his face with the back of his rough hand, his eyes staring blankly at the dark wood of the front door.

“Oh, my sweet daughter," he whispered to the empty space, his voice thick with a grief he couldn't contain. "I love you so much, my love. Goodbye.”

Sighing heavily, the weight of the goodbye pressing down on his shoulders, he forced his aching knees to straighten. He turned away and walked slowly into the kitchen, needing the mindlessness of cooking something to drown out the quiet.

Outside, the cool air helped steady the girl’s pulse. She forced her frozen limbs to move, aggressively wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve as she marched down the cracked stone path. But as she reached the heavy metal front gate, she came to a sudden halt.

She lingered there, the cold iron biting into her palms as she looked back at the house. A heavy, hollow gaze settled over her features. Deep down, a terrible certainty settled in her gut: she would return to no one here.

Her eyes drifted upward, landing on the engraved brass nameplate near the intercom box. It was weathered, reflecting the gray sky: MAX.

She glared at the letters, her chest tightening all over again. But then, her eyes caught a tiny detail near the corner two small hearts crudely scratched into the edge of the board. A bittersweet smile broke through her hard expression, softening the sharp lines of her face. Shaking her head at the memory, she turned on her heel and walked away into the foggy morning.

By the time she reached the corporate headquarters downtown, the ambient noise of traffic and shouting pedestrians had soured her mood completely. She marched toward the towering glass entrance, but the heavy squeak of leather announced trouble before she even hit the glass. A security guard stepped directly into her path, his broad frame blocking the doors.

“What?” she snapped, her voice like a whip.

“Did the boss give you a pass?” the guard asked, his face a mask of strict, unbothered professionalism.

Aella stared at him, her eyes wide with mocking disbelief. “A pass? Is he some kind of celebrity?” Her tone was sharp, dripping with pure irritation.

“Ma’am, company policy states you cannot enter the premises without a security pass. I’m sorry,” the guard replied, his stance widening as he stood his ground.

Aella's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Okay, mister. Do me a favor and tell him something for me.”

The guard gave a stiff nod, pulling a small paper notepad and a pen from his vest. “Yes, ma’am. What is the message?”

A slow, mocking smile spread across Aella's lips, completely devoid of warmth. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand and flipped her middle finger right in his face. “Tell him he’s way too old to be my dad, and he's definitely too old to be my f*****g boyfriend.”

The guard froze, completely speechless. His professional mask shattered instantly, his jaw dropping as his eyes widened in sheer shock as he hadn't expected the venom. “O-Okay… and your name, Miss?” he stammered, his pen hovering uselessly over the paper.

“Aella Max!” she shouted, the raw force of her voice making him physically flinch backward.

Without giving him a single second to recover his dignity, she spun around, blending instantly into the sea of the crowded street, never once looking back at the glass tower behind her.

Meanwhile

“Did you hear?”

A man’s voice cut through the quiet as he breezed into the sleek conference room. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only other sound in the space.

A girl sat at the center of the room, the sharp frames of her wire-rimmed glasses catching the harsh fluorescent light as she looked up from her laptop. A slight frown of confusion pinched her brow. “What ?”

Jax didn't answer right away. He sauntered over to the heavy mahogany table and pulled out a chair directly across from her, the leather groaning slightly under his weight. He tossed his phone onto the polished wood with a loud clack and locked his eyes onto hers.

“She went solo.”

The girl didn't flinch, but her fingers froze above her keyboard. She let out a low, thoughtful hum, her index finger starting a slow, rhythmic tap against the edge of the table. “So, what’s the plan, Sloane?” The boy asked, leaning forward.

“Call the others, Jax,” Sloane commanded quietly, her voice dropping an octave as her gaze shifted to the empty chairs around them.

Jax gave her a quick thumbs-up, retrieved his phone, and immediately began dialing.

Twenty minutes later...

The air in the room had grown noticeably thicker.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” A girl asked. She leaned back, nervously twisting a strand of her dark green hair around her index finger, her eyes darting toward the head of the table.

“Yes," Sloane replied, her voice smooth and unyielding. "I started this entire group for her. I knew she couldn’t stay under someone else's thumb for more than a year. It was only a matter of time before she went solo.”

“You know she’ll never willingly join us again, right?” Jax chimed in. He was watching Sloane closely, searching her face for any flicker of hesitation or doubt.

“She has to,” Sloane said. She didn't look up, but her tone was laced with an absolute, chilling certainty. “I’ve already planned for this. She will join. Are you all on board with the play?”

A heavy murmur of agreement rippled through the room, heads nodding in a reluctant chain reaction except for one person. Leo.

Sloane turned her gaze toward him, the silence focusing entirely on his corner of the table. “Leo?”

“I just don’t get why the hell you’re so worried about that brat!” Leo snapped.

He slammed his palms flat against the mahogany table. The sudden, explosive bang echoed sharply off the walls, making Ivy flinch. Leo’s shoulders heaved, his chest rising and falling with an anger he had clearly been holding in.

Everyone else in the room remained completely frozen. No one spoke up; they had already expected this volcano to blow.

Sloane looked at him, her hard expression finally cracking. Her eyes softened with a sad, desperate plea that she rarely showed anyone. “I know you hate her, Leo. But please... do this for me. Agree to the plan.”

Leo stared at her, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheek twitched. The silence stretched between them for a long, agonizing moment. Finally, he exhaled a harsh, ragged breath.

“Only for your sake,” he growled.

He shoved his chair back violently, the metal legs screeching against the floor. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the room, throwing his weight into the heavy door and slamming it shut behind him. The vibration rattled the glass panels of the conference room.

Sloane didn't miss a beat, forcing her professional mask back into place. She turned her attention to the remaining members. “Okay. Jax and I will handle the next step. Ivy, Dante go after him and make sure he cools down before he breaks something.”

Ivy and Dante exchanged a quick look, nodded in unison, and quietly slipped out of the room to track down Leo's trail of anger.

As the door clicked shut for the second time, the room felt completely empty. Sloane turned her full attention to Jax, the weight of the upcoming move settling onto her shoulders.

“Call her.”

Jax nodded, his usual playful demeanor completely vanishing. His expression turned dead serious as he dialed the familiar number, his thumb hovering over the screen for a fraction of a second before he hit the speaker.

The line rang once. A long, empty tone.

Twice.

Then, the clicking sound of a line opening bled through the speaker. The call connected, and the silence in the conference room became absolute.

“Hello, Aella.”