Chapter Three:The Ransom
1568 Words
The sound of glass shattering still echoed in my ears long after the last shard stopped moving.
Kidnapped.
The word didn’t feel real.
It felt like something from a news headline—detached, distant.
Not my father.
Not our life.
Adrian was already moving. Phone in hand. Issuing commands with quiet, lethal efficiency.
“I want traffic cams pulled from every route between the courthouse and the holding facility,” he said. “No media leaks. Not yet.”
Not yet.
That meant there would be.
Eventually.
I couldn’t breathe properly.
“This is because of the documents,” I said, forcing my voice to work. “Someone needed him to be silent.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
He didn’t deny it.
He ended the call and crossed the room toward me.
I didn’t realize I was shaking until his hands wrapped around my upper arms.
Firm. Grounding.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
His eyes were sharp, alert—but beneath the steel was something else.
Focus.
On me.
“Your father is valuable,” he continued. “That means he’s alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His certainty steadied something inside me.
“Kidnapping a high-profile suspect during a federal investigation?” he added. “That’s not desperation. That’s strategy.”
“Strategy for what?”
He studied me carefully.
“For leverage.”
The word again.
Leverage.
I pulled away from him and paced toward the windows.
Below us, the city carried on like nothing had happened. Cars moved. People walked. Screens flashed.
No one knew my father had just vanished into thin air.
“What if they hurt him?” I whispered.
Adrian’s voice softened slightly. “They won’t. Not unless they believe he’s useless.”
I turned sharply. “And is he?”
His silence was answer enough.
Anger surged through me.
“You said this wasn’t about destroying my family anymore.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then prove it.”
His jaw tightened.
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
We both stared at it.
My pulse thudded in my throat.
He answered.
“Knight.”
Silence.
Then a distorted voice filled the room through the speaker.
“You married into a problem.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who is this?” Adrian asked calmly.
“You should know,” the voice replied. “You built it.”
Adrian’s expression didn’t change—but I saw it.
Recognition.
“You have something that belongs to me,” the voice continued. “And I have something that belongs to her.”
My father.
“What do you want?” Adrian asked.
A low chuckle crackled through the line.
“Justice.”
The call ended.
Just like that.
I stared at him.
“You know who that was.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he walked to the bar and poured another drink—but this time for himself.
“Adrian.”
He exhaled slowly.
“My uncle.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“The one who—” I stopped.
He nodded once.
“The one who tried to take control of my company years ago.”
The pieces began sliding together in my mind.
“You said someone inside your company created that shell corporation.”
“Yes.”
“And your uncle still has influence.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“So this is a family war.”
“It always has been.”
“And now my father is caught in it.”
He stepped closer.
“No,” he said quietly. “Your father was used in it.”
“Used how?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The frustration, the fear, the helplessness—it all boiled over.
“This is because of you!” I burst out. “If you hadn’t started the takeover—”
“If I hadn’t,” he cut in sharply, “someone else would have.”
“Don’t.”
“You think this is about corporate greed?” His voice dropped lower. Darker. “My uncle has been waiting for a weakness.”
“And that weakness is me?”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“yes,” he said slowly. “It’s you.”
The meaning hit me like a slap.
“Me?”
“He knows I won’t let you fall.”
The room went silent.
The words settled between us, heavy and undeniable.
“You barely know me,” I said.
“That’s not true.”
Something shifted in his gaze.
For a second, the distance disappeared.
“What are you saying?” I whispered.
He stepped closer—close enough that the tension between us felt charged, dangerous.
“I’m saying,” he said quietly, “that marrying you wasn’t supposed to matter.”
My heart skipped.
“But it does,” he finished.
The confession wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t loud.
It was honest.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated on the marble counter.
A message.
Unknown sender.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
A photo loaded slowly.
Dark room.
Concrete walls.
A single chair bolted to the floor.
My father tied to it.
Bruised.
Alive.
A strangled sound escaped my throat.
Adrian was beside me instantly.
“Show me.”
I turned the phone toward him.
His entire body went still.
Then another message came through.
You have 24 hours.
Another.
Withdraw the merger.
Another.
Or he dies.
The air vanished from the room.
“They want you to cancel everything,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“And if you do?”
He didn’t answer.
“If you do?” I pressed.
“They gain majority control,” he said evenly. “My uncle becomes CEO.”
“And my father?”
“He’ll likely disappear anyway.”
Cold logic.
Ruthless truth.
I felt like I was drowning.
“So there’s no winning.”
“There’s always a move,” Adrian said.
“What move? Do we go to the police?”
“No.”
“What?”
“If we alert federal authorities now, they panic. Panic makes people reckless.”
“And not telling them doesn’t?”
His gaze hardened.
“I handle this.”
“This is my father!”
“And it’s my war.”
The words cracked like a whip.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Charged.
I stepped closer to him, my voice low.
“If he dies because of your pride—”
He grabbed my wrist.
Not painfully.
But firmly.
“You think this is pride?” he asked quietly.
His thumb pressed against my pulse, steady but intense.
“I’ve buried my family because of that man,” he said. “I will not bury yours.”
The conviction in his voice shook me.
He released me slowly.
“We don’t give him what he wants,” he continued. “We give him what he expects.”
I frowned. “Which is?”
“Control.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We make him believe I’m folding.”
The idea formed slowly.
“You’re going to pretend to withdraw.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
His eyes darkened.
“And then I follow the money.”
A chill slid down my spine.
“You’re risking everything.”
“I already did,” he said quietly. “The moment I married you.”
My breath caught again.
There wasn’t time to unpack that.
Another message buzzed on my phone.
A live location pin.
Warehouse district.
South docks.
Come alone.
I looked up at Adrian.
“He wants me there.”
His expression turned instantly lethal.
“No.”
“It says come alone.”
“It also says 24 hours.”
“And what if he changes his mind?”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do.”
His certainty both reassured and infuriated me.
“You don’t get to decide this for me,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied calmly. “I do.”
Rage flared in my chest.
“I am not your asset.”
“You are my wife.”
The word hit differently this time.
Not strategic.
Personal.
I stared at him.
“And that means what?”
“It means,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “you don’t walk into a trap.”
My pulse pounded.
“Maybe I don’t have a choice.”
He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face—an intimate gesture that made my breath hitch.
“You always have a choice,” he murmured.
“And if my choice is to save my father?”
His hand dropped slowly.
“Then you trust me.”
The silence between us stretched thin.
Another vibration.
Another message.
This time, not a photo.
A video.
My hands shook as I pressed play.
The screen flickered to life.
My father, still tied to the chair.
A gun pressed to his temple.
And the distorted voice from earlier whispered:
“Tick tock, Mrs. Knight.”
The screen went black.
I looked up at Adrian.
And for the first time, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.
Fear.
Real fear.
- Writer
