BOUND TO MY FATHERS ENEMY: Hating Him Was Easy…Until I Started Wanting Him

CHAPTER SIX: HE WAS NOT THE TARGET

The door did not open. I forced the handle down again, harder this time, but the lock held without resistance, sealed in a way that made it clear it would not give no matter how much pressure I applied. Kessler, open it, I said, keeping my voice steady even as tension tightened through me. He did not move immediately, and that pause unsettled me. I stepped back and turned towards him. Who locked it? His stare stayed on the door before shifting to me.

“Not the system,” he said. The answer was wrong. What does that mean? It means someone is inside this house who should not be, he replied. “They followed us.” Yes! The confirmation came without hesitation, and that made it worse. I turned away from the door and faced the room again, forcing myself to focus. The walls were covered in files, documents, and photographs, all arranged with intention, all connected to my father.

This was not random, this was built. You knew about this room, I said. Yes! And you still brought me here. You brought me into a house that is being watched and locked me inside a room like that, and you still expect me to believe you are protecting me. I expect you to start asking the right questions, he said. Then answer one: why does that person know my father? His eyes shifted briefly towards the wall. Because your father was not who you think he was.

The words hit hard. “No,” I said immediately. You do not get to change who he was to explain this. I am not changing anything, he replied. I am telling you what he chose to hide. Then explain it! Then he spoke. Your father built something that required control, secrecy, and people who do not exist on record. I stared at him. That sounds like you. That is why he trusted me. Before I could respond, a sound cut through the room.

There is someone else in here, i said. Yes! My pulse spiked. Where? “Hidden access,” he said. That answer landed sharply. There is another way in. “Yes,” which meant they had never left. I stepped back, my shoulder brushing against him as he moved slightly in front of me without hesitation. “Stay behind me,” he said. This time I listened. Show yourself, he said. I said, “Yes.” The opening widened, and a hand appeared, gripping the edge. Then a figure stepped out, the same presence in the hallway, the same controlled movement.

They had not left. They had been inside the house. You move quickly, the figure said, but Kessler did not respond. He held his position. You are not supposed to be here, he said. And yet I am,” the figure replied. Their attention shifted to me. You look exactly like him, they said. What do you want from me, I asked? They took a step forward. “Stop,” Kessler said. They paused but did not retreat. You cannot keep her there, they said, You know that.

She is not leaving, Kessler replied. The certainty in his voice sharpened the air between them. That is no longer your decision, the figure said. What does that mean? The figure looked at me again. It means you were never meant to stay hidden. Before I could respond, a sharp sound cut through the room. A gunshot. The impact echoed violently, forcing my body to shrink as the sound settled. Something hit the floor. I turned and saw Kessler staggering. Blood spread across his side.

“Kessler.” But he did not fall. He straightened, forcing himself upright as if the shot had not taken him down. My pulse raced as I looked back at the figure. They had not moved and they had not fired. Which meant the shot came from somewhere else. I turned sharply towards the passage, and someone stood inside. The gun was still raised, and this time there was no hesitation. They stepped forward, aiming directly at me. And at that moment, I knew I was the real target. I was never meant to survive.