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

CHAPTER THREE: THE MAN I CANNOT ESCAPE

I understood my life had changed the moment my father died, but I did not grasp how completely it would be taken from me until I walked behind Elias Kessler and left that hallway.

Each step I took after him felt deliberate and wrong, as though I was crossing a line I would never be allowed to step back over.

The mansion that had always grounded me now felt distant and unfamiliar, filled with strangers who moved with quiet authority while avoiding my eyes. The officers no longer questioned me, the staff no longer approached me, and no one attempted to stop me as I followed the man who now held legal control over my life. His presence carried a kind of power that had already been accepted by everyone else.

“I am not going with you,” I said when we reached the front entrance. He stopped before the door and turned to face me, his expression composed in a way that made resistance feel almost irrelevant. You already are, he replied. I can leave right now, I said, forcing conviction into every word. You cannot force me into your car. You can try, he said quietly. “You will not get far.” There was no threat in his voice, and that unsettled me more than anger would have.

I am not afraid of you, I said. You should be afraid of the people who know your father is dead, he said. The words disrupted my anger. What does that mean? I asked. He did not answer, instead, he opened the door. “Get in the car, Mabel.” The way he said my name carried quiet authority.

I stood there for a moment, resisting the pull of it, but the truth settled in with sharp clarity. I had nowhere else to go, and that realization unsettled me more than his control ever could. I walked past him and stepped outside. The air felt sharper, colder than it should have. A black car waited at the front, engine running, the driver already positioned at the door as if he had been expecting this exact moment.

Everything about it felt arranged. I got into the car without speaking. Kessler followed and closed the door behind him, and the sound carried a quiet finality that settled heavily in the surrounding space. The car moved immediately. I stared out the window, watching the mansion fall away, and a slow, tightening awareness settled in my chest.

I was leaving everything behind. Where are we going? I asked. “To my house,” he said. A hollow breath escaped me. “Of course.”

I turned to him. You were the last person with my father, I said. “Yes.” You expect me to sit here and believe you had nothing to do with his death. I expect you to stay alive long enough to understand what actually happened, he said. His answer sharpened something inside me.

“Stop saying that,” I said, my voice tightening. You keep implying I am in danger, but you refuse to explain anything. His jaw set slightly, and that single reaction carried more weight than words. “I am telling you what matters,” he said. No, you are controlling what I know, I replied. “You are deciding what I see, where I go, and what I am allowed to understand.” I am deciding what keeps you alive, he said. The calm precision in his voice forced silence between us. I turned away again, my thoughts tightening around questions that refused to settle.

If he had not killed my father, then someone else had. If my father trusted him, then there was a reason. If I were truly in danger, then why had no one warned me?

The car slowed. I looked up, and we had stopped at a red light. My attention shifted across the street. Then I saw it. A black vehicle was parked at the intersection.

“Do you know that car?” I asked. Kessler did not respond immediately. That hesitation sharpened my focus. Slowly, he turned his head and looked in the same direction. The moment his eyes landed on it, something in his expression tightened. “Stay still,” he said. My pulse picked up. What is happening? I asked.

The light turned green. Our car remained still, while the other vehicle moved. My breath slowed as it passed alongside my window. And for a single second, I saw movement inside. The car continued past us and disappeared into traffic. I turned to Kessler, my heartbeat steady but heavy.

“Who was that?” I asked. He did not look at me. His attention remained fixed ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice lowered. “That is why you do not have to walk away from me.” The words settled with weight, because at that moment, the truth became impossible to ignore. Whatever had started the night my father died had not ended. It had followed me. And it was no longer watching from a distance, it was close. Close enough to see me. Close enough to reach me. And if Kessler had recognized them, then he knew exactly what they wanted. And he still was not telling me.