Vows Of Deception

chapter 8

The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight bleeding through the cracked blinds. Vanessa’s gun caught that light, turning it into something cold and final.

“Hand it over,” she said, stepping closer. “The envelope. The drive. Everything your mother thought she could hide.”

My fingers tightened around the papers until the edges bit into my palm. “You’re not getting them.”

She laughed, low and ugly. “You’re brave for someone who’s about to die. Cute, really. Michael always did like them feisty.”

I backed up until my spine hit the wall. The old chair I’d used to reach the ceiling tile was still there—my only weapon if this went bad. My mind raced. Michael was trapped. Adrian was probably useless. I was alone with a woman who clearly enjoyed this too much.

Vanessa tilted her head. “Richard gave you forty-eight hours. You’ve already wasted half of them playing detective. Time’s up on the grace period.”

She raised the gun higher.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I kicked the chair hard, sending it skidding across the floor toward her legs. She cursed and stumbled. In that split second I bolted for the door, clutching the envelope and drive like they were oxygen.

Gunshot. The sound exploded in the small space, splintering the doorframe right beside my head. Plaster rained down.

I didn’t stop. I ran down the hallway, feet pounding on the warped floorboards, breath tearing out of my lungs. Another shot. This one grazed the wall behind me.

Down the stairs. Two at a time. My ankle twisted on the last step but I kept going, bursting out into the night air. The street was empty—no cabs, no people, just shadows and distant traffic.

I zigzagged between parked cars, heart slamming so hard it hurt. Behind me, Vanessa’s heels clicked fast on the pavement. She was gaining.

I ducked into an alley, praying it wasn’t a dead end. It opened onto another street. I sprinted across, dodging a honking taxi, and dove behind a dumpster. My lungs burned. The envelope was damp with sweat in my grip.

Footsteps slowed. Stopped.

I held my breath.

Vanessa’s voice floated through the dark. “You can’t hide forever, Sophia. Richard owns this city. And when I tell him you have the files… he’ll burn everything to get them back. Including Michael.”

My stomach twisted. Michael. Still in that penthouse. Still collateral.

I waited until her footsteps faded, then slipped out the other end of the alley. My phone was still in my pocket—the burner Vanessa had given me. I pulled it out with shaking hands and dialed the only number I dared.

It rang once.

“Sophia?” Michael’s voice was rough, like he’d been shouting. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“I found it,” I whispered, pressing myself against a brick wall. “The files. The proof. Everything. But Vanessa’s after me. She shot at me.”

A string of curses. Then his tone shifted—calm, focused, the way he got when he was planning something dangerous. “Listen to me. There’s a motel on the edge of town, the Starlight Inn. Room 12. The key is under the mat—Adrian left it there as backup. Go there. Lock the door. I’m getting out of here tonight. I swear it.”

“Michael—”

“I love you,” he cut in, fierce and raw. “Even if you never forgive me for how this started. I’m coming for you. Just stay alive.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, tears mixing with the sweat on my face. Then I started moving again, sticking to shadows, every nerve screaming.

The Starlight Inn was a rundown dump with flickering neon and the smell of old cigarettes. Room 12 was at the end. The key was exactly where he said. I slipped inside, locked the door, and shoved the dresser against it for good measure.

Only then did I let myself collapse onto the sagging bed, envelope and drive still clutched in my hands.

I plugged the second drive into my phone. More files. Spreadsheets. Emails. Photos of Richard with politicians, judges, even a couple of faces I recognized from the news. Enough to ruin him ten times over.

But one folder caught my eye: For Sophia – If I Don’t Make It.

Inside was another video. I hit play with trembling fingers.

Mom again, this time in a hospital bed, looking so thin it broke my heart all over again.

“Baby girl… if you found this, you’re stronger than I ever was. The money is in three accounts. Passwords are your birthday backwards, then ‘bluebell’—our flower. Use some to disappear if you need to. But the files… give them to Agent Harlan. He’s clean. Tell him I sent you. And Sophia?”

She smiled, weak but real.

“Don’t let the past steal your future. If Michael is still in your life… he might be worth fighting for. I saw how Richard’s son looked at me once. Some men break the cycle. Maybe he can.”

The video ended.

I sat there in the dim motel light, crying quietly for the mother I’d lost and the truth she’d left me.

A soft knock on the door made me jump.

“Sophia? It’s me.”

Michael’s voice.

I froze.

How had he gotten here so fast?

I moved the dresser, heart in my throat, and cracked the door.

He stood there, bruised cheek, split lip, shirt torn. But alive. Breathing hard like he’d run the whole way.

Our eyes met.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then I stepped back and let him in.

He closed the door behind him, locked it, and pulled me into his arms before I could speak.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m so damn sorry.”

I didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“We have the files,” I said against his chest. “We can end this.”

He held me tighter. “We. I like the sound of that.”

But outside, in the parking lot, headlights swept across the curtains.

Vanessa’s voice carried faintly through the thin walls.

“Room 12. She’s in there. And she’s not alone anymore.”

Michael tensed, already reaching for something at his waist—a gun he must have taken from one of Richard’s men.

He looked down at me, eyes blazing with that same fierce promise I’d seen in the penthouse.

“Stay behind me.”

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

We were in it together now.

Whether I was ready to forgive him or not.