The church loomed like a relic of forgotten sins — its cracked bell tower reaching toward a stormy sky, windows stained with time, not glass. It was empty now, save for ghosts and broken pews… and the man Aria used to call “Dad.”
She pushed the heavy door open.
Her boots echoed across the marble floor as her father turned slowly from the altar. He looked older — hunched, thinner, eyes hollowed by guilt. But still dangerous.
“You came,” he said.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, voice like flint. “I came for the truth.”
He didn’t move. “I never wanted this for you.”
“Don’t,” she cut him off. “You signed me away. To Volkov. Like property.”
He flinched, shame flickering behind his tired eyes. “I was trying to save my own life.”
“By selling mine?”
Her voice cracked, just once. Th
