17: Another Trap
922 Words
The morning light poured through the mansion’s tall windows, but the glow could not soften the shadows in Evelyn’s heart. She had heard her daughter’s secret phone call. Every syllable replayed in her mind like a curse.
She chooses him. She defies me. My own daughter dares to betray my command.
Her lips tightened into a cruel smile. She had always known Cherish carried a spark of rebellion. Now that spark had grown into flame. But flames could be extinguished—and Evelyn Adams had never failed at snuffing out threats.
She summoned her most trusted driver, a man who had done her bidding more than once. His face was expressionless, his loyalty bought and sealed with both money and fear.
“You will follow my daughter,” she ordered, her voice sharp as glass. “She is not to know. Whoever she meets, wherever she goes—you will report back to me. Every detail.”
“Yes, Madam,” he said with a shallow bow.
But Evelyn wasn’t finished. “If she tries to meet that boy… intercept him. Hurt him if you must—but not enough to kill. He must understand the cost of touching what does not belong to him.”
The driver nodded, and Evelyn’s smile deepened.
Meanwhile, Cherish moved through the day with a strange mix of fear and courage. She knew her mother sensed something. Evelyn’s gaze had been heavier at breakfast, her questions sharper, her silence louder.
Still, Cherish did not falter. Each step she took was no longer for Evelyn—it was for herself, and for Frank.
She scribbled another note in her diary, almost like a vow:
I will not bow. I will not break. Love has given me strength. Let her rage—I am ready.
At the other end of the city, Frank busied himself with repairing an old motorcycle his uncle had left abandoned. His hands were raw, his back sore, but he welcomed the pain—it kept him from drowning in despair.
Miriam watched him quietly from the doorway, her eyes full of worry. “Frank,” she said softly, “your uncle… this family… it’s too dangerous to be tangled with these people. Can’t you let her go?”
Frank froze. Her words cut deep, but he shook his head. “Mama, she’s not like them. Cherish isn’t Evelyn. She’s fighting, too. And if I let her go now, it means her mother wins. I won’t give Evelyn that victory.”
Miriam sighed, her hands trembling. She had lived too long in silence, too long carrying secrets and shame. Something about Frank’s defiance reminded her of her younger self, before life had crushed her.
“Then at least be careful,” she whispered. “Your life matters more than pride.”
Frank met her gaze and forced a smile. “It’s not pride, Mama. It’s love.”
That night, Cherish made her move. She slipped out of the mansion’s side gate, cloaked in a dark shawl, her heart racing. The driver followed, unseen, his car crawling at a careful distance.
Cherish reached the meeting place—a quiet corner near the river where Frank had promised to wait. When she saw him standing there, her chest ached with relief.
“Frank,” she breathed, rushing into his arms.
He held her tightly, as if afraid she might vanish. “Cherish, you shouldn’t have come. It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered fiercely. “I couldn’t stay another day in that house pretending I’m her puppet. I choose you, Frank. No matter what.”
Their lips brushed, tender and trembling. For a moment, the world was silent—just them, and the river, and the hope that somehow, love could be enough.
But the moment shattered.
A sharp screech of tires tore through the night. A dark car appeared from the shadows, headlights blazing. Cherish gasped, clutching Frank’s arm.
The driver stepped out, his face blank, his voice cold. “Miss Cherish, Madam requests your return. Now.”
Frank stepped in front of her, fists clenched. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
The man’s eyes flickered with faint amusement. “You must be Frank.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a thin steel rod. “Madam said to give you a warning.”
Cherish screamed as the driver lunged. Frank barely dodged, the rod grazing his shoulder. Pain seared through him, but he didn’t fall. He pushed Cherish behind him, his body trembling with fury.
The driver swung again—this time striking Frank’s ribs. The blow knocked the air from his lungs. He staggered but stood firm, glaring at the man through gritted teeth.
“Tell Evelyn,” Frank spat, “if she wants me broken—she’ll have to do it herself.”
The driver sneered, raising the rod for another strike.
But before the blow could land, red and blue lights flashed across the riverbank. Sirens wailed. The driver froze, his face twisting.
Cherish’s eyes widened in shock. “The police?”
Frank coughed, his body shaking. “No… not police…”
The car doors opened, and out stepped not officers—but two men in sharp suits, faces grim, eyes locked on Cherish.
“Miss Adams,” one said, his tone chilling, “your mother sent for you. Come quietly.”
Frank’s blood ran cold. These were not police. They were something worse.
Cherish clutched his arm, trembling, as the men advanced.
- Writer
