Chapter 3
1022 Words
Liana's POV
“Your choice, Miss Blackwell.” he beamed, leaning back on his chair.
Blackwell…. I hated the name more than anything. I had buried it along with every memory, every bitter trace of the man who gave it to me. But now it clung to me like a collar I couldn’t rip off.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I muttered, arms crossed tightly against my chest. My voice wavered, but I kept my chin up. “I can’t just leave my bookshop. This is my life.”
The man sighed, as if I’d disappointed him somehow. “I expected that reply.”
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
I stiffened.
The two men in black didn’t hesitate. One pulled out a silver lighter. The other brought out a small metal can filled with something liquid.
Then the smell hit my nose, I recognized the liquid instantly. I used it to light candles when the power went out in the winter.
“Wait,” I said, my voice filled with panic. “Wait, what are you doing?”
Neither of them responded. The first man tilted the can and began pouring the fuel over the shelves.
“No, no, please! Stop!” I rushed around the counter, but one of them grabbed my arm and shoved me back with terrifying ease. I stumbled, hitting the floor hard, but scrambled to my feet again. “Please, don’t do this!”
The man in the suit turned to me calmly. “This place is nothing, Miss Blackwell.”
“This place is everything to me!” I croaked as tears welled in my eyes. “I built this shop with what little I had. I slept behind that counter for two years just to keep it alive. You don’t get to take it from me, you don’t get to take anything else!”
They ignored me and one of them clicked open the lighter.
A small flame flickered.
The fire touched paper, and the room came alive in an orange light.
“No!” I screamed, running forward, but they blocked me again. I pushed, kicked, sobbed and watched as the pages curl and blacken.
I stood there watching pieces of my heart turn to ash.
Michael’s blood stained the floor. My books, my sanctuary, my peace, all swallowed in the crackling fire.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed, coughing against the rising smoke, shaking so hard I couldn’t even cry properly. My chest heaved while I felt my throat burn.
The man watched me with that same calm detachment. “Now you understand, Miss Blackwell. You have no choice.”
I didn’t speak. I just stared at the flames, at the destruction they brought. I wanted to scream until my voice broke. I wanted to fight, but I had nothing left to hold onto.
He leaned closer, voice colder now. “Refuse again, and next time it’ll be your mother’s hospital bed we set fire to. All I need is one call.”
My head jerked up. My heart stopped beating for a second.
“You… what did you just say?”
“I said,” he replied with maddening calm, “one call, and she’s gone. The doctors won’t even know what happened.”
He took out his phone, dialed a number and waited, then held it out to me. “She’s been waiting to hear your voice.”
My trembling fingers reached for the phone, pressing it to my ear.
“…Lia?” came the soft, frail voice.
My throat closed. “Mom?”
“I’m here,” she whispered, weak but alive. “They told me… you might say no. Please, baby… don’t. Just… stay alive. Whatever they want. Just do it.”
Hot tears spilled freely now, I didn't try to hold it back. I cried like I was a five year old who had just lost her most precious toy.
I clutched the phone long after her voice faded.
Then when I could no longer cry, I stayed frozen, kneeling on the cracked floorboards, surrounded by smoke and ash. My chest ached so deeply it felt like something had been torn straight from it.
This was all I had left of myself and they’d destroyed it like it was nothing.
The scent of burning paper and wood, the sound of my dreams collapsing in flames, it should’ve made me scream. But I couldn’t. I just sat there, staring into the inferno.
A rough hand grabbed my arm. Another seized the back of my coat.
I didn’t fight.
They hauled me to my feet like a broken puppet and guided me outside, the cold air biting against my skin. The door to a black car was already open, and I was pushed inside gently, like they were handling something fragile… or something already dead.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.
My bookshop was gone.
The one place that had been mine. The one thing they hadn’t already taken.
The door shut beside me, sealing the smoke out, but I could still smell it.
He climbed in next. That man. The one who watched it all happen like it was another daily task. Like he hadn’t just ripped my life apart in one breath.
We drove in silence. The city drifted by in blurs of neon and darkness. I couldn’t cry anymore. The tears had dried on my cheeks, and all that was left was this quiet, aching emptiness inside me.
Still, I needed to know something.
“…What’s your name?” I whispered.
He turned slightly, eyes catching mine for the briefest moment.
Then, a pause. Like he was considering whether I even deserved to know.
“Aiden Carter,” he finally replied. “I was your father's personal ‘assistant’ and errand boy.”
Then he turned to me fully. “And when you sign the inheritance, I'll be yours as well.”
I looked away.
Aiden Carter.
I repeated it in my mind, letting it settle deep inside me.
One day, I would make Aiden Carter burn just like my bookshop.
- Writer
