Chapter 139

Chapter 139:

Victoria’s face went white. “Go. Now. Hide in the crawlspace. Don’t come out until he’s gone p>

“Victoria p>

“GO p>

I ran. I dropped to my knees and crawled beneath the floorboards, into the narrow space where Victoria had hidden my mother’s things for fifteen years. My fingers found a small cedar box covered in dust. I clutched it to my chest and held my breath.

S𝘁o𝗋ieѕ 𝘺𝗼𝘂 𝘸o𝘯’𝘁 𝗉u𝘵 𝖽𝘰𝗐𝘯 o𝘯

Above me, Braydon’s footsteps pounded up the attic stairs. Then Victoria’s voice — calm, steady, lying to protect me.

“She’s not here. I haven’t seen her p>

“You’re lying p>

“I’m not. Check for yourself p>

More footsteps. The attic door creaking open. Braydon’s heavy breathing, so close I could almost feel the heat of it.

I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, clutching the box, praying to every god I knew.

After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps retreated. The attic door slammed shut.

I waited, counting my heartbeats, until the silence stretched long enough to feel safe. Then I crawled out, still clutching the box, and ran.

Adella

I had twelve hours.

Twelve hours until Dallas lost his mind and came in with everything he had. Twelve hours to do what I came here to do.

The cheap motel room smelled of bleach and mildew, the sheets scratchy against my bruised skin. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cedar box in my hands. The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:47 AM.

Twelve hours.

I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Braydon’s hands on me, heard his voice in my ear. But beneath the fear, something harder had taken root.

I had the box. I had my mother’s letters. I had to know what was inside.

I lifted the lid with trembling hands.

Inside: letters yellowed with age, tied with a faded ribbon. A lock of hair, soft and brown, wrapped in tissue paper. And a photograph — my mother, young and smiling, holding a baby in her arms. Me.

I picked up the first letter. The paper was brittle, threatening to crumble at my touch. I unfolded it carefully, my eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.

My darling Adella,

If you’re reading this, you’ve found my hiding place. I’ve imagined this moment so many times — your eighteenth birthday, the day you become a woman. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see you blow out the candles, to watch you open this box, to hold you and tell you how proud I am.

But something tells me I won’t make it to that day.

I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know if my fears are just fears, or if something darker is waiting in the shadows. But I know this world, Adella. I know that power corrupts, and that our family has something others want.