Thirty minutes after the call
I burst through the front door of the penthouse without knocking, my security team flanking me like an army. The same marble floors, the same pristine furniture, the same suffocating memories—but now everything felt different. Desperate.
Damon was pacing the living room like a caged animal, his hair disheveled, still in the clothes he’d worn to my office. When he saw me, his face crumpled with something I’d never seen before—raw, terrified vulnerability.
“The police are on their way,” he said without preamble. “I called them right after you hung up.”
“Cancel them.”
“What? Elise, our daughter is missing—”
“Our daughter is with a woman who has nothing left to lose,” I snapped. “If we involve the police, Bianca will disappear with Ava and we’ll never see her again. This stays between us.”
“You can’t be serious. We need—”
“We need to think!” I grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “Bianca isn’t some random kidnapper looking for ransom money. She’s family. She knows us, knows our weaknesses, knows exactly how to destroy us. The police won’t understand that.”
His dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment we weren’t the enemies we’d become—we were just two terrified parents.
“Then what do we do?”
“We figure out what she really wants and we give it to her.”
“She said she wants justice—”
“She said she wants everything I have.” I moved to the window, looking out at the city where my daughter was hidden somewhere in eight million people. “But Bianca has never done anything without a plan. This isn’t about emotion. It’s about strategy.”
“Jesus, Elise, she has our child and you’re talking about strategy?”
I whirled on him. “Yes, I’m talking about strategy! Because that’s the only way we get Ava back alive! You think I don’t care? You think my heart isn’t being ripped out of my chest right now? But falling apart won’t save her!”
The words echoed in the vast room, and I saw something shift in Damon’s expression. Recognition, maybe. The woman he’d married had been ruled by her emotions. The woman standing before him now had learned to weaponize them.
“Tell me about the note again,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “Every detail.”
“It was on her pillow. Pink paper, her handwriting. ‘Gone to see Mommy’s sister. Don’t worry, she’s safe with family.'”
