Chapter 1 - The Man My Father Died Saving
"Your father didn't die saving a stranger, Sophia."
Alexander Ashford stood so close that I could see a tiny scar cutting through his left eyebrow.
His voice was barely louder than the music drifting from the orchestra.
"He died saving me."
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything else.
Not the three hundred guests whispering behind us.
Not Victoria Lane demanding that someone throw me out.
Not even the violent pounding of my own heart.
All I could see was my father lying on a hospital bed six years earlier, his skin gray beneath the fluorescent lights.
Miguel Reyes had been fifty-one years old when he died.
He had worked two jobs, fixed everything in our apartment with his own hands, and never once let me leave the house without asking whether I'd eaten breakfast.
The police told us he'd been stabbed while trying to stop a robbery outside the Astoria subway station.
A stranger had survived because my father intervened.
That was all we'd ever known.
Now the most feared man in New York was standing in front of me, claiming to be that stranger.
"You're lying," I whispered.
Alexander didn't move.
"I wish I were."
"Then why didn't you come to his funeral?"
His expression changed.
"Because the people who killed him were looking for me."
The words settled between us.
A camera flashed.
Behind Alexander, Victoria gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
"Oh, this is ridiculous."
She marched toward us, her expensive blue gown dragging across the polished marble.
"Alexander, darling, you're embarrassing yourself over a housekeeper."
He didn't turn around.
"Go home, Victoria."
Her smile disappeared.
"Excuse me?"
"I said go home."
Three hundred people went silent all over again.
Victoria stared at him as though he had slapped her.
"You are not dismissing me in front of our guests."
Alexander finally looked at her.
"I am asking you to leave before I stop being polite."
It was the first time I had seen a powerful man refuse to indulge her.
And judging by the look on Victoria's face, it was the first time she had experienced it too.
She pointed at me.
"She assaulted me!"
"You tried to kick her."
"She grabbed my ankle!"
"After you tried to kick her."
Victoria's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Alexander turned to a tall man standing beside the ballroom doors.
"Daniel. Escort Miss Lane to her car."
Daniel Mercer looked like the kind of man who could lift a refrigerator without bending his knees.
He approached quietly.
"Miss Lane."
Victoria jerked her arm away.
"Don't touch me."
"Then please walk."
She looked back at Alexander.
"You'll regret this."
He held her gaze.
"I'm already regretting a great many things."
Victoria stormed toward the exit.
But just before she disappeared, she turned and looked directly at me.
There was no embarrassment left in her eyes.
Only hatred.
I knew that look.
I had seen it on people who believed the world owed them obedience.
And I knew better than to think the evening was over.
Alexander faced the guests.
"The celebration is finished."
An uncomfortable murmur passed through the ballroom.
He raised his voice.
"Please enjoy the dessert service in the adjoining room. Management will arrange transportation for anyone who wishes to leave."
People began moving.
Some stared openly at me.
Others pretended not to.
A few kept recording until Daniel instructed them to stop.
I stood beside the champagne tower, holding my empty tray like a shield.
My uniform was damp.
My left shoe had started rubbing a blister against my heel.
And I was certain I had just lost the only job keeping my family afloat.
"Mr. Ashford," I said.
He looked at me immediately.
"Yes?"
"I need to finish my shift."
He blinked.
"What?"
"I'm scheduled until midnight. If I leave early, payroll takes it out of my check."
For the first time that evening, something like disbelief crossed his face.
"Your father saved my life, and you're worried about your paycheck?"
"Yes."
I hated how small my voice sounded.
"My brother needs medicine tomorrow."
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"How old is your brother?"
"Seventeen."
"What's his name?"
"Mateo."
"And your mother?"
"Elena."
He looked away for a second.
When he turned back, his expression was impossible to read.
"Of course."
That word bothered me.
Of course.
As though he already knew.
I stepped backward.
"How do you know my father?"
Alexander glanced toward the elderly gentleman who had recognized my movement.
The man was still standing beside the orchestra.
He wore a dark brown suit and held an ebony cane.
Alexander motioned him over.
"Mr. Santos."
The gentleman approached slowly.
Up close, he looked older than I'd thought.
Seventy, maybe seventy-five.
His eyes were wet.
"What is your name, young lady?" he asked.
"Sophia Reyes."
He studied my face.
"Miguel's daughter."
I didn't answer.
He raised one shaking hand, then lowered it without touching me.
"I knew your father when he was younger than you are now."
"Who are you?"
"Arturo Santos."
The name meant nothing to me.
But when he said it, Alexander lowered his head slightly.
That was enough to tell me the old man wasn't an ordinary guest.
Arturo looked toward my hands.
"May I ask you something?"
I nodded cautiously.
"When you caught that woman's ankle, why did you release it immediately?"
"Because she'd stopped."
He closed his eyes.
For one strange moment, he looked as though he might cry.
"That's what Miguel always said."
I felt a chill.
"What?"
Arturo opened his eyes.
"'Once the danger stops, your hands stop too.'"
My tray slipped from my fingers.
Alexander caught it before it hit the floor.
I barely noticed.
My father had said those exact words a hundred times.
He'd whispered them when I was twelve and furious because another girl had shoved me at school.
He'd repeated them when I was sixteen and wanted to fight the boy who had stolen Mateo's bicycle.
He had even said them on the last morning I saw him alive.
"How do you know that?" I asked Arturo.
The old man looked at Alexander.
Alexander shook his head almost imperceptibly.
I caught it.
"Don't," I said.
Both men looked at me.
"Don't do that. Don't decide what I get to know."
Alexander's expression hardened with something that looked like shame.
"You're right."
"Then tell me why my father died."
Arturo drew a long breath.
"Not here."
"Why?"
"Because whoever arranged his murder may still have people inside this hotel."
I stared at him.
Then I laughed.
It was a strange sound.
Sharp and ugly.
"Six years ago, the police told us it was a random robbery. Now you're telling me it was murder."
Alexander answered before Arturo could.
"Yes."
"And you knew?"
He didn't look away.
"Yes."
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the nearly empty ballroom.
Daniel took one step forward.
Alexander raised his hand.
"Stay where you are."
I was shaking so badly I could barely stand.
"My mother sold her wedding ring to pay for his burial."
Alexander said nothing.
"My brother spent a whole year asking whether Daddy had been scared."
His face tightened.
"And you knew?"
"Yes."
"Did you know we were living in a one-bedroom apartment because we couldn't afford the place we grew up in?"
His silence answered me.
"Did you know my mother spent six years blaming herself because she asked him to pick up groceries that night?"
"Sophia—"
"Don't say my name."
He stopped.
I wiped my face.
"I want to leave."
"You're not safe going home alone."
I looked up sharply.
"Why wouldn't I be safe?"
Alexander exchanged a look with Arturo.
I hated both of them for it.
Then Daniel's phone rang.
He stepped aside, answered, and immediately straightened.
"Boss."
Alexander turned.
Daniel listened for several seconds.
His face changed.
"Say that again."
A pause.
"How long ago?"
He ended the call.
"Alexander, we have a problem."
"What kind?"
Daniel glanced at me.
"Miss Reyes's employee file was accessed seventeen minutes ago."
I frowned.
"So?"
"Somebody copied her home address."
Alexander's face went cold.
"Who?"
"We're checking."
Daniel hesitated.
"And there's something else."
"Tell me."
"The security team found a photograph taped beneath the service elevator control panel."
He held out his phone.
On the screen was a picture of my father.
Not the smiling, tired man from our family albums.
A younger Miguel Reyes stood in an alley beside Alexander Ashford.
Both were looking directly at the camera.
May you like
Across the photograph, someone had written four words in thick red ink.
THE DAUGHTER IS NEXT.
