The first people through the penthouse door were not paramedics. They were my father's security team. The electronic lock had barely finished beeping before four men in dark suits entered with military precision, scanning every room before one of them knelt beside me.
Chapter 1: Eight Minutes
The first people through the penthouse door were not paramedics.
They were my father's security team.
The electronic lock had barely finished beeping before four men in dark suits entered with military precision, scanning every room before one of them knelt beside me.
"Ms. Sterling, you're safe now."
Safe.
The word felt unfamiliar.
Less than a minute later, the elevator opened again.
My father stepped inside.
For a heartbeat, he simply stared.
His gaze swept across the shattered glass...
The blood smeared across the marble...
The broken orchids...
Then finally settled on the crimson welts covering my back.
His face didn't twist in grief.
It became frighteningly still.
Like winter before a blizzard.
He removed his tailored overcoat without saying a word and gently wrapped it around my shoulders.
His hands trembled.
That scared me more than anything else.
"My little girl..." he whispered.
It had been seven years since I'd heard those words.
Seven years since I had walked away believing love meant leaving everything behind.
He crouched beside me, brushing damp hair away from my swollen face.
"I should've come for you sooner."
I managed a weak shake of my head.
"No..."
He looked directly into my eyes.
"I knew one day you'd call."
His voice remained calm.
"I just prayed it wouldn't be because of this."
The paramedics rushed inside moments later.
As they carefully lifted me onto the stretcher, one medic frowned at the bruises spreading across my ribs.
"We're calling this in," she said quietly.
"This is felony assault."
My father answered before I could.
"Good."
He turned toward his chief of security.
"Henderson."
"Yes, sir."
"Preserve everything."
"The cane."
"The broken glass."
"The cameras."
"The clothing."
"Nothing leaves this apartment."
Henderson nodded once.
"It's already being documented."
Then my father made one more call.
Only six words.
"Start pulling every Sterling account."
He hung up.
No anger.
No shouting.
May you like
Just six words.
Across Manhattan, invisible gears began turning.
