Liv

The following morning 

The first rays of morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, painting the living room in muted gold. I blinked awake, the scratchy fabric of Adrian's couch making my back ache, but the faint scent of fresh coffee from the kitchen soothed my nerves. For a moment, just a fleeting one, I felt something I hadn't felt in days: comfort. Safety.

Adrian had been kind to me, even when my questions felt relentless. He'd answered most of them, even when I could see the weight of his answers pressing on him. He didn't owe me anything, and yet, he'd offered me refuge. It was confusing and, frankly, exhausting trying to make sense of it all.

I pushed the thin throw blanket off me and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Adrian was already in the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he scrambled eggs in a pan. I watched him for a moment, the normalcy of it almost surreal considering everything that had happened.

"Good morning," I said, my voice raspier than I expected.

Adrian turned, smiling warmly. "Good morning. Hope you like your eggs scrambled. Didn't have much else to work with."

I nodded, managing a small smile. "Scrambled is fine. Thanks."

He slid the eggs onto a plate and set it on the small table by the couch. "Sit. Eat. You need the energy."

I sat down, taking the fork he offered me. As I ate, Adrian leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. He looked calm, but there was a tension in his eyes that I couldn't quite place.

"I still don't understand why you're doing all this," I said after a few bites. "You barely know me."

Adrian sighed, setting his mug down. "I told you, Liv. You deserve to be safe. If I can help with that, I will."

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Sorry, I need to take this," he said, his tone clipped. "I'll be right back."

He stepped into the hallway, the sound of his voice muffled as he spoke. I kept eating, trying not to dwell too much on the uneasy feeling creeping into my chest. Adrian had been nothing but kind, but there was always a shadow of doubt lingering at the edges of my thoughts.

The sound of the door creaking open snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned toward the hallway, expecting to see Adrian, but instead, two men stepped into the living room.

The first one was tall and broad, his dark eyes cold and calculating. The second was leaner, but his expression was no less intimidating. My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Who—" I started, but the taller man cut me off.

"Liv, right?" His voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was an edge to it that sent chills down my spine.

I stood up, my legs trembling. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The leaner man stepped closer, a smirk playing on his lips. "Relax. We're just here to take you for a little ride."

Panic surged through me. "Adrian!" I shouted, but the taller man grabbed my arm before I could take a step toward the hallway.

"Adrian can't help you," he said, his grip like iron.

I struggled, trying to pull free, but the leaner man grabbed my other arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "Let go of me!" I screamed, but they didn't budge.

The taller man leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "We don't want to hurt you, Liv. But if you make this difficult, we won't hesitate."

Tears blurred my vision as they dragged me toward the door. My mind raced, my heart pounding in my chest. Where was Adrian? Why wasn't he stopping them?

As they pulled me out into the hallway, I caught a glimpse of Adrian at the far end, his phone still pressed to his ear. His eyes met mine, and for a split second, I thought he was going to help me. But then he looked away, his jaw tight, and turned back to his call.

"No," I whispered, the betrayal hitting me like a punch to the gut.

They forced me out of the flat and into a waiting car, shoving me into the back seat before slamming the door shut. The engine roared to life, and we sped off, the world outside a blur of motion and noise.

I sat frozen, my mind reeling. Adrian had promised to protect me, to keep me safe. But now, as I sat between these two strangers, fear clawing at my chest, I realized I couldn't trust anyone—not even the people who claimed to care.

The taller man glanced at me, his cold smile sending a fresh wave of terror through me. "Don't worry, Liv. This will all be over soon."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep the tears at bay. Wherever they were taking me, whatever they had planned, I knew one thing for certain: I was on my own now.

Jonathan

Later that morning 

The phone buzzed on the bedside table, jolting me out of the daze I'd been sitting in for hours. I'd barely slept, barely eaten. My thoughts were a constant churn of fear and guilt, playing on repeat, the weight of Liv's disappearance pressing down on me like a vice.

I grabbed the phone without looking at the screen. "Hello?" My voice was hoarse, strained.

"It's Chloe," came my sister's voice, tense and hurried. "We've got something."

I sat up straight, my heart lurching into overdrive. "What is it? What did you find?"

"Charlie and I cross-referenced sightings with traffic camera footage," Chloe explained. "We think we've triangulated Liv's location. Jonathan, we think she's at the Cavendish Moore warehouse."

My blood ran cold. "Cavendish Moore?" The words tasted bitter on my tongue, dredging up memories I'd fought to bury.

"Yeah," Charlie's voice cut in, calm but edged with urgency. "It matches up with the last confirmed sighting. Adrian Lockwood was seen heading that way, too."

I couldn't respond. My grip tightened on the phone as a wave of nausea hit me. Cavendish Moore. It wasn't just a warehouse; it was a graveyard, a place where secrets went to die.

Three months ago.

The memory crashed over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under.

I'd been there, standing in the dimly lit expanse of that warehouse, the acrid smell of oil and rust filling the air. Damon had sent me there to clean up a mess—two men who'd crossed Oscar. Their faces were a blur now, but their screams weren't.

The sound of the first gunshot still rang in my ears, a sickening crack that echoed through the empty space. The second shot was quieter somehow, muffled by the rush of blood pounding in my head.

I'd stood there afterward, staring at their lifeless bodies, the gun heavy in my hand. The warehouse was silent except for the dripping of water from some unseen pipe. My chest heaved, my stomach churned, but I couldn't stop. I'd wiped my prints from the gun, left it beside them, and walked out into the night like a ghost.

And then there was Estelle.

Just a few weeks ago, I'd been ordered to deal with her. She'd threatened to expose something—what, I wasn't entirely sure. But she'd known too much, and Oscar couldn't afford loose ends.

I'd tried to reason with her, but Estelle wasn't the type to back down. Her defiance had sealed her fate. The guilt of that night still clawed at me, fresh and raw, her voice pleading in my ears as I pulled the trigger.

And now Liv was there.

"Jonathan?" Chloe's voice snapped me back to the present. "Are you still with us?"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. "Yeah. I'm here."

"We need to act fast," Charlie said. "If they've got Liv there, she might not have much time."

My heart raced, panic surging through me like wildfire. "I'm on my way. Don't do anything until I get there."

I ended the call and stared at the phone in my hand, my mind racing. Cavendish Moore wasn't just dangerous—it was a death trap.

Liv was there. 

My daughter.

I stood up, grabbing my jacket and keys, the weight of my choices dragging me down with every step. If anything happened to her because of me—because of the life I'd tried to leave behind—I wouldn't survive it.

The ghosts of Cavendish Moore were waiting for me. And this time, I wasn't sure I'd make it out alive.

Steve

Later that afternoon 

The air in Brighton was sharp that morning, the salty tang of the sea carried on the wind as it whipped past us. It wasn't the kind of weather that invited people to linger on the streets, but we didn't have the luxury of time or comfort. Grace, Ella, and I had been walking for hours, Liv's photo clutched tightly in my hand, our hope dwindling with each passing minute.

"We should try the pier again," Ella suggested, her voice tinged with exhaustion but still holding a glimmer of determination.

Grace shook her head, her breath fogging in the chill air. "We've been there twice already. If someone had seen her, they'd have said something."

They bickered quietly beside me, but their words faded into the background. My focus was on the faces we passed—each one a blur of indifference. People glanced at us, at the photo we were showing around, but none of them stopped. None of them cared.

I stopped near a coffee shop, my legs aching from hours of walking. "Excuse me," I called out to a young couple leaving the shop, holding out Liv's picture. "Have you seen this girl? Her name is Liv—Olivia Henley. She's gone missing."

The man looked at the photo for a moment before shaking his head. "Sorry, mate. Haven't seen her."

The woman offered a sympathetic smile, but that was it. Another dead end.

Grace caught up to me, her arms crossed against the cold. "We're not giving up, Steve. Someone's got to know something."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I believed it anymore. Liv had been missing for days, and every lead we'd chased had crumbled into nothing. Brighton felt like a maze, its streets endless and unyielding.

Ella was a few steps ahead, stopping anyone who would listen. Her energy was admirable, but I could see the fatigue in her eyes. She turned back to us, her voice tinged with frustration. "What if we're too late? What if she's not even in Brighton anymore?"

"Don't," I said firmly, my voice harder than I intended. "Don't say that. She's here. She has to be."

Ella looked down, biting her lip, and I sighed, softening my tone. "I'm sorry. I just—" I paused, running a hand through my hair. "I can't lose her."

Neither Grace nor Ella responded. They didn't need to. The silence between us was heavy with shared fear, each of us fighting the same battle in our own way.

We moved down another street, stopping anyone who would spare us a moment. A shopkeeper. A taxi driver. A delivery guy unloading crates. The answers were always the same: *No, haven't seen her. Sorry.*

By mid-morning, we found ourselves at a small park near the waterfront. Grace slumped onto a bench, pulling her coat tighter around her. Ella leaned against a tree, staring at the photo in her hand like it might suddenly give her the answers we needed.

I stayed standing, my eyes scanning the area, desperate for a miracle. Every corner, every shadow, every passerby—it felt like the city itself was mocking us, keeping Liv just out of reach.

"She's strong, you know," Grace said quietly, breaking the silence. "Liv. She's tough. She'll find a way to let us know she's okay."

I wanted to believe her, but the knot in my chest refused to loosen. "She shouldn't have to be," I muttered, my voice low. "She shouldn't have to go through this. She's just a kid."

"She's more than that," Ella said, stepping closer. "She's smart, Steve. Smarter than any of us give her credit for. If anyone can get through this, it's Liv."

I nodded, though the weight of my guilt threatened to crush me. Every moment she was out there, scared and alone, was another moment I'd failed her. I was supposed to protect her, to keep her safe.

A man walking his dog passed by, and I approached him, holding out the photo. "Excuse me. Have you seen this girl?"

He glanced at it, then at me, and shook his head. "Sorry, mate. Can't help you."

I thanked him and stepped back, the ache in my chest deepening.

Grace stood, brushing off her coat. "Let's keep moving." Her voice was steady, but I could see the cracks in her composure. We were all hanging by a thread.

We wandered down another street, then another, the morning slipping away in a haze of unanswered questions and mounting despair.

I caught myself glancing at my phone, hoping for a call or a text—anything that might lead us to Liv. But there was nothing.

"Where are you, Liv?" I whispered under my breath, my heart breaking with each step.

Until I looked down my phone and saw the text.

"She's at Cavendish Moore. Please don't come. This is my mess Steve, about time I faced it."

Liv

Early that afternoon 

The warehouse was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and refused to leave. The air smelled like oil and rust, and every sound echoed off the concrete walls, making the place feel impossibly large. My wrists were raw from the metal cuffs chaining me to the wall, but I refused to show any weakness. Not to *them.*

Damon and Callum hovered nearby, their shadows long and menacing under the dim overhead lights. But it was the man standing in front of me, Oscar Rodriguez, who commanded the room. He wore a sharp suit that looked out of place here, but the coldness in his eyes made him fit perfectly.

He crouched down in front of me, his face inches from mine. I could feel his breath, could see the cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "You're tougher than you look," he said, almost amused. "I'll give you that."

I glared at him, refusing to flinch. "What do you want from me?" I spat, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my insides.

Oscar straightened, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to pace. "What I *want,* Liv, is justice. Justice for all the lives your dear daddy has destroyed."

The mention of Jonathan sent a jolt through me, but I masked it with anger. "You don't know anything about him."

Oscar stopped pacing, turning to face me with a sneer. "Don't I? Let me tell you a little story, then. A story about Jonathan Henley—the murderer, the liar, the fraud. A man who pretends to be a hero on screen but is a monster in real life."

I clenched my fists, the metal cuffs biting into my skin. "You're lying."

Oscar chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "Am I? Tell me, Liv, did he ever tell you about Estelle? Or Dante? Did he mention the dozens of others who've met their end because of him? No, of course not. He wouldn't want to tarnish his perfect image."

My heart raced, but I refused to let him see my fear. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Oscar knelt in front of me again, his eyes boring into mine. "Oh, but I do. I know everything about your precious father. I know how he climbs to the top by stepping on the backs of others, how he kills without remorse, how he lies to everyone—including you."

I couldn't stop the surge of anger that exploded inside me. "Shut up!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the empty warehouse. "You don't know him. You don't know anything about him!"

Oscar's smirk widened, like he'd been waiting for this reaction. "Oh, but I do, Liv. And deep down, you do too. Why else would he keep you a secret? Why else would he let you fall into *my* hands?"

The words stung, but I didn't let them show. "You're the monster here," I hissed. "Not him. You're the one who kidnapped me, who's holding me hostage. If anyone's going to face karma, it's you."

Oscar's expression darkened, his smile fading. He reached out, gripping my chin tightly, forcing me to look at him. "You've got fire, I'll give you that. But fire doesn't last long when it's surrounded by ice."

I yanked my head away, my jaw aching from his grip. "You can say whatever you want about him, but I'm not going to believe a word of it. He's my dad."

Oscar laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "Your loyalty is admirable, but it's also foolish. You're just a pawn in his game, Liv. A means to an end. And when he comes here to try and save you, he'll finally face the consequences of everything he's done."

I felt a pang of fear at his words, but I shoved it down. "You're wrong," I said, my voice firm. "He'll come for me because he loves me. Because he's not the person you're trying to make him out to be."

Oscar's smile returned, but it was crueler now. "We'll see about that." He straightened, adjusting his suit as he looked down at me. "In the meantime, get comfortable. You're not going anywhere."

He turned and walked away, leaving Damon and Callum to stand guard. I watched him go, my mind racing. The fear was still there, but so was the anger.

Jonathan might have his flaws, but he wasn't the monster Oscar was making him out to be. He *couldn't* be.

And if Oscar thought I was going to sit here and wait for whatever twisted plan he had in store, he didn't know me at all.

I wasn't just Jonathan Henley's daughter. 

I was Liv, and I wasn't going down without a fight.