Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO DISAPPEARED
Elena Ruiz vanished the next day.
Her apartment was empty.
Her phone was disconnected.
Damian’s attorney claimed he had never heard of her.
Cross Meridian’s human resources department said Elena had been fired for misconduct.
That was the official story.
Then Peter found her severance agreement.
She had been paid $220,000.
Attached was a confidentiality clause.
Her alleged crime was never mentioned.
“People don’t usually receive six-figure severance packages after stealing from their employer,” Naomi said.
Damian’s team had an answer.
Elena was extorting him.
They produced emails.
Messages.
Even a recording.
In it, a woman sounding remarkably like Elena demanded money.
Peter listened twice.
“Could be real.”
“Could be manipulated?”
“Could be.”
Everything became fog.
That was Damian’s favorite battlefield.
He did not need people to believe him completely.
He only needed them to stop being certain about me.
Then the courthouse video arrived.
It showed Sabrina entering the aisle.
Turning her body.
Looking directly at me.
Accelerating.
Impact.
No stumble.
No ambiguity.
Even more damaging was Damian’s reaction.
He smiled.
The substitute judge issued a temporary protection order.
Sabrina was barred from contact with me.
Damian received strict communication limitations.
For the first time, there was a legal boundary he had not designed.
He hated it.
That evening, Nathaniel came by with dinner.
He left it outside my apartment.
No knock.
Just a text.
I BROUGHT SOUP.
I opened the door.
He was already walking toward the elevator.
“Dad.”
He turned.
“Come in.”
We ate in silence for several minutes.
Finally, he said, “Your mother would have hated this soup.”
I laughed unexpectedly.
“She hated everything you cooked.”
“I know.”
“She pretended to like your chili.”
“I know that too.”
The laughter hurt.
Then grief arrived behind it.
“I missed her alone.”
My father looked down.
“So did I.”
“I hated you for making me choose.”
“I know.”
“I hated myself for choosing him.”
“Don’t.”
I looked sharply at him.
“Don’t tell me what to feel.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
Another adjustment.
Another quiet apology.
Maybe people could change.
Maybe that was the difference between love and possession.
Love could learn.
Possession only tightened.
Before leaving, Nathaniel stopped at the door.
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“Your mother wrote one final letter.”
“What?”
“Not part of the birthday box.”
“Where is it?”
“I have it.”
Anger flashed through me.
“You kept it?”
“She asked me to.”
“Why?”
“To give it to you when you became a mother.”
My throat tightened.
“Seven years, Dad.”
“I know.”
“You could have sent it.”
“I almost did.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because the letter contains something about Damian.”
I stopped breathing.
“My mother never met Damian.”
“No.”
May you like
Nathaniel reached into his coat.
“She met his father.”
