Fear crept back into my chest as I realized he might try to hold me hostage and demand a ransom. And I know for one that Mr. Laforteza wouldn’t lift a finger, let alone pay a dime, to save me.

"You can go," the man said, snapping me back to reality. "We’ll talk tomorrow."

Talk tomorrow? Fat chance, I thought, as I made a hasty retreat without looking back.

But something about the way he watched me sprint out of the building, a knowing smirk still plastered on his face, left me unsettled.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing, and cleared my throat, fighting to compose myself. One lesson I’d learned in law school was to never show fear, to maintain a poker face no matter the circumstances. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.

But my bravado was short-lived. Panic set in, and I mentally threw in the towel. ’Nah, screw this,’ I thought, as I frantically banged on the door, screaming for help.

When no rescue came, I resorted to the only tactic I knew that might intimidate them, despite my own trepidation. "Don’t touch me!" I warned, trying to sound braver than I felt. "My father is Mr. Laforteza - he’ll come for you."

7:00 PM

The door to Mr. Laforteza’s mansion swung open, flanked by the butler, who had clearly spotted me on the security cameras, rendering a knock unnecessary.

"Miss Nadia," He let out with a formal tone.

"Sir Liam," I replied, already stepping inside.

I caught the faintest wince on his face; he’d never been fond of the title, but I insisted on using it as a sign of respect, despite his protests.

"I trust you had a wonderful day?" Sir Liam asked as I walked with him.

My mind went back to what happened earlier at the last firm I interviewed at, and I bit back a snort.

"Something like that," I told him and thankfully, he didn’t press for details.

"Right this way, miss," he said, standing by the open elevator. I stepped inside.

The elevator stopped, and when the doors opened, I faced two uniformed guards who were most definitely not here to protect me.

And I know that for certain, given how their hands were slightly positioned close to their guns.

Being treated like a guest in my childhood home was a bitter pill to swallow, but I’d learned to find humor in it.

"In here," the butler said, accompanied by a soft knock on the door. "Mr. Laforteza is waiting for you."

I scanned his face for any hint of what to expect, but his expression remained neutral, giving nothing away.

"Is there something you need, miss?" the butler asked when I hesitated, not immediately entering the room. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that the guards were now looking at me again.

"No" I turn and reach for the doorknob and hesitate again. "Is he sick?"

The butler looked amused by my question. "You think he will call you here for that?"

I shrug. I can’t think of any reason he would want to see me. He mentioned making dinner, but considering I was…brought to his office… I guess that’s out of the table.

I sighed and glanced at the stone-faced guards before I walked into My Laforteza’s office.

"You are late." The familiar voice of Mr Laforteza greeted me immediately when I opened the door.

"Traffic," I curtly stated as I stared at him.

The past few years had indeed been kind to Dave Laforteza. As I examined his tall frame, triangular face, and wide-set eyes, I was reminded of how little I resembled him. His blonde hair, now slightly grayer, was still perfectly slicked back. I had never seen him anything less than perfect, always impeccably put together.

But tonight, he seemed off. Wrinkles creased his white shirt, and his long sleeves were rolled back, revealing a hint of fatigue.

Dark circles under his eyes caught my attention - the last time I saw those was when my mother passed away. Normally, he took meticulous care of himself, adhering to a strict bedtime routine.

Yet, tonight, not only was his appearance imperfect, but I sensed three other unspoken issues. Something was greatly amiss.

And that’s why, when he pointed at the leather chair in front of his desk and said "Sit," I decided to lean back against the door.

"Liam says you’re not dying," I said, aiming for a tone of indifference, but my curiosity got the better of me.

I wasn’t always this way with him. Once, I had loved and respected him, but that was before he cut me off completely. No allowances, no tuition payments, not even a congratulatory message when I graduated. His silence had been a catalyst, bringing out this colder, more detached side of me.

I knew him well enough to anticipate his expectations. When he invited me to dinner, he likely assumed I’d arrive early, eager to please. But I had no intention of jumping at his command. The least I could do was show up at the requested time, asserting a semblance of independence I had built with his absence.