Kidnaped again

Eveyln’s POV

I've been living my life quietly… for her.

Always in the shadows, always in silence. Every choice I made, every step I took—it was for her. I thought I was protecting myself. But today, standing in front of her, it finally hit me—it had all been their plan from the start. I was just a placeholder. A space warmer. Holding her place until she returned to pick up right where I left off.

Her smile glowed in the room, warm and blinding—and yet, it made my chest ache.

“I heard what happened after the accident,” Erica said, stepping closer with that polished, innocent smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner.”

Liar.

Her voice was syrupy sweet, her expression soft. But I knew her. I could read the cruelty hidden in the curve of her lips, in the sparkle of her eyes. She wasn't sorry. She was victorious.

That smile… it wasn’t sympathy. It was a slap in the face.

I glanced at my father. The man who used to lift me on his shoulders when I was small. The same man who now couldn’t even meet my eyes.

He was looking at her.

With pride. With joy. With something I’ve never seen on his face when he looked at me.

I’m still his daughter… right?

But to him, I might as well be a ghost.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I knew my place. I’ve always known. I'm nothing in their eyes—especially now. Especially when they all think I’m mute, broken, damaged goods.

“So,” my stepmother's voice cut through the thick silence like a blade. “What do you say?”

I blinked, turning toward him slowly. I already knew his answer. He’d never choose me. Not over her.

But then—his voice broke the air.

“I won’t.”

My heart jumped.

“You won’t what?” my stepmother snapped, her eyes narrowing with fury.

Without a word, he reached for me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to my feet.

“We’ll be leaving now,” he said, his voice calm but firm. Then he nodded once, tight-lipped. “And I’m glad your daughter is alive.”

Before I could react, he was already dragging me out of the house, ignoring the string of curses my stepmother hurled behind us.

Once we were outside, I yanked my wrist free, my skin burning from his grip. I didn’t care. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

With shaking fingers, I grabbed my iPad and typed furiously, my anger pouring into the words.

What’s your deal? Why do you keep doing this?

I shoved it in his face, my eyes blazing with silent fury.

He stared at the screen, then at me. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, I saw it—a flicker of something. Confusion. Regret. Maybe even concern.

But I didn't trust it.

“I’m doing this because…” he began, but his voice faltered. He looked away.

“Because what?” I typed again, jabbing the screen before shoving it toward him. “Tell me.”

He didn’t. He stayed silent, eyes fixed on the pavement like it held all the answers he couldn't give me.

And just like that, I was done.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe he should marry Erica. They all want that. Let them have their happy ending.

I’m tired of caring. Tired of hoping.

I turned away, my hands trembling as I typed again.

I’m not going home with you.

He looked up, startled.

I raised my chin and stared at him with everything I couldn’t say out loud.

Goodbye.

I stepped into the street and flagged down a taxi.

“Wait—Eveyln—” he called, but I didn’t look back.

I climbed into the back seat and handed the driver my iPad.

Take me to Vixeal Elderly Care Center.

The driver nodded and started the engine.

As the car pulled away, I turned to the window.

He was still there—standing on the sidewalk. Watching me go. Not chasing. Not calling.

Just watching.

My chest ached, but I forced myself to breathe. One breath. Then another.

“I’ll gladly take you there,” the taxi driver said, his voice low.

My heart skipped. That voice… I knew it.

The kidnapper.

My breath caught in my throat, coming out in small, shallow gasps. I turned to look at him, slowly—terrified of what I might see.

It was him.

The same man from that night. The same cold eyes. The same mocking smile.

“You remember now, don’t you?” he sneered. “Thought you were untouchable, huh? Thought you could play me?”

My fingers trembled as I pulled out my iPad and tried to type something, anything. My vision blurred, and my hands felt useless, shaking too much to make sense of the keyboard.

“You played me,” he growled. “And now it’s my turn to play you.”

I turned toward the back window, praying Louis would appear. Praying for anyone. But the street was empty.

“He’s not coming,” the man said with a cruel grin. “He isn’t coming, sweetheart.”

My blood turned to ice.

I shoved the iPad in his face, the words shaky but clear:

I didn’t do anything. I’m leaving him soon. I’ll divorce him.

He glanced at the screen, then threw his head back and laughed. A harsh, maniacal laugh that chilled me to my bones. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes.

The car jerked violently, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

Then came the threat.

“Speak. You can talk, can’t you?” he shouted, leaning toward me, his face just inches away. “The phone’s with me. You're going to call your husband. Right now. And talk to him. If you don’t—” he pulled out a blade and waved it in front of me, his eyes wild “—I’ll cut your damn throat right here!”

I froze, every cell in my body paralyzed.

He pulled out a phone— the blackmailing phone. It had been in my room. How did he…?

How was he getting into my house?

My mind was spinning.

He dialed, and after two rings, Louis answered.

“I’ve been expecting your call,” Louis said with a sharp edge in his voice. “What now? Let me guess—you’re going to beg me to divorce my wife again? Keep dreaming. And get ready to be caught soon.”

Oh no! This is dangerous. Whenever he puts his mind to something he gets to the bottom.

Before I could signal anything, the man ripped the phone from my trembling hands.

“Your wife’s in danger,” he said, his voice steady and cold. “And I’ll kill her if you don’t come get her.”

The exact same words.

The same ones he said that night. And Louis… back then, he didn’t care. He’d brushed it off like I was disposable.

I held my breath, waiting for the silence. Waiting for Louis to scoff again. To tell him to go ahead.

But this time...

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Louis roared through the phone.

My heart stopped.

Did I hear that right?

There was fury in his voice—real, raw, terrifying fury.

He wasn’t pretending. He wasn’t indifferent. He was… afraid.

For me.

“Let her go,” Louis growled. “If you lay a finger on her, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.”