THE MAN WHO BOUGHT MY DAUGHTER’S HEART

I stared at the napkin in my hand, my mind racing.

I’m trying to save her.

Was Graham playing a double game? Or was this just another layer of Richard’s sick manipulation?

I crumpled the napkin and shoved it deep into my pocket.

From the living room, I could hear Marissa sobbing. Graham was speaking to her in low, soothing tones.

“It’s okay,” Graham was murmuring. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

I hurried down the hall to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

My hands were shaking violently as I went to my closet. I reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a heavy, dusty shoebox.

Inside the shoebox was a small, ornate wooden jewelry box. It had belonged to Arthur, Richard’s father.

When Arthur was dying in hospice care, he had called me to his bedside. He handed me the silver key on the chain around my neck, and this wooden box.

"Richard will destroy her if he gets his hands on this," Arthur had whispered, his breathing labored. "Keep it hidden, Helen. Only open it when she is ready."

I had never opened the box. I assumed it contained the trust documents Richard was talking about.

But if Richard was outside waiting, I needed to know exactly what I was protecting.

I unclasped the necklace, took the silver key, and slid it into the lock of the wooden box.

It turned with a sharp click.

I took a deep breath and opened the lid.

My heart dropped to the floor.

The box was completely empty.

No documents. No inheritance papers. Nothing.

Only a faint square of dust remained where something had obviously been resting for years.

Panic seized my chest.

Someone had been in my room.

I spun around, looking at my bedroom window. The latch was broken. It had been broken for months, but I lived in a safe neighborhood. I never thought twice about it.

Richard hadn't just ambushed us tonight. He had broken into my house.

But if Richard had broken in and stolen the documents, why was he demanding the key?

Because he couldn't open the box without the key, so he had just stolen the entire contents? No, the box was locked when I found it. Someone with a duplicate key—or lockpicking skills—had been inside it.

There was a soft knock on my bedroom door.

“Helen?”

It was Graham.

I quickly shut the empty wooden box and shoved it under my bed. I stood up, smoothing my shirt, trying to steady my breathing.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Graham stood in the hallway. His expensive jacket was off, his tie loosened. He looked exhausted.

“Where is my daughter?” I demanded softly.

“She’s in the bathroom, washing her face,” Graham replied, keeping his voice to a whisper.

“Did you steal it?” I asked bluntly.

Graham didn’t blink. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a thick, sealed envelope and a heavy, vintage gold locket.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked quietly.

I gasped, reaching for the envelope.

Graham pulled it back, just out of my reach.

“I didn’t steal it, Helen. I secured it,” he said, his eyes scanning the hallway to make sure we were alone. “Richard demanded I find the box tonight while you were cooking. He wanted me to unlock it and leave the contents outside by the back gate.”

“And you did?”

“I picked the lock, yes. But I didn’t give the contents to him.” Graham stepped into my room and closed the door behind him.

He held up the envelope.

“Richard thinks this is the trust document. He thinks if he gets this, he gets the millions.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked.

“No,” Graham said softly. “It’s a medical file. And this locket.”

Graham clicked the gold locket open.

Inside was a picture of Marissa as a newborn baby. But there was something else. A folded piece of hospital stationery.

“Richard didn’t leave because of gambling debts, Helen,” Graham said, his voice tight with disgust. “He left because he sold her out.”

Before Graham could explain, the bedroom door swung open.

Marissa stood in the doorway.

Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked at the envelope in Graham’s hand. Then she looked at the locket.