I didn’t know what a carbon copy was, but based on his tone, it probably wasn’t a good thing.
He stood, and I instinctively stepped back until my legs hit the couch.
“Do you remember what happened at the lake when you were five, darling Ava?” He brushed his fingers over my cheek, and I flinched.
I shook my head, too scared to speak.
“That’s for the best. Makes things easier.” Daddy smiled another ugly smile. “I wonder if you’ll forget this too?” He picked up a throw pillow and pushed me onto the couch.
I didn’t have time to respond before I lost the ability to breathe. The pillow pressed into my face, cutting off my oxygen supply. I tried to push it off, but I wasn’t strong enough. A strong hand locked my wrists together until I couldn’t struggle anymore.
My chest tightened, and my vision flickered.
No air. Noairnoairnoair—
Not only had my father tried to drown me, he’d also tried to suffocate me.
I retched again, and again, and again. I’d managed to stay calm for most of Thanksgiving weekend, but saying the words out loud—my father tried to kill me—must’ve triggered a delayed physical response.
After I’d thrown up what must’ve been all the contents in my stomach, I sank onto the floor. Alex handed me a glass of water, and I downed it with long, grateful gulps.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped. “This is so embarrassing. I’ll clean up—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He ran a gentle hand over my hair, but an inferno raged in his eyes. “We’ll figure everything out. Leave it to me.”
A week later, Alex and I waited for my father to arrive in one of Archer Group’s conference rooms. It was my first time seeing Alex’s workplace, and the building was exactly how I’d pictured it: sleek, modern, and beautiful, all glass and white marble.
I couldn’t appreciate it, though. I was too nervous.
The clock ticked on the wall, deafening in the silence.
I drummed my fingers on the polished wood table and stared through the tinted glass windows, both willing and dreading my father’s appearance.
“Security here is top-notch,” Alex reassured me. “And I’ll be by your side the entire time.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” I had to press my other hand against my knee to keep it from bouncing. “I don’t think he would…”
Physically hurt me? But he had. Or at least, he’d tried.
The day he pushed me into the lake, and the day he suffocated me. And those were only the instances I remembered.
I flashed back over the years, trying to remember anything else amiss. I thought he’d been a decent father during my teenage years. Not the most present or affectionate, but he hadn’t tried to kill me, which begged the question: why hadn’t he? There’d been plenty of opportunities, plenty of times when he could’ve made my death look like an accident.
But that question paled in comparison to the biggest one of all, which was why he wanted to kill me in the first place. I was his daughter.
A single broken sob erupted from my throat. Alex squeezed my hand, his brows drawn tight over his eyes, but I shook my head.
“I’m okay,” I said, gathering the strength to pull myself together. I could do this. I wouldn’t break down. I wouldn’t. Even if my heart hurt so much I might combust. “I—”
The door opened, and my words died in my throat.
My father—Michael; I couldn’t think of him as my father anymore—walked in, looking confused and a little annoyed. He wore his favorite striped polo and jeans again, as well as that damn signet ring.
I choked back bile. Beside me, Alex tensed, wrath radiating from him in dark, dangerous waves.
“What’s going on?” Michael frowned. “Ava? Why did you ask me to come here?”
“Mr. Chen.” Alex’s voice seemed pleasant enough; only those who knew him could detect the lethal blade beneath his words, waiting to strike. “Please, take a seat.” He gestured at the leather chair on the other side of the table.
Michael did, his expression growing more irritated. “I have work to do, and you made me come all the way to D.C. for a supposed emergency.”
“I sent a car,” Alex said, still in that deceptively pleasant tone.
“Your car or mine, it takes the same amount of time.” Michael’s eyes flicked between Alex and me before settling on me. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
Confirmation he knew Alex and I had been an item at Thanksgiving. Not that I cared what he thought anymore.
“No.” I raised my voice so I could hear it over my pounding pulse. “I’m not.”
“Then what’s the emergency?”
“I—” I faltered. Alex squeezed my hand again. “I—”
I couldn’t say it. Not with an audience.
Alex already knew everything, but what Michael and I had to discuss seemed too personal to air out in front of other people. It was between us. Father and daughter.
Pinpricks of light danced before my vision. I dug the nails of my free hand into my thigh so hard I would’ve drawn blood had I not been wearing jeans.
“Alex, can you let us have a moment alone, please?”
His head whipped toward me, his expression thunderous.
Please, I begged with my eyes. I need to do this on my own.
Knowing how protective he was, I expected more resistance, but he must’ve seen something in my face—my unshakeable belief that I had to fight my own battles—because he released my hand and stood.
Reluctantly, but he did it.
“I’ll be right outside,” he said. A promise and a warning.
Alex shot a dark look at Michael before he exited.
And then there were two.
“Ava?” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Are you in trouble?”
Yes.
I’d run through this conversation in my mind hundreds, if not thousands, of times before I stepped foot in this room. I’d labored over how to bring up the topic and how I’d react to his response, whatever it may be. Oh hey, Dad, nice to see you. By the way, did you try to murder me? Yes? Oh damn, okay. But I couldn’t drag it out any longer.
I needed answers before the questions killed me.
“I’m not in trouble,” I said, proud of how steady I sounded. “But I have something to tell you about what happened over Thanksgiving weekend.”
Wariness crept into his eyes. “Okay…”
“I remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“Everything.” I watched him closely for a reaction. “My childhood. The day I almost drowned.”
Wariness morphed into shock and a faint tinge of panic. Deep grooves appeared in his forehead.
My stomach dropped. I’d hoped I’d been wrong, but the wild look in Michael’s eyes told me all I needed to know—I wasn’t wrong. He really had tried to kill me.
“Really?” His chuckle sounded forced. “Are you sure? You’ve been having nightmares for years—”
“I’m sure.” I straightened my shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, trying to keep my trembles under control. “Were you the one who pushed me into the lake that day?”