Chapter 13 Blackmail of Blood
Senator Richard Golding (POV)
The call with Harding ended, leaving my office shrunken, as if the walls had inched closer with every word she had spoken.
Shadows crept longer across the floor, drawn like daggers toward me.
The air pressed against my chest—thick, metallic, suffocating.
I slammed the phone onto the desk, the crack echoing too loud in the silence.
My jaw throbbed from the pressure of clenched teeth.
No one—no lawyer, no woman with steel stitched into her voice—had spoken to me like that in decades.
The audacity of it left me raw. I had been cornered. Worse, I had been blackmailed.
Fury guided my hand as I stabbed at the keypad.
Mira's number rang, the sound grating, and then her name filled the screen.
I switched to speaker, my glare fixed across the room.
My wife was exactly where I knew she would be, lounging in that chair like it was a throne, her glass of wine trembling faintly in her hand, though she raised an eyebrow at me as though nothing in the world could touch her.
"Mira," I barked into the phone, my fingers tightening around the receiver as if it could physically pull her back.
"Get home. Now. I don't want another word of defiance.
Ryder is about to file a police report and a restraining order against you.
Do you understand what that will mean for you and for me before the election? "
There was a pause, the kind of silence that rattles a parent to their core. Then her voice, sharp and trembling with disbelief: "What? No... he wouldn't dare—"
"He will," I snapped, my patience fraying like wire under too much pressure.
"Hospital records, photographs, video evidence.
All of it. Harding, his lawyer, she's meticulous.
If he goes public, it will destroy everything you've relied on.
Your reputation, the family name, my career. This is bigger than you think."
"I... I don't care!" she hissed, venom lacing her words.
"Care or not, you have no choice," I said, my voice rising, sharp as steel.
"You need to come home before this blows up.
One more misstep, one more display of your.
.. temper, and you won't just face legal consequences, you'll face a media storm you can't control.
I won't let you drag the whole family down.
Ryder isn't bluffing. Harding isn't bluffing. Do you hear me?"
Her breathing hitched, audibly panicked. "But... they can't! They can't—he—he's not allowed—"
"I don't care what you think is allowed," I cut her off, harder than I wanted.
"Get in the car. Now. You come home quietly, or this becomes public, and there will be no one to protect you from the consequences.
Your obsession, your actions, they've crossed every line.
I am giving you one chance to stop the disaster before it even starts. Come home."
Her breath faltered audibly, jagged and sharp, like glass underfoot. "I'll be back in a sec."
"Mira—" My voice cracked against the air, but the line had already gone dead, leaving only the hollow hum of disconnection.
Across from me, my wife tilted her head, lips curved into a smirk that barely hid her amusement.
"What's all this fuss?" she asked, I dragged a hand down my face, muscles taut with frustration.
"Your daughter is violent. She's been abusing Ryder.
He's about to file a police complaint, a restraining order.
If this goes public, we could be finished—my career, the election, everything. You need to understand the stakes."
The room stilled for a heartbeat, my words hanging like smoke, fragile and urgent.
Then came her sharp, incredulous laugh. It cut through the tension like a guillotine.
She nearly spilled her drink as her body shook with mirth, eyes glittering with ridicule.
"Abuse? Mira? Oh, don't be absurd. Ryder's a mountain of muscle, a trained athlete.
You want me to believe our delicate little girl was tossing him around like a rag doll?
Really, you must hear yourself, it's preposterous. "
Her laughter crawled under my skin, a taunt sharper than any blade.
My jaw tightened, fists clenching against the edge of the desk.
"This isn't a joke," I growled, voice low and vibrating with fury.
"She is unstable. She is dangerous. This isn't the first time.
If we don't act, she'll do something reckless, something irreversible. "
She leaned back, eyes narrowing, a patronizing smile curling her lips. "Dangerous? Please. Our daughter? She's fragile, sensitive... capable of breaking hearts, yes, but actual harm? That's your imagination running wild. Mira is my angel. She can do no wrong."
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my shaking hands, "You think this is funny?
" I said, voice quieter now, but cold as ice beneath the surface.
"You think I'm exaggerating. When Harding moves, when the police complaint and restraining order are filed, when the evidence, your daughter's own actions, meticulously documented, come to light, it won't be so entertaining.
You'll see the chaos, the shame, the real possibility of ruin not just for me, but for all of us before anyone even blinks. "
Her smirk faltered for the briefest moment, almost imperceptible.
Then she recovered, shrugging with practiced disbelief, as if brushing away the truth.
"Come on... be realistic. It's Mira we're talking about.
Our princess. She's no abuser," she said lightly, as if the words themselves could rewrite reality.
Before I could press the point further, the phone lit up again. Mira. I jabbed at the screen and set it to speaker. Her scream tore through the room, raw and jagged. "I can't find him! He's not at his apartment, not at the gym, where the hell is he?"
My pulse spiked, hammering in my throat. "Mira, baby, calm down. Your mother and I are coming to you."
"Daddy, please!" Her voice collapsed into sobs, the sound of a frightened child hidden inside a grown woman's mouth. "He's going to sue me? Arrest me? He said he loved me, maybe not in words, but I know he did! I can't lose him. I won't!"
Her mother leaned toward the phone, her face melting into that saccharine expression she always reserved for Mira. "Calm down, sweetheart," she cooed, glass still steady in her hand. "We're on our way. Everything will be fine."
The ease in her tone gutted me. To her, this was a tantrum, the sort a little girl might throw after being denied a toy.
She truly believed it was impossible that Mira could hurt anyone.
Her daughter could only ever be fragile, wronged, misunderstood.
I knew better. I had carried her out of too many scenes like this, smoothed over too many outbursts, bribed and silenced too many witnesses.
I didn't like the truth, but I knew it: Mira was dangerous, and she always had been.
When we arrived, Mira all but flew into her mother's arms, trembling, eyes wild with desperation. I stood rigid, fury and exhaustion fighting inside me, trying to hold the crumbling pieces together.
"You'll come with us, quietly," I said, keeping my voice firm, forcing a politician's control into every syllable. "We'll handle this quietly, keep it out of sight."
"No!" She wrenched free, her eyes blazing with a fury that twisted her features. "He was abusive to me."
The room froze, the words hanging in the air like smoke. Her mother blinked, eyes wide with disbelief. "What?"
Mira spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and conviction, " I can prove it. I'm the woman, for God's sake. Who's the public or the judge going to believe? Him or me? I'll destroy him and his reputation before he destroys me."
I ground my teeth until my jaw ached, every muscle tensing as the weight of her words pressed down. "Mira... he has evidence."
Her lips curled into a smile that never touched her eyes—cold, calculated, almost predatory.
"I have my own leverage, too. Come on, Daddy—you're the one who taught me that money leaves a trail, that evidence can be shaped.
If he sees just how far I'm willing to go to ruin him, he'll come back to me.
He won't have a choice. Please, Ma... you know how much I love him.
I can't lose him. I know I've made mistakes, but I'll do whatever it takes, even if it means destroying him, then he will have nothing and he will come back to me. "
I shook my head slowly, throat dry, every word like stone in my mouth. "I am not doing this."
Her eyes narrowed, a feral glint igniting in their depths. "Fine," she hissed, teeth bared. "Then you'll never see me again. Gone. For good."
My wife gasped, flinging a hand toward her in panic. "Mira—"
In a heartbeat, Mira's hand darted to the kitchen drawer, and a knife appeared in her grip, cold steel flashing under the overhead light.
The blade pressed against her throat with terrifying force, skin blanching beneath it.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes burning with desperate intensity.
"You think I won't?" she said, voice sharp and brittle. "If I don't—if you don't help me find him, ruin him, and get him back, you'll never have me at all. Do you hear me?"
The room froze. Time slowed. I could feel the panic crawling up my spine, my heart hammering.
My wife's hand hovered midair, trembling, her face pale as she tried to comprehend the immediacy of the threat.
She clutched at me with trembling fingers, her voice shrill.
"Richie, do something, we are going to lose her! "
"And besides," she added with a bitter laugh, "you can spin all of this to your advantage. Use my 'abuse' as fuel for your campaign. Women's rights. Domestic violence. It's perfect. A win for me, and a win for you, Dad."
Every ounce of exhaustion pulled at my bones, but I forced myself to speak, steady and deliberate. "Okay. Okay, Mira. Put it down. We'll take him to court. We'll ruin him but you have to give me time."
Her lips curled upward, triumphant, as though she had already won.
When the knife clattered onto the counter, the sound rang like a gunshot.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
My hand went to my phone, not to call Harding, but to summon my own people, the sharks, the fixers who thrived in shadows the law refused to touch.
They would scour the wreckage for witnesses to corrupt, narratives to twist, stories to plant.
Ryder would not simply be silenced; he would be branded the villain for good.
Her mother, still stroking her daughter's hair, turned toward me. "I don't understand why Ryder would suddenly sue. He had been fine with you, hadn't he?"
Mira's face hardened. She froze mid-breath, then narrowed her eyes into slits. " Yes, as usual," she said, her voice low and sharp. "Until that night when the fat cow came in her lingerie."
Her mother gave a little laugh, indulgent, almost proud, as if Mira's fury were nothing more than righteous fire. "Don't upset yourself, darling. Ryder will come to his senses."
Mira's gaze snapped back to me, wild and fever-bright.
"No. He won't. Not unless I make him. Sebastian and Brandon, those cowards ran.
They knew they couldn't leave me, so they escaped the country.
But Ryder? He's different. He belongs to me.
He knows it. I can feel it every time he breathes near me.
I will never let him go." Her voice rose, trembling with rage.
"That bitch will never have him. I will cut her out of the picture myself if I have to. "
My stomach knotted. Every instinct told me she was spiraling out of control, her obsession burning hotter than reason could ever contain.
Yet I stayed rooted where I was. Mira was my daughter.
Right or wrong, sane or unstable, I had always been her shield, the one who dragged her out of wreckage and hid the shards.
She looked to me as her rock, her anchor, and God help me, I had never known how to be anything else.
The words I wanted to speak—You need help, Mira.
You're not well—died in my throat. Instead, I tightened my grip on my phone, already calculating the moves ahead, the lies that would need to be spun, the fire I would have to put out once again.
My daughter was unhinged, dangerous, but she was mine.
I would stand before her, take the blows for her, even as the weight of it dragged me toward ruin.