30. Aria
THIRTY
Aria
Am I? I touch my cheek, feeling wetness. Not my blood—Wolfe’s, or my father’s, or the nameless girl’s. The thought makes me shudder.
“Not mine,” I tell him. “My father—he’s free. He attacked Wolfe. I think he might have killed him.”
Jon’s expression darkens as he takes in my disheveled appearance, the blood staining my clothes—not mine, but evidence of violence nonetheless. His gaze shifts to the nameless girl, who stands frozen, knife still clutched in her hand.
“Who’s this?” he asks, though I suspect he already knows.
“She helped me,” I explain quickly. “She’s been Wolfe’s prisoner. We’re taking her with us.”
“We need to move,” he says, already assessing our options. “The alarm will bring every guard in the building.”
As if confirming his words, shouts echo from multiple directions. The house is mobilizing around us.
“This way.” Jon leads us down a utility corridor I hadn’t noticed. “I’ve mapped most of the east wing while looking for you.”
The girl follows hesitantly, staying close to me, clearly uncertain about this new variable in her escape attempt.
“He’ll help us,” I assure her. “Jon rescues people. It’s what he does.”
We follow Jon through a maze of service corridors, the wailing alarm masking our movements. He pauses at intersections to check for guards before waving us forward.
“How did you escape?” I ask as we duck into what appears to be a laundry room.
“They underestimated my training.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t need him to. The unconscious guard we left behind in the cell tells enough of the story.
“My implant’s transmitting.” He taps behind his ear where Guardian operatives have tracking devices embedded. “Delta team is already en route. They should be?—”
The building shudders suddenly, the concrete floor vibrating beneath our feet. In the distance, I hear what sounds like an explosion.
“That would be them.” Jon’s grim expression breaks into a slight smile.
“Your team has perfect timing.” Relief washes through me.
“Delta team is clearing the building,” Jon explains, checking the fallen guards’ weapons and pocketing extra ammunition. “We need to head for the main entrance. They’ll secure an extraction path.”
We move toward the sound, Jon now more confident in our path. The alarm continues its relentless wail, but beneath it, there’s gunfire. Controlled bursts, professional. Delta team making their entrance.
We move quickly through the corridors, Jon taking point, the girl and I following close behind. The sound of fighting grows louder—professional, coordinated assaults meeting desperate resistance.
“Almost there,” Jon encourages as we reach a service stairwell. “Up two flights, then across the main foyer.”
We ascend rapidly, the girl struggling to keep pace after years of malnutrition and abuse. Without a word, Jon slows, offering her his arm for support. She hesitates, then accepts, her wary eyes showing surprise at this simple act of human decency.
At the top of the stairs, Jon pauses, listening. “Delta is in the building,” he says with certainty. “I recognize Jenny’s breach pattern.”
He eases the door open, peering into what appears to be a grand entrance hall. The opulence of the upper floors is a stark contrast to the utilitarian spaces below—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and priceless artwork lining the walls. All of it built on suffering.
“Clear,” Jon whispers, waving us forward.
We move swiftly across the open space, heading for the massive front doors that stand partially open. Freedom is meters away.
“Aria!” My father’s voice cuts through the chaos. He stands at the top of the grand staircase, a gun in his hand—the same one he took from Wolfe’s dining room. Blood soaks his left side, but his aim is steady.
“You’re not leaving,” he says, his voice eerily calm despite the madness in his eyes. “You belong to me.”
Jon pushes me behind him, weapon raised. “It’s over, Marcus. Delta team is here. You’ve lost.”
My father’s laugh is hollow, unhinged. “Lost? I never lose, Mr. Knutt. I simply adjust the parameters of acceptable outcomes.” The gun shifts, aiming not at Jon or me, but at the nameless girl. “Drop your weapon, or I put a bullet between her eyes. One worthless life to secure what’s mine.”
The girl freezes, terror rendering her immobile. After everything—the knife, the escape, the hope of freedom—to be reduced once again to a bargaining chip. A disposable object.
“I don’t belong to anyone.” I find my voice. “Especially not a murderer.”
Confusion and then rage flicker across my father’s face. He’s not used to direct defiance from me.
“Don’t be foolish, Aria. Get over here now, and I’ll let them live.” Rage flashes across his features. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. For your future.”
“You’re a monster and a liar,” I tell him, my voice steady despite the fear churning inside me. “You’ve always been a liar. You lied about my mother. You lied about your business. You’ve lied to me my entire life.”
“I protected you from uncomfortable truths. There’s a difference.” His expression hardens.
“No, there isn’t,” I counter. “Truth is truth. And the truth is, you’re a monster. You kill people you deem worthless. You killed my mother when she threatened your precious company. And you’d kill me too, if you thought you couldn’t control me.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he dismisses, but the gun wavers slightly. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. For your future.”
“For yourself,” I correct. “Always for yourself.”
“I’m a visionary,” he corrects, his tone shifting to something almost reasonable. “You’ll understand someday. After we’re away from these—influences.” His gaze shifts to the nameless girl cowering behind me. “Leave the trash behind. She’s nothing.”
The casual cruelty—the absolute certainty of his superiority—ignites something in me. Years of careful obedience burn away, replaced by a rage as pure as it is righteous.
“She has more worth in her little finger than you have in your entire being,” I tell him, stepping forward despite Jon’s attempt to keep me behind him. “She survived. She helped me. She’s brave and human and decent—everything you pretend to be but aren’t.”
Confusion crosses my father’s features, as if he can’t comprehend my defiance. “You’ve been brainwashed. By him.” He gestures at Jon with the gun. “By Damien. When we’re home?—”
“I’m never going home with you,” I interrupt. “Never.”
His expression hardens, calculation replacing confusion. “Then perhaps we need to remove the distractions.” The gun shifts, aiming at Jon. “One bullet solves many problems.”
“You’ll have to shoot me first.” I step fully in front of Jon, arms spread.
My father’s eyes widen, genuine shock registering. In all his calculations, all his manipulations, he never anticipated this—his prized possession choosing to protect others rather than being protected. Choosing to stand against him rather than with him.
“Move, Aria,” he orders, voice tight with barely controlled fury. “Now.”
“No.”
The gun wavers slightly. For the first time in my life, I see uncertainty in my father’s eyes. Real uncertainty, not the calculated kind he sometimes displays in business negotiations.
“You would choose them? These—nobodies? Over your father?” Incomprehension colors his voice.
“I choose humanity,” I tell him simply. “I choose truth. I choose freedom.”
“Aria, please,” he tries again, desperation creeping into his voice. “Everything I’ve built—it’s all for you. Your legacy.”
“I don’t want it,” I say. “Not a single blood-soaked penny of it.”
His face contorts with rage. “Then you’ll die with the rest of these worthless?—”
The main doors burst open behind us. Delta team pours in, weapons trained on my father. Jenny’s at the lead, her focus absolute, her aim unwavering.
“Marcus Holbrook,” she calls, her voice carrying across the marble expanse. “Put down your weapon. You’re surrounded.”
My father’s eyes dart around, assessing the situation. Five Delta team operatives, all with weapons trained on him. Jon beside me, equally armed. No escape.
For a moment, I think he’ll surrender. Then his expression shifts to something terrible—a cold, calculated resolve that chills me to the bone.
“If I can’t have her,” he says quietly, “no one will.”
The gun swings toward me. Jon moves instantly, shoving me aside as he fires. My father’s shot goes wide, shattering a chandelier. Crystal rains down as multiple Delta team weapons discharge.
My father staggers backward, blood blooming across his chest in several places. His expression holds something I’ve never seen before—genuine surprise. As if he genuinely believed himself untouchable, immortal.
He crumples to his knees, the gun slipping from his fingers. His eyes find mine one last time, confusion and betrayal evident in their depths. Then he pitches forward, sprawling across the marble floor.
Silence falls, broken only by the tinkling of fallen crystal and the distant wail of the alarm.
I stare at his fallen form, emotion warring within me. Relief. Horror. Grief. Not for the man he was, but for the father he could have been.
Jon’s arms encircle me, turning me away from the sight. “Don’t look,” he murmurs against my hair. “It’s over.”
But it isn’t over. Not really. The revelations, the truth about my mother, about my father’s empire—those will remain. The knowledge that everything I thought I knew was built on lies and blood.
Jenny approaches, holstering her weapon. “Jon. Aria.” Her gaze shifts to the nameless girl who stands frozen beside us. “And who’s this?”
“She helped me escape,” I explain, finding my voice. “She was Wolfe’s prisoner. She needs protection.”
Jenny nods, not questioning further. “Storm, get up here,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Let’s take a look at you,” he says to the girl, who shrinks back, pressing closer to me. Storm’s manner turns gentle despite his imposing presence.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “They’re the good guys. The real ones.”
She allows Storm to check her for injuries, though her eyes never leave me, as if afraid I’ll disappear.
“Wolfe?” Jenny asks Jon quietly.
“Marcus got to him first,” Jon explains. “Unknown status, but significant head trauma. Dining room, east wing.”
“Mac, Blaze, check it out.” Jenny dispatches the men with a gesture. “The rest of the house is being secured. We found three more girls locked in rooms upstairs.” Her gaze shifts to the nameless girl being treated by Storm. “We’ll get them all proper care.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being. These people swooped in to save not just me, but everyone they could. No calculations about who was “worthless” or expendable. Just rescue, pure and simple.
Her radio crackles. “Wolfe is alive, barely. Medevac is on the way.”
“And the guards?” Jenny asks.
“Those who surrendered are secured. The rest…”
Jenny turns back to us. “Extraction in five. We need to move before local authorities respond to the alarm.”
Jon keeps his arm around me as we follow Jenny toward the exit. Outside, the night air feels impossibly fresh after the blood and violence of the house. Tactical vehicles wait in the circular drive, engines running.
“What happens now?” I ask Jon as he helps me into one of the vehicles.
“Now,” he says, his voice gentle, “we get you somewhere safe. The rest—the truth about your father’s operations, about what happened to your mother—that will take time. But Guardian HRS has resources. We’ll find all of it, expose all of it.”
The nameless girl is guided into our vehicle, Storm still tending to her. She sits close to me, as if I represent her only constant in this chaos.
“What’s your name?” I ask her softly as the vehicle begins to move. “Your real name, not what they called you.”
She hesitates, as if the question is dangerous. Perhaps it has been, until now. “Hope,” she finally whispers. “My name is Hope.”
“Hope,” I repeat, taking her hand in mine. “You’re free now. Really free.”
As we drive away from Wolfe’s estate, leaving behind the blood, secrets, and lies, I realize something profound. For the first time in my life, I too am truly free. Free of my father’s control, of the legacy he tried to force upon me, of the gilded cage he built around me.