Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Refused To Be Broken
Tyler stood in my apartment holding my father’s missing journal.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Not me.
Not my mother.
Not Tyler.
It felt like the entire world was waiting to see who would speak first.
Then Tyler smiled.
The same smile.
The same confident expression he had worn at Bellini’s when he embarrassed me in front of strangers.
But this time, I saw it differently.
It wasn’t confidence.
It was control.
He was trying to convince himself he still had it.
“Emily,” he said softly.
I hated how familiar his voice sounded.
Like he still had the right to say my name.
“Give me the journal.”
His smile disappeared slightly.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re holding.”
I looked at the journal in his hand.
Then at him.
“I think I understand everything now.”
Tyler tilted his head.
“You always were emotional.”
That sentence almost made me laugh.
After everything.
After the lies.
After the documents.
After stealing from me.
He still thought my problem was that I felt too much.
“You came into my home.”
“I came to protect you.”
I stared at him.
“Protect me?”
“Yes.”
He stepped forward.
“Emily, someone is manipulating you.”
My mother immediately moved between us.
“Don’t listen to him.”
Tyler looked at her.
“Margaret.”
The way he said her name made my stomach tighten.
Not with fear.
With realization.
He knew her too well.
“You should have told her years ago,” Tyler said.
My mother’s face changed.
“Leave.”
Tyler ignored her.
“You want the truth, Emily?”
I didn’t answer.
He continued anyway.
“Your father trusted the wrong people.”
I looked at the journal.
“You mean you?”
His jaw tightened.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
The anger.
“You really believe Vincent?”
The room became silent.
There it was again.
Vincent’s name.
Everyone kept bringing him up like he was the center of this entire mystery.
“What does Vincent have to do with my father?”
Tyler laughed quietly.
“That’s the question you should have asked twelve years ago.”
I stepped closer.
“Answer me.”
For the first time, Tyler looked uncomfortable.
“You think he saved your father?”
“Did he?”
Tyler looked at my mother.
Then back at me.
“He helped him disappear.”
My chest tightened.
Disappear.
Not leave.
Not abandon us.
Disappear.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
He opened the journal.
Flipped through the pages.
Then held it up.
“Your father wrote everything down.”
My eyes followed the journal.
“What did he write?”
Tyler smiled.
“That Vincent wasn’t protecting him.”
A notification sound interrupted him.
My phone.
Another message.
I grabbed it.
Unknown number.
A photo.
My heart stopped.
It was Tyler.
Standing outside my apartment building.
But the timestamp was from ten minutes ago.
That was impossible.
He was standing in front of me.
Then another message appeared.
"He is not alone."
I looked toward the window.
My apartment suddenly felt smaller.
Tyler noticed.
And smiled.
“You finally understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That this was never just about money.”
My mother stepped forward.
“You need to leave.”
Tyler looked at her.
“You know what happens if she finds out everything.”
My mother went pale.
“What did you do?”
Tyler didn’t answer.
He looked at me.
“Your mother made a deal.”
I turned.
“Mom?”
She closed her eyes.
“Emily…”
“No.”
My voice became sharper.
“Not again.”
I was tired of secrets.
Tired of half-truths.
Tired of everyone deciding what I could handle.
“What deal?”
My mother looked broken.
“After your father disappeared, I had no money. No protection. No idea who to trust.”
She looked at Tyler.
“He offered help.”
I felt sick.
“You trusted him?”
“I was desperate.”
“And he took advantage of that.”
Tyler smiled.
“She signed the agreement.”
My mother looked at him.
“Stop.”
“She gave me access.”
“To what?”
Tyler looked at me.
“Your inheritance.”
The room went quiet.
My inheritance.
The word felt strange.
Because I never thought I had one.
“You told me my father left nothing.”
My mother started crying.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You were hiding my life from me.”
A loud knock interrupted us.
Everyone froze.
Three slow knocks.
Tyler looked toward the door.
And for the first time…
He looked afraid.
Not nervous.
Afraid.
I noticed.
“You know who that is.”
He didn’t answer.
The door opened.
Vincent DeLuca stood there.
Two men behind him.
But he wasn’t looking at Tyler.
He was looking at the journal.
“Where did you get that?”
Tyler stepped back.
The confidence was gone.
Vincent walked inside.
His eyes moved between us.
Then to my mother.
“You should have told her.”
My mother looked down.
“I tried.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“You protected the wrong person.”
Tyler suddenly laughed.
“You still think you’re the hero?”
Vincent looked at him.
“I never said I was.”
The room became silent.
Then Vincent walked toward me.
He reached into his coat.
And placed something on the table.
A small envelope.
My name was written on it.
My father’s handwriting.
Again.
I stared.
“Where did you get this?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Your father gave it to me the night he disappeared.”
My hands shook.
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
His expression changed.
“Because he told me not to.”
I looked at the envelope.
“What did he say?”
Vincent took a breath.
“He said if Tyler ever came back for the house…”
A pause.
“…then it meant he had already found the last piece of evidence.”
My fingers moved toward the envelope.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new message.
From my father’s old number.
A number that had been disconnected for twelve years.
Only one sentence appeared:
"Emily, do not trust the man standing beside you."
I slowly looked up.
Because there were three men in the room.
Tyler.
May you like
Vincent.
And the person standing behind me.
