MY FIANCÉE SAID SHE FOUND SOMEONE BETTER EIGHT WEEKS BEFORE OUR WEDDING—SHE DIDN’T KNOW I HAD ALREADY CANCELED EVERYTHING Eight weeks before our wedding, Natalie looked me in the eyes and said, “We need to cancel it. I found someone better.” I didn’t yell. I didn’t ask his name. I only said, “It’s already canceled.”

The world stopped spinning. The hum of the computer monitors faded into a dull, distant ringing in my ears.

My eyes locked onto the small pink fabric dangling from Garrett’s grip. The zipper was half-open, revealing the edge of Lily’s favorite dinosaur coloring book.

“Where is she?” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It sounded hollow, scraped out from the very bottom of my chest.

Garrett smirked, tossing the backpack onto a nearby desk with a careless flick of his wrist.

“Relax. The kid’s fine. For now.” He took a slow step forward, the barrel of the gun never wavering from my chest. “She’s sitting in my SUV in the alley. One of my associates is keeping her company. Buying her ice cream, probably. We picked her up from your mother’s house about twenty minutes ago.”

“If you touched her—”

“I didn't touch her,” Garrett interrupted, his tone suddenly sharp. “I’m a businessman, Ryan, not a monster. But I am a businessman who just found out the offshore account numbers your lovely fiancée procured for me are completely frozen.”

He shot a venomous glare at Natalie, who shrank back against the wall, trembling violently.

“She told me the money was ready to move,” Garrett continued, returning his cold gaze to me. “I log in, try to wire the funds, and bam. The bank flags it. Turns out, the primary executor—that’s you—has to physically authenticate an international wire transfer over a hundred grand. Your sister was paranoid, I’ll give her that.”

He gestured with the gun toward a laptop sitting on the metal desk.

“So, here’s the deal. You’re going to sit down at that computer. You’re going to log into the portal, authorize the transfer to my holding account in the Caymans, and walk away. You do that, and the kid gets out of the SUV and goes home to Grandma.”

“And if I don’t?”

Garrett didn't smile. He just cocked his head slightly to the side. “I think you know.”

My mind raced. Lily was in a car outside. With a stranger. My mother had to be terrified. If I didn't authorize the transfer, he would hurt Lily. If I did authorize it, all the money Sarah died to protect would be gone forever, and there was no guarantee Garrett wouldn't just shoot me anyway to tie up loose ends.

I looked at Natalie. She was sobbing quietly into her hands, utterly useless.

I had to play for time.

“Okay,” I said slowly, raising my hands in a placating gesture. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

I walked toward the desk, my boots heavy on the linoleum. I sat down in the rolling chair. The laptop screen was glowing, displaying the bank’s high-security authorization portal.

“Type,” Garrett ordered, stepping up behind me. I could smell his expensive cologne. The same cologne I had smelled on Natalie three months ago. The scent that had started all of this.

I placed my fingers on the keyboard.

“I need my phone,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “The bank requires two-factor authentication for offshore transfers. It sends a text code to the executor's registered device.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes. He reached out, patted down my jacket pocket, and pulled out my phone. He glanced at the screen, saw I had no unread messages, and set it on the desk next to the laptop.

“No funny business,” he warned, pressing the cold muzzle of the gun against the back of my neck. “Make the transfer.”

I typed in my credentials. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I hit "Authorize Transfer."

The screen refreshed. A prompt appeared: Enter 6-digit SMS verification code.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

I reached for it, but Garrett snatched it first. He looked at the screen, read the six-digit code out loud, and tossed the phone back down.

“Type it in,” he said.

I typed the numbers. 4-8-2-1-9-0.

I hovered my finger over the "Submit" button.

“Wait,” Natalie suddenly shrieked from the corner.

Garrett didn't look at her. “Shut up, Nat.”

“No, Garrett, look at his phone!” she cried out, pointing frantically. “Look at the screen!”

Garrett glanced down at my phone.

When he had snatched it to read the code, he hadn't noticed what was open behind the text message notification.

It was an active phone call.

To Detective Mark Reynolds.

I hadn't hung up the phone when I was in my truck. I had only hit the mute button. When I entered the laundromat and realized the danger, I had silently unmuted it in my pocket.

Mark had heard everything.

Garrett’s eyes widened in realization.

“You son of a—”

I didn't let him finish. I grabbed the heavy metal tape dispenser sitting next to the laptop and swung it backward with everything I had. It connected squarely with Garrett’s jaw with a sickening crunch.

He stumbled backward, the gun firing wildly into the ceiling. Dust and plaster rained down on us.

I leaped out of the chair, tackling him to the ground. He was heavier than me, but desperation fueled my adrenaline. We crashed into a row of computer monitors, sending sparks and shattered glass everywhere.

Garrett elbowed me viciously in the ribs, knocking the wind out of me. He scrambled to reach the gun that had slid across the floor.

Before he could grab it, a deafening crash echoed from the front of the building.

The steel door was violently kicked open.

“Police! Drop it! Drop the weapon!”

Flashlights cut through the dim room. Detective Reynolds and three uniformed officers poured into the room, their weapons drawn.

Garrett froze, his hand inches from the gun. He looked at the officers, then back at me, a sneer twisting his bloody face. Slowly, he raised his hands.

“Get him on the ground!” Reynolds barked. Two officers slammed Garrett face-first onto the linoleum, securing his wrists in heavy steel cuffs.

I didn't care about Garrett. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the searing pain in my side.

“Lily!” I yelled, running toward the back alley door. “Mark, he said she’s in a black SUV out back!”

“We’ve got her, Ryan!” Mark yelled, catching my arm to stop me from running out blindly. “A patrol car blocked the alley before we breached. My guys have the driver in custody. The little girl is safe. She’s in the back of my cruiser.”

The tension that had been holding my spine rigid for twenty-four hours snapped. My knees buckled. Mark caught me, lowering me gently to a chair.

“She’s safe?” I gasped out, trying to pull oxygen into my lungs.

“She’s safe, kid. Not a scratch on her.”

I buried my face in my hands, a shuddering breath escaping me. It was over.

“Officers,” a shaky voice called out.

I looked up. Natalie was standing by the wall, holding her bruised face, crying hysterically.

“Thank God you’re here,” she sobbed to the officers, playing the victim perfectly. “He held me hostage! He forced me to forge those documents! I didn't want to do any of it, I was terrified!”

Mark Reynolds looked at her, his expression utterly flat. He turned to one of his officers.

“Cuff her, too.”

Natalie’s mouth dropped open. “What? No! I’m the victim here!”

“Save it for the judge, lady,” Mark said as the officer spun her around and clicked the handcuffs onto her wrists. “We heard the whole conversation over the phone. We know about the blackmail. We know about the forgery. You’re looking at ten to fifteen years.”

As they dragged Natalie past me toward the door, she looked at me, her eyes filled with venom.

“You ruined my life, Ryan!” she screamed. “You ruined everything!”

I didn't yell back. I didn't insult her.