Ann slipped into the kitchen, the chill of the marble floor seeping into her bare feet. She clutched the letter against her chest, its edges slightly crumpled from how many times she had read it through the night. The house was too quiet — unnaturally so — as if it knew Ethan's absence left an emptiness nothing else could fill.
She poured herself a glass of water but didn't drink it. Instead, she stood by the counter, staring out the window. The city looked calm under the early morning sun, but she knew better now. Beneath the surface, there were shadows and secrets — and she was tired of pretending she couldn't see them.
A soft knock made her jump. She turned to see Lillian, the housekeeper, standing hesitantly at the doorway.
"Ma'am? Breakfast is ready. Will you be eating in the dining room today?"
Ann blinked. It struck her then how much her life had changed. A year ago, she'd have been in a cramped apartment, eating leftover noodles on the couch. Now, there was a staff waiting for her every word — but none of them could tell her where her husband had gone or why he thought it was safer to leave her in the dark.
"No, thank you, Lillian," Ann said gently. "But I do need your help."
Lillian straightened. "Of course, Ma'am."
Ann hesitated. She knew Ethan paid the staff well enough to buy their loyalty. But she also knew Lillian had grown fond of her, maybe even protective.
"I need to go out today," Ann said carefully, testing the waters.
Lillian's eyes widened. "But Mr. Ethan said—"
"I know what he said." Ann's voice was soft but firm. "But I won't be reckless. I just need to… see someone."
Lillian looked torn. "Security will follow you, Ma'am."
"I know." Ann forced a smile. "That's fine. Just don't tell them where I'm going until I'm ready. Please."
Lillian pressed her lips together, then gave a tiny nod. "Alright, Ma'am."
An hour later, Ann stepped out of the penthouse dressed in simple jeans, a cream blouse, and sunglasses that shielded half her face. She had called her driver herself, ignoring the suspicious look from the guards. As expected, two black SUVs pulled out behind her car the moment she left the compound. Ethan's version of freedom — always watched.
But Ann had grown clever in the months she'd been married to Ethan Knight. She had learned to smile sweetly while planning an escape in her mind.
Instead of heading straight to the city center, she asked the driver to take a detour. "Stop at the bookstore," she lied. "I want to pick up a novel."
The driver, a young man named Caleb, nodded politely. "Of course, Ma'am."
Ann texted a number she hadn't used in months — Grace's. Her best friend. Her only friend before Ethan had whisked her into his dark world.
"Meet me at the bookstore on 5th. Come alone. It's important."
She held her breath until Grace's reply came seconds later.
"On my way."
Twenty minutes later, Ann stepped into the small independent bookstore, her heart thumping. The smell of old pages calmed her nerves for a moment. She slipped between the tall shelves until she found a quiet corner.
Grace arrived breathless, her hair tied up in a messy bun, eyes wide with curiosity and concern. "Ann? Are you okay? What's going on?"
Ann grabbed her friend's hands, pulling her deeper into the aisle. "Grace, I need your help. And I need you to promise you won't tell anyone."
Grace's eyes widened even more. "Ann, you're scaring me."
Ann took a deep breath and pulled out the crumpled letter from her purse. She handed it to Grace. "Read this."
Grace scanned the letter, her brow furrowing. "What is this? Ethan's father? He's alive?"
Ann nodded. "Yes. Ethan's been hiding it from me. He thinks I can't handle it. But I can't just sit at home waiting for him to come back in one piece. I need to know who this man is. I need to know what he's planning."
Grace lowered the letter. "So what do you want me to do?"
"You still have that contact, right? The private investigator you used when your ex was stalking you?"
Grace hesitated. "Yes, but Ann—"
"Call him for me. Tell him to find out where Ethan's father is. Anything. I'll pay whatever it costs."
Grace grabbed her shoulders. "Ann, are you sure? This is dangerous. If Ethan finds out—"
Ann met her friend's worried gaze. "Then he'll be angry. But I'd rather have him angry and alive than dead because he thinks he's alone in this."
Grace searched her face, then sighed. "God, you really have become Mrs. Knight."
Ann gave a wry smile. "Not Mrs. Knight. His queen."
Back at the penthouse, Ann hid the investigator's number in her phone under a fake contact name — Emily Laundry. She spent the rest of the day pretending to read on the couch, the letter tucked back into her pocket like a secret blade.
When Ethan finally returned late that night, she was half-asleep in the living room. He stopped in the doorway, just watching her for a moment. The exhaustion on his face made her chest ache.
He dropped his keys on the console and crossed over to her, kneeling down. His hand brushed her cheek.
"You waited up," he murmured.
Ann forced her eyes open, her heart skipping. "You didn't call."
His jaw flexed. "I know. I'm sorry."
She sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck. She buried her face there, inhaling the clean scent of him — the faint whiff of expensive cologne mixed with something darker, something that clung to him whenever he dealt with things he refused to name.
"You're back," she whispered.
"I'm back," he echoed.
But in the silence that followed, she could feel the secrets pressing against her skin like cold steel. And for the first time, she wasn't afraid of them. She would dig them out, piece by piece, if she had to.
Because Ethan Knight wasn't the only one who could fight in the dark.
The next morning, Ethan insisted on staying home for breakfast. It was almost normal — him buttering toast, her pretending to eat. But the tension simmered just beneath the surface.
"You're quiet," he said suddenly, eyes locked on hers across the kitchen island.
Ann smiled sweetly. "Just tired."
"Are you still upset about the letter?"
She shrugged, stirring her tea. "Should I be?"
Ethan's fingers drummed on the marble counter. "Ann—"
She cut him off, leaning over to kiss him. He stilled, surprised, then kissed her back, his hands gripping her waist.
When she pulled away, her heart was racing — partly from his touch, partly from the lie she was about to tell. "Let's not fight. Not today."
He studied her face for a long, tense moment. Then he brushed his thumb over her lips. "Alright."
Inside, Ann's mind was already racing. Grace had texted her an hour ago — the investigator was on the trail. She had less than a week before Ethan's instincts would sniff out her plan.
She just needed to stay one step ahead.
Three days later, Ann found herself standing in a dim, forgotten part of the city — an old train yard turned storage facility. The investigator, a wiry man named Marcus, waited beside her, checking his phone nervously.
"This is the place," Marcus said. "Your husband's father was spotted here two nights ago. He's using a fake name — Victor Hale. Has offshore accounts, private guards. Not exactly subtle."
Ann's breath caught. The wind whipped around them, carrying the smell of rust and oil.
"So he's really here," she murmured.
Marcus nodded. "But Mrs. Knight, if I may… you shouldn't be here. This man—he's not like your husband. He's worse."
Ann lifted her chin. "Which is why I need to see him first. Before Ethan does."
Marcus stared at her, then gave a tiny, reluctant nod. "Then I'll watch your back."
They crept through the yard, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound in the still night. Ann's heart slammed in her chest. Every step felt like walking into a lion's den.
But she didn't stop.
Finally, they reached a row of abandoned shipping containers. One of them glowed faintly from inside — a generator hummed nearby. Marcus signaled for her to wait, but Ann shook her head.
She stepped forward.
When she pushed the door open, she found a man sitting at an old wooden desk, a cigarette burning in his hand. His hair was gray, slicked back, his suit wrinkled but expensive. He looked up, and the chill of his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
So this was the man who had made Ethan what he was.
The man who had taught him how to hide his heart behind a blade.
"Mrs. Knight," he drawled, his voice smooth and mocking. "Or should I call you Ann? I've been wondering when you'd come."
Ann's pulse roared in her ears. She clenched her fists, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat.
"Mr. Knight," she said coldly. "I'm here to tell you one thing."
His lips curled into a cruel smile. "And what's that?"
Ann stepped closer, meeting his dead eyes without flinching.
"You won't destroy him. And you won't touch him again. If you try — I'll be the one you'll have to face."
The old man barked out a low laugh, flicking ash to the floor. "Is that so?"
Ann held his gaze. "Yes. Because you may have made him the King, but I am his Queen. And this kingdom? It's ours — not yours."
In that moment, Ann knew she had crossed a line she could never uncross.
But she also knew she would never let Ethan fight alone again.