POV: Marcus
"Absolutely not."
I grab Isabelle's phone before she can respond to the kidnapping message. "You're not going anywhere near that warehouse. I'm calling the police right now."
"They have Sophie!" Isabelle's voice cracks. "Marcus, she's seventeen years old and they have her because of me!"
"Which is exactly why you're not walking into a trap." I'm already dialing our head of security. "Let professionals handle this."
"There's no time! They said thirty minutes and—" She checks her watch. "We've already wasted five arguing!"
I want to lock her in this penthouse and handle everything myself. For three years, I've watched my brilliant, beautiful sister hide behind fake leg braces and poverty. I respected her choice, even though it killed me. I sent anonymous contracts to keep her safe. I watched from a distance as that snake slowly poisoned her.
But I'm done watching.
"Listen to me very carefully." I grip her shoulders. "Adrian Kane's mother is supposedly dead. Yet she's running blackmail operations and kidnapping children. This isn't just about money—this is something bigger."
"I don't care what it is! Sophie is terrified and alone and—"
"And we're going to save her. But smart, not stupid." I pull up security footage on my tablet. "I had trackers placed on all family members after you disappeared. Just in case."
Isabelle stares at me. "You tracked Sophie?"
"I tracked everyone. Including you." I show her the screen. "See this red dot? That's Sophie's location. And you're right—it's the warehouse they mentioned. But look at the blue dots surrounding it."
She squints at the screen. "What are those?"
"Armed guards. At least fifteen of them." I zoom in. "This isn't a simple ransom situation, Izzy. They're prepared for a war."
My phone rings. Our head of security.
"Sir, I've confirmed the location. The warehouse is owned by a shell company traced back to Margaret Kane. And sir?" He pauses. "Margaret Kane isn't dead. She's been living in Switzerland for the past five years under an alias."
"Why Switzerland?"
"She was arrested for fraud and embezzlement ten years ago. Served three years, then disappeared. Adrian Kane changed his name legally right after she was released and moved across the country."
The pieces click together in my mind. "He's been running from his mother's reputation his whole life."
"Or running with her," Isabelle whispers. "What if Adrian wasn't just a gold digger? What if this whole thing—our marriage, the fake disability, everything—was planned from the start?"
"Why would they do that?"
"Think about it. Adrian meets me at a charity event. He's poor, struggling, perfect victim material. I fall for him, fake my disability to test him, and he marries me anyway." Her eyes widen. "But what if he knew about my test before I even did it? What if someone told him the Ashford heiress would eventually test her suitors?"
"The lawyer," I breathe. "Mr. Peterson said files were stolen right after your wedding. What if Adrian's mother got to Peterson before you did? What if she knew you'd come to him to stage the accident?"
Isabelle's face goes pale. "Then they've been playing me for three years, waiting for the perfect moment to strike."
"When you're most vulnerable. Most broken. Most likely to pay anything to make it stop." I slam my fist on the table. "It's brilliant and disgusting."
My phone buzzes. Another message from Margaret Kane:
"Twenty minutes left, Marcus. Yes, I'm texting you now too. Did you really think I didn't know about your little security team? Send them to the warehouse and Sophie dies. Come yourself, and she dies. Only Isabelle walks in alone, with fifty million dollars transferred to my account, or your baby cousin's blood is on your hands."
"She knows everything," Isabelle whispers.
"She's been watching us this whole time." I pull up more security footage. "Look—there. At the gala. See that woman in the staff uniform?"
Isabelle leans closer. The woman's face is partially hidden, but when she turns toward the camera, it's unmistakable.
She looks exactly like Adrian. Same bone structure. Same cold blue eyes.
"That's her," I say. "Margaret Kane was at the gala tonight. She watched the whole confrontation. She probably planned for things to blow up exactly this way."
"So what do I do?"
"You don't do anything. I'm going—"
"Marcus, they'll kill Sophie!"
"They'll kill you too!" The words explode out of me. "You think they're going to take the money and let you both go? They've been planning this for three years! The moment you walk in there—"
"I'm already walking." Isabelle grabs her phone from my hand. "I won't let Sophie die because I was too scared to face my mistakes."
"This isn't your mistake—"
"Yes, it is!" Tears stream down her face. "I chose Adrian. I chose to test him. I chose to ignore every warning because I wanted to prove I could find real love. And now a seventeen-year-old girl is paying for my stupidity."
I've never seen my sister like this. Three years ago, she was confident, powerful, certain. Now she's broken but somehow stronger—like gold that's been melted down and reformed into something harder.
"If you're going, I'm coming with you," I say finally.
"They said alone—"
"I don't care what they said. You're my sister." I grab my car keys. "But we're doing this my way. With backup, with weapons, and with a plan that doesn't end with both of you dead."
Isabelle hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. If this goes wrong..." I don't finish the sentence.
We're halfway to the car when my phone rings again. Unknown number.
I answer on speaker. "What?"
"Marcus Ashford?" A man's voice. Not Adrian. Someone older. Rougher. "You need to stop what you're doing right now."
"Who is this?"
"Someone who's been investigating Margaret Kane for five years. FBI Special Agent David Morrison." He sounds urgent. "Do not go to that warehouse. It's a trap designed to kill you both and frame it as a murder-suicide."
Isabelle grabs my arm. "How do we know you're really FBI?"
"Because I've been watching Adrian Kane since he married you, Miss Ashford. We knew his mother was planning something, but we couldn't prove it until tonight." Papers rustle in the background. "Margaret Kane isn't just a con artist. She's wanted in six countries for murder."
My blood runs cold. "Murder?"
"She's killed four of her son's previous girlfriends. All wealthy women. All made to look like accidents or suicides." His voice drops. "Isabelle, you were supposed to be victim number five."
The phone slips from my hand.
Isabelle stares at me, her face white as paper.
"There were others," she whispers. "Before me. Women he targeted. Women who died."
Before I can respond, the penthouse lights go out.
All of them.
The backup generators should kick in, but they don't.
In the darkness, I hear something that makes my heart stop.
Footsteps.
Coming from inside the penthouse.
Someone else is here with us.