CHAPTER 4.

Grace’s POV.

I didn’t just walk into the police station; I collided with it. My lungs burned, chest heaving as I slammed my hands onto the front desk.

“Where is she?” I gasped, ignoring the startled looks from the officers nearby. “Where is Sarah?”

The officer at the desk didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “Name?”

“Sarah! Sarah Lopez. You arrested her an hour ago.”

He typed slowly, agonizingly slowly, before his eyes flicked to mine. “She’s being processed. Detained.”

“On what grounds?” My voice cracked. “She’s a librarian. She’s never broken a law in her life.”

He paused, pulling a thick manila folder from a stack beside him. He opened it, scanned a line, and then looked at me with a different kind of expression. Suspicion.

“She’s been charged with kidnapping.”

The air left the room. The noise of the station—phones ringing, radios buzzing—dropped into a dull roar. “That’s… that’s insane. Who did she kidnap?”

He slid a photo across the desk. It was old, grainy. A toddler.

“The report accuses her of abducting a child twenty-two years ago. The child of a wealthy couple.”

My knees hit the desk as my legs gave out. I stared at the photo. I didn’t recognize the toddler, but I knew the timeline. Twenty-two years ago.

Me.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head violently. “She adopted me. I have the papers. Someone is lying. Who filed this?”

The officer opened his mouth to answer, but a voice—smooth, polished, and terrifyingly familiar—cut through the air behind me.

“I did.”

I turned slowly. My blood ran cold.

My biological father stood near the entrance. He looked out of place in the grime of the precinct, wearing a suit that cost more than my mother’s house. His expression was unreadable. Not angry. Not sad. Just... business.

“What is this?” I demanded, stepping toward him. “Why is my mother in a cell? You know she raised me. You thanked her two weeks ago.”

“Come with me, Grace.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Do you want to discuss your mother’s twenty-year prison sentence in front of the desk sergeant? Or do you want to fix this?”

The threat hung in the air. I swallowed my rage, my hands shaking into fists, and followed him out the double doors. We didn’t go far—just to the curb where his black sedan idled like a hearse.

“Drop the charges,” I said the moment we stopped.

“I can’t do that,” he said calmly, checking his watch. “The evidence is compelling. She took a child that wasn’t hers. The law is clear.”

“You are lying!” I screamed, not caring who heard. “You did this. Why?”

He finally looked at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. “Because you gave me no choice, Grace. We offered you a life of luxury. We asked you to step in for Isabella, to save this family’s reputation, and you refused. You chose her over your duty.”

The realization hit me like a physical blow. “This is blackmail. You’re arresting an innocent woman because I won’t marry a stranger?”

“I am applying leverage,” he corrected, his tone chillingly reasonable. “The groom, Mr. Knight, expects his bride this evening. If you are in his home by sunset, the kidnapping charges vanish. Sarah goes free. It’s a simple exchange.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I am a father protecting his legacy. You have until 5:00 PM.”

He turned to get into his car.

“No!” I shouted. “I won’t do it! I’ll fight you. I’ll get a lawyer. I’ll tell the press what you’re doing!”

He paused, hand on the door handle, and looked at me with genuine pity. “Then say goodbye to her, Grace. Kidnapping carries a life sentence.”

He got in. The car pulled away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, trembling with a hatred I didn’t know I was capable of.

I turned to run back inside, to find a public defender, to do something, but a commotion at the side entrance stopped me.

Paramedics were sprinting.

The side doors burst open. A stretcher was wheeled out, flanked by two police officers.

My heart stopped.

On the stretcher, pale as a sheet, an oxygen mask clamped over her face, was Sarah.

“Mom!” The scream tore from my throat.

I sprinted toward the ambulance, but a heavy hand grabbed my arm. A cop. “Back off, Miss.”

“That’s my mother! What did you do to her?”

“She collapsed in holding,” the paramedic shouted over his shoulder as they loaded her in. “Possible cardiac event. We’re moving her to St. Jude’s.”

I broke free of the cop and scrambled for a taxi.

*

The hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee. I had been pacing for an hour when the doctor finally emerged. He looked exhausted.

“Family of Sarah Lopez?”

“I’m her daughter,” I choked out, rushing to him. “Is she okay? Can I take her home?”

He gestured for me to follow him into a small, private room. We sat, and the silence was deafening.

“Grace,” he began gently. “Your mother didn’t just faint from stress. Her bloodwork came back. She has acute myeloid leukemia.”

The room spun. “Leukemia? No. She… she’s just tired. She never told me…”

“She might not have known until the symptoms became severe,” he said. “But it’s advanced. Her immune system has collapsed. She needs immediate, aggressive chemotherapy and isolation if she is to survive the week.”

I gripped the arms of the chair. “Okay. Okay, then treat her. Do whatever it takes.”

The doctor looked down at his clipboard, his expression grim. “That is the complication. She is currently under arrest. The officers outside her room are preparing to transfer her to the prison ward at the county jail once she is stable. The prison ward isn’t equipped for this level of care, Grace. If she goes back to a cell in this condition… she won’t last the month.”

I felt like I was drowning. “They can’t take her. She’s dying.”

“I’ve argued with them,” the doctor said helplessly. “But unless the charges are dropped, she belongs to the state.”

I stood up on shaky legs and walked to the window of the room. Through the glass, I could see down the hallway into the ICU.

I saw my mother. She was asleep, frail and small in the large bed.

And there, gleaming silver under the fluorescent lights, was a pair of handcuffs chaining her thin wrist to the bed rail.

The sight broke me. It shattered whatever resolve I had left.

They were killing her. And I was the only one who could stop it.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. My fingers trembled so hard I could barely unlock the screen. I found the number my biological father had forced into my contacts two weeks ago.

It rang once.

“Grace?” His voice was calm. Expectant.

I watched my mother’s chest rise and fall, the rhythmic beep of the monitor the only sound in my world.

“Let her go,” I whispered.

“You know the price,” he replied.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and stinging. “I’ll do it. I’ll take Isabella’s place. I will go to the groom’s house this evening.”

Silence on the other end. Then, the sound of a smile. “A wise choice.”

“But you swear to me,” I hissed, my voice hardening. “You drop the charges now. The handcuffs come off now. And she gets the best treatment money can buy.”

“Done,” he said. “The lawyers are already calling the precinct. The file will be shredded within the hour. A car is coming to pick you up at the hospital entrance.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, staring at my reflection in the dark glass. I looked the same as I had this morning, but I knew the truth.

Grace, the girl who was free, was gone. I had just sold myself to save the only person who ever loved me.