Chapter 6: Come home

The screen went black. Mildred stared at the blank display, her pulse hammering violently against her ribs. No one spoke, no one moved. The words echoed in her mind, “come home.” It was the way Anthony had said it that unsettled her most. Not as a threat, not as a warning, but as if he truly believed he was inviting her back to somewhere she belonged. A place she had never wanted to return to.

“Mildred,” Amelia’s voice sounded distant, “say something,” but Mildred couldn’t, because every memory she had buried was clawing its way back to the surface. Anthony sitting beside her in the university library, quietly helping her prepare for exams, bringing her coffee after long lectures and promising her she was stronger than she knew.

Then, the fire, the explosion, the reports confirming his death, the grief she had never allowed herself to fully process because rage had consumed everything else. Had all of it been a lie? Or was there something far worse she still didn’t understand?

“We’re leaving.” James’s voice cut through the silence. Mildred looked up. His expression was controlled, but there was urgency beneath it. “What?” “We’re going to your penthouse.” “No.” His jaw tightened, “this is no longer optional.” She let out a sharp laugh, “you don’t get to order me around.” “No,” he said evenly, “but I do get to prevent another body from dropping from a balcony tonight.”

The brutal reminder silenced her. He stepped closer, “this man is inside your residence, he wants me there.” “Exactly,” His dark eyes locked onto hers, “and that means walking in alone would be reckless.” Mildred hated that he was right, hated even more that some part of her felt safer with him there.

“I can handle myself.” “I’m sure you can,” His tone remained calm. “But if Anthony Frank is connected to whatever happened five years ago, then this stopped being your private war the second he hijacked my family’s event.”

Before she could argue, Jack stepped forward, “I’m coming too.” James’s expression turned glacial, “no.” Jack stiffened, “you don’t understand.” “Then explain.” Jack’s throat worked. For a second, Mildred thought he might finally reveal everything, instead, he shook his head. “I can’t.”

James’s stare could have frozen steel, “you’re running out of chances.” Jack looked genuinely cornered, but before he could answer, sirens wailed outside the hotel, police. Media would follow within minutes. This night was already spiraling beyond containment.

James turned back to Mildred, “decide now.” She hesitated. Every instinct screamed not to trust him, he was still a Knight, still part of the empire that had buried her pain, but Anthony was alive inside her penthouse, waiting, and whatever answers he held, she needed them, “fine.” James gave one short nod. “Amelia, stay here and handle media containment.” Amelia looked alarmed, “Mildred,” “I’ll be fine.” The words sounded hollow even to her.

Minutes later, Mildred sat in the back of James’s black sedan as it tore through the city streets. Rain lashed against the windows, the silence inside was heavy. James sat beside her, his posture rigid, watching always watching. Finally, he spoke. “How did you know Anthony Frank?”

Mildred kept her gaze fixed on the passing city lights, “he was my friend.” “Only your friend?” The question carried quiet weight. She turned sharply, “what exactly are you implying?” His expression didn’t change, “I’m asking whether your judgment may be compromised.” Anger flared, “he betrayed me.”

“That wasn’t an answer.” Mildred’s fingers curled into fists, “no.” It was technically true. What she had felt for Anthony had never become love, but there had been trust. The dangerous possibility of something more, and perhaps that betrayal cut deepest of all.

James studied her profile, then said quietly, “you cared about him.” It wasn’t a question. Mildred looked away, “that version of him is dead.” Something unreadable flickered in James’s eyes. The rest of the drive passed in silence.

When they finally reached Mildred’s penthouse tower, the city below glittered through sheets of rain. The building lobby was eerily quiet. The security desk was empty.

Mildred’s stomach dropped, “where is everyone?” she whispered. James’s expression sharpened. He drew a small handgun from inside his jacket. Mildred froze, “you carry a gun?” “I own a billion-dollar empire,” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Paranoia is part of the job.” He pressed the elevator button, nothing happened, the panel was dead, “power’s been cut.”

A chill ran through Mildred. James looked toward the emergency stairwell, “we walk.” The climb to the top floor felt endless. Every step tightened the knot in Mildred’s chest. By the time they reached her penthouse level, her breathing was uneven. The hallway lights flickered weakly.

Her front door stood slightly open. A narrow crack of darkness beyond. James raised a hand, signaling her to stay back, then he pushed the door open slowly. The penthouse was silent, dark, and still. “Mildred,” a voice called softly from inside. Her blood froze. Anthony.

The lights suddenly blazed on, Mildred gasped. The living room had been transformed, white candles burned across every surface, photographs covered the walls, hundreds of them. All of her, some recent, some old, some taken years ago, and at the center of the room stood Anthony Frank.

Alive, dressed in black, smiling like he had been waiting for this moment forever, then his eyes shifted to James and his smile vanished. “Well,” his voice turned cold. “This complicates things,” he lifted a small remote in his hand. James’s eyes widened, “get down!” Anthony pressed the button, and the entire penthouse exploded.