Chapter 19

Liam

The hall was decorated with pink and gold balloons, little paper crowns scattered on the tables and a central table full of colorful sweets, shaped like unicorns. Julie ran back and forth in her princess dress, laughing loudly, surrounded by other children. I should be happy — it was my daughter’s birthday, four years of a life I would give my last breath to protect. But I wasn’t, unfortunately.

In recent days, Kyra has been distant and says nothing about herself. She already knows many things about me. She takes care of the most precious thing I have in my life, and yet, she is a complete stranger to me. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t question and certainly doesn’t ask. That deeply irritates me.

She was in the corner of the garden, just watching everything cautiously. Looking directly at the nothing that existed there.

The phone vibrated in the pocket of my jacket. I ignored it the first time. I was in the middle of a partner, forcing a polite smile as he praised the organization of the party. When it vibrated again, I took the device out and swiped the screen.

A hidden, restricted number. A suspicious message.

"Do you really know who your daughter’s nanny is? Do you really know who you’re dealing with, Blackthorne?"

My eyebrows furrowed. It was a low game. Another idiot trying to poke at my weaknesses? But the second notification appeared before I could put the phone back. An image. I clicked.

And the floor seemed to disappear under my feet.

Kyra. No, it wasn’t exactly the woman I see every day — sweet, delicate, silent, careful with Julie. But yes, it was her. I would recognize those curves, that mouth, that hair, those eyes even covered by a black blindfold. She was kneeling, arms bound behind her body with thick ropes, a tight leather collar around her neck. My heart beat hard, as if it wanted to burst my ribs. My blood froze, as if I were having a breakdown. But this shouldn’t mean anything to me.

Another message. Another photo. Kyra face down, red marks on her thighs, her back scored by lines that could only be from being whipped. A man appeared partially behind her, his hand holding her hair, pulling her head back.

And another. Kyra with her arms suspended, completely vulnerable, her body marked and the expression — God — there was no pleasure there. Her expression was only pain, and shit, I shouldn’t feel desire seeing her like that.

My hands trembled, but it wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just disgust. It was desire. Cruel, dirty, uncontrollable. She had the gift of dominating me in silence, even without knowing she could do that.

And then came the last message:

"She is not Kyra. Her real name is Isabelle Bloond. Good luck living with a lie inside your house. I hope your daughter forgives her. Deep down, she’s just a bitch that barks but doesn’t bite."

The name. Isabelle Bloond. It sounded like poison in my mind. I felt a knot in my throat. All that trust, that silent bond that was forming, perhaps was just a farce. Did she know I would find out? Was she just playing with me? Or was she running from something?

I raised my eyes, and I saw her. Kyra — or Isabelle — was crouched next to Julie, helping her cut the castle-shaped cake. Her sweet smile lit up my daughter’s face, as if nothing in the world was more important than that moment. Did she really love my daughter, or was she just using her to manipulate me? Fuck, my head was a mess.

But I could no longer see her the same way. Because now, every time my eyes touched her body, I didn’t just see my daughter’s affectionate nanny. I saw the images. I saw the ropes, the collar, the marked skin. I saw what she could be in my dark room. My shadow room. My private hell.

I clenched my fists inside my pocket. The urge to drag her there and demand answers consumed me. Part of me wanted to destroy her for hiding who she was. Another part wanted to use her, exactly like in the photos.

"Mr. Blackthorne?" — one of the guests called my attention. I smiled automatically, but I was distant.

Inside, my mind repeated only one thing:

Isabelle Bloond. Isabelle Bloond. Isabelle. Kyra...

And I knew that, sooner or later, I would make this woman confess everything. Even if that meant pushing her away from my family.

Kyra

Julie was radiant. Her eyes shone as she opened the presents, surrounded by friends and family. I watched her hug the new doll as if it were the greatest treasure in the world, and my heart warmed. For a moment, I forgot all my fears.

Life could be that simple, I thought. Me, her, and a stolen piece of happiness. Liam was distant. Much more than in recent days. I noticed it in his calculated gestures, in the look that avoided mine. He seemed to be smiling at the guests, but his eyes... his eyes were hard, dark.

Every time our gazes met, it was as if a cold current ran down my spine. He looked away quickly, as if he couldn’t stand to look at me for long. I tried not to give it importance. Maybe it was just the weight of responsibility, the excess of people. Or maybe... maybe it was me.

"Dad!" — Julie called him, running to him with a poorly cut piece of cake. "Eat with me!"

He smiled, but it wasn’t the sincere smile I knew. It was contained, forced. Even so, he leaned in, accepted the fork and praised the cake. Julie laughed, satisfied, and returned to the table with the other children.

I remained watching, restless. That Liam was not the same as the one who, a week earlier, had prepared a dinner under the stars for me. Not the same who held my hand, who promised not to be an idiot again.

There was something in his eyes that made me tremble. Something that seemed to pierce me, as if undressing me without needing any touch. Maybe it was a brief warning telling me I should leave.

"Is everything okay?" I dared to ask when he passed near me, picking up an empty glass from the table.

He stared at me. A cold look, too intense to be casual. For a moment I thought he would answer. But he just lifted his chin and walked on, ignoring my question. I swallowed hard. I didn’t understand. I didn’t comprehend. And yet, part of me knew something was about to happen.

Before I withdrew, I handed my present to Julie. A blue spoon, the thing she likes most, in her favorite color. Plus canvases and paints and brushes, because she loves to paint.