All Chapters of Unworthy No More : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

IslaI still remember the way the afternoon light lay across Sophie’s hair, like a careless halo as she crouched by the sandbox, concentrating on building a moat for her plastic castle. It should have been one of those ordinary moments that stitch up a life. Sand between tiny toes, a laugh that makes your lungs ache in the best way. Instead, it lodged itself under my ribs and stayed there like a stone.We had been careful. Too careful, probably. I had picked a daycare two blocks from the market instead of the one near the hospital because the streets felt quieter, almost small-town. I told myself small-town meant safer. I told myself a lot of things.Sophie was mid-scoop when the man in the dark coat first spoke to her. He crouched down at the edge of the sandbox, his voice soft and ridiculous, the kind of voice that belonged to a man offering candy, not talking to a child in broad daylight.“Hey, princess. Can you help me? My puppy’s lost and I need someone brave to help find him.” H

Isla I had thought the worst part of that afternoon would be the moment they slammed the van door and vanished. I was wrong. The worst was everything that came after. For hours the city turned into a blurred map of flashing lights and shouted coordinates. Men in plainclothes flooded the precinct, voices clipped, radios buzzing like angry hornets. Alexander’s team moved in and out of rooms with surgical calm. Analysts at laptops, drivers mapping routes, a man named Carter who took my statements and wrote them as if he were transcribing some holy script. He didn’t blink when I told him Sophie’s favorite color was yellow or that she always slept with a scuffed stuffed rabbit she called “Lion.” He made a note of the little things and told me those details mattered. He said they made a child findable.I sat under the fluorescent lights and felt my life narrowed down to a single point, Sophie was gone. Everything else, the apartment, the rent, the cruelties of the Blakes, collapsed into a

Alexander LangstonThe city never slept, it only held its breath between storms. Detroit’s skyline glittered against the wet pavement, glass towers reflected in rain puddles like fractured halos. Somewhere within those reflections, I saw my own face , calm, but too still. That kind of calm always came before something broke. Sophie was safe. That should have been enough. But peace bought with fear is no peace at all.I stood by the wide windows of my penthouse, my coat still damp from the rescue, the faint scent of smoke and iron lingering on my skin. Isla and Sophie were home, guarded, secure. She had fallen asleep sitting beside her daughter’s bed, hand resting over the little girl’s back as if sheer will could keep her there. I had watched them for a long time before leaving, until I was sure she would not wake screaming.Now, I watched the skyline. And thought of Nathaniel Blake. “Langston.” I did not turn. Marcus, my head of security, stood behind me. His voice was low, but stea

Alexander LangstonMy phone vibrated once, twice, then went silent. Messages from old allies, men who owed me favors not for money but for survival, blinked in the encrypted inbox. Offshore accounts frozen, shell companies under investigation, business partners shaking at the mention of Blake’s name.I had set it in motion yesterday, a quiet, surgical strike. Nathaniel would feel the tremors first in the places he considered untouchable. Let him panic. Let him waste a week wondering which thread would unravel first.Marcus leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Blake’s lawyers are calling. CFO says his funds are in audit. He’s flipping out.” I didn’t look at him. “Good. Let him. Let him feel the uncertainty. Let him bleed slowly, piece by piece.” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “You’ve done worse before. But this… this is personal.”I flexed my jaw. “Everything I do is personal.” The words were soft and controlled, but the tension in them cut like a knife. Everything that touches those

Alexander LangstonThe city moved on as if nothing had happened. Cars still honked, subways still shrieked through tunnels, and the morning paper still carried the same bland headlines that pretended to matter. But underneath that pulse, I could feel it, an unease, faint but spreading. The kind that comes when someone with power decides to stop forgiving. Isla had not said much after I told her what Marcus learned, that one of the kidnappers, bleeding out and desperate, had confessed Nathaniel Blake’s name. Her eyes had gone hollow in a way that unsettled me. She was not crying. She was breaking quietly, trying to rearrange the ruins of what she thought she had known about the man she once loved. I had seen that look before, in war zones, in boardrooms after betrayals, but it was different on her. It hurt to look at. Sophie clung to her leg for most of the day, then to me when I stopped by that evening. She had not wanted to let go. “You’ll stay, right, Daddy Alexander?” she had whi