Page 143 of The Ache That Stayed

My throat burned, but I still spoke.

“I want the evidence,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice even as it trembled underneath. “All of it. Every copy. Before I sign anything.”

That caught his attention. A flicker of something close to amusement, maybe approval, crossed his face.

“My, my,” he murmured. “You have grown up indeed. Finally learned something.”

He snapped his fingers. The burly man stepped forward, placing a small drive into his hand. He turned it once between his fingers before holding it out to me.

“Everything,” he said.

I didn’t trust him. Didn’t believe him. But I took it anyway with unsteady hands.

“Now,” he said, tapping the file on the table. “Sign.”

As he sat in the chair opposite mine, a faint shuffle echoed from above. I looked up instinctively. The walkway was now empty. The two men were gone.

My heart stuttered. Someone else was here. A dull roar filled my ears. I ignored it and picked up the pen, feeling heavier than it should have. Each page blurred as I moved through them, my name forming again and again without really registering.

Get through it. End it. Walk out. My breathing stayed shallow. Measured. Forced.

Until—I stopped. My hand froze mid-signature. The page beneath my fingers shifted into focus. The Bombay house—my childhood home. Too many memories attached to it to let go.

“No,” I said, the word leaving me before I could stop it.

His head tilted. “What?”

“I can’t give this,” I said, shaking my head slightly, my grip tightening on the paper. “This… this stays.”

His gaze sharpened. “Everything transfers.”

“Not this.” My voice wavered, but I didn’t back down. “This was my mother’s wedding gift. Dad’s last memory, the last thing that still feels like him. You don’t get that.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Just watched me. And then, his expression hardened. It wasn’t anger or frustration. Pure, clinical malice.

“And here I thought you’d learned better. Everything goes,” his voice was now stern. “I don’t think you have anything else to negotiate on.”

He paused for a beat, leaning in closer.

“However, I can always find a different kind of leverage.”

I held his gaze, my brows narrowing as unease coiled low in my stomach. Waiting. He frowned slightly, rubbing his jaw, as if he was trying to remember something.

“What was her name again…”

His eyes sharpened slightly—like he’d finally found it. He snapped his fingers.

“Kyra.”

I felt blood rush out of me, leaving me in a cold sweat. The name hit me like a gunshot. His smile grew wider.

“Pretty name,” he said. “She’ll grow into it.”

The room tilted and my vision tunnelled.

“She’s young now,” he continued lightly. “Soft. Impressionable.”

My resistance cracked. “Don’t you dare—”