Chapter 3

After Emma left, I sat glued to the television.

I waited an entire day and night.

Emma never appeared on screen. The news broadcast didn't mention Cece at all.

Panicking, I dialed Emma's number, but the line went straight to voicemail.

A terrible chill crept up my spine.

Then my phone buzzed again with another video from the unknown number.

This time, the person in the video was Emma.

She was on her knees in an empty warehouse, her clothes ripped and her face swollen.

Sobbing hysterically, she slapped herself across the face over and over.

"I'm sorry! I'll never meddle in your business again! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

My hands began to shake violently.

The phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a loud crack. I clutched my head and let out an agonizing scream.

It was my fault. I couldn't save my daughter, and now I had dragged an innocent young woman into this nightmare.

I texted the number back, begging them not to hurt Emma.

The reply came swiftly:

*Keep your mouth shut, and she walks. Keep quiet, and your brat suffers less.*

My fingernails dug into my palms until they bled.

Sterling's power reached far beyond anything I could fathom.

Desperate, I looked up at the folded national flag resting on the mantelpiece—the one David had been buried under.

Gritting my teeth, I bit open the tip of my finger and wrote a formal petition in my own blood.

I had begged. I had gone to the police. Neither worked.

My daughter was running out of time.

The city courthouse was my absolute last hope.

I knelt on the cold marble steps outside the courthouse, holding my bloody petition above my head. Passersby stared at me with pity or disgust, whispering among themselves.

I didn't care. I would crawl through fire if it meant saving my daughter.

Half an hour later, a middle-aged man in a dark jacket hurried over and lifted me up.

When I saw his face, fresh tears sprang to my eyes.

It was Frank Vance—my late husband's old squadmate from the military.

"Frank!" I choked out, clutching his sleeve. "Can you help me save Cece?"

He nodded vaguely. "Come into my office first."

He led me inside and poured me a cup of hot herbal tea, urging me warmly to drink it.

Having worked for years as a licensed herbal pharmacist, the moment the steam hit my nose, I caught the faint, bitter scent of lethal aconite extract.

The tea was poisoned.

"Is this how you honor the oath you took?" I slammed the cup onto his desk, glaring at him. "Is this how you honor David?"

Frank froze. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but he quickly hardened his expression.

"Nora... you've crossed a line Mr. Sterling won't tolerate. He wants you silenced. Even if you dodge this cup, you won't survive his next move."

"Take my advice. Drop this if you want to live. Sterling is someone neither of us can afford to cross."

I laughed bitterly.

Someone we can't afford to cross?

He kidnapped my daughter to rip out her heart, and now he was sending my husband's old friend to murder me.

He truly thought he was God.

Summoning the last of my strength, I walked out of Frank's office.

I took a cab straight to the national military cemetery and collapsed before David's headstone.

From beneath my coat, I pulled out two velvet cases holding his Medals of Honor.

This was his legacy.

He had earned the first by taking thirty-three shrapnel wounds during a border conflict, refusing to abandon his post until reinforcements arrived.

He earned the second when an unexploded ordnance went off during a clearing mission, and he threw his body over a grenade to shield his team.

Tears streamed down my face.

"David... you died for this country, but it didn't mean anything."

"Our baby girl is being butchered, and not a single soul in this city will lift a finger to help us!"

"If I could turn back time, I wouldn't let you be a hero."

"I just wanted an ordinary man. A loving husband, a father for our daughter. If you were here, they would never dare treat her like this!"

I hugged his cold headstone, sobbing until I couldn't breathe.

Then, looking toward the sprawling military base across the valley, a desperate thought sparked in my mind.

Clutching the two medals, I looked at David's picture.

"David, I know you hated using your service to ask for favors. But I have no choice."

"I can't keep your honors safe anymore. I'm trading them to buy our daughter's life."

In the black-and-white photo, David seemed to offer a faint, encouraging smile.

I wiped my face, drew a ragged breath, and limped toward the base.

It was only a short distance, but with my shattered leg, it took me ten agonizing minutes to reach the gate.

Standing before the armed sentry post, I held out the two gold medals with trembling hands.

"Sir... please," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Could you ask your commanding officer..."

"If I give you these two Medals of Honor, will the military help save my daughter?"