She stood, her legs shaky, and grabbed her jacket. The penthouse was quiet, Xander's door still closed after their tense talk. She wanted to wake him, show him the photo, beg for help, but Julian's voice stopped her. Don't trust Xander. The papers she'd hidden, linking her dad to a shady land deal with the Whitmores, made her doubt everyone. Her dad's lies had cost her mom, their life, everything. She wouldn't let them cost Sofia too. She had to get to her sister, now.
Elena slipped on her sneakers, moving fast but quiet. The clock said 2 a.m. too late to call a cab without raising flags. She'd take one of Xander's cars. He'd mentioned a garage downstairs, keys in a box by the elevator. She'd driven her family's fancy cars as a teenager, back when Marcus thought money grew on trees. She could handle it.
In the living room, the city lights glowed through the windows, casting eerie shadows. She froze, remembering the intruder from earlier, the figure who'd slipped into the elevator. Her skin prickled, but she pushed forward, finding the key box. A fob for a sleek black car blinked at her. She grabbed it, her hands trembling, and headed for the elevator.
The ride down was endless, her mind racing. Sofia was at their dad's apartment, a rundown place across town, nothing like the mansions they'd grown up in. Elena pictured her sister's smile, her dreams of art school, the way she'd hugged her at the wedding. That marriage to Xander, a man whose cold eyes hid too much was supposed to save Sofia, give her a future. Instead, it had pulled them into something dark, something tied to the papers Julian had given her.
The garage was a maze of shiny cars, each one worth more than her old life. She found the black one, slid inside, and started it. The engine purred, smooth and powerful, like the cars her dad used to show off. She pulled out, the city streets quiet, her heart loud. Every shadow felt like a threat, every car behind her a tail. The texts, the photo, the intruder, they all screamed that someone was close, watching her every move.
Her phone buzzed as she drove. She glanced at it, expecting another threat, but it was a voicemail from Sofia, timestamped an hour ago. Relief hit her, then fear, she hadn't heard it come in. She played it, speaker on, her hands tight on the wheel.
"Elena, it's me," Sofia's voice said, sleepy but cheerful. "Sorry I missed your calls. I'm fine, just crashed after the wedding. Dad's acting weird, though. He was on the phone all night, whispering. Anyway, call me tomorrow, okay? Love you."
Elena's throat tightened. Sofia was okay for now. But Marcus whispering? That was bad. He'd always done that when he was hiding something, like when he'd sold their mom's jewelry to pay debts. The voicemail ended, and Elena sped up, the city blurring past. She had to see Sofia, hold her, make sure nobody could touch her.
The apartment building was a step up from a slum, its faded brick a far cry from their old gated estate. Elena parked, her hands sweaty, and ran to the buzzer. No answer. She tried again, then pulled out her key Marcus had given her one years ago, back when he still pretended to be a dad. The lobby smelled like old carpet, and the elevator creaked, but she barely noticed. Her mind was on Sofia, on the photo, on the truth she was chasing.
At the apartment door, she knocked, then used her key when nobody answered. The place was dark, cluttered with boxes from their old life, remnants of wealth Marcus couldn't let go. "Sofia?" she called, her voice low. No answer. She moved to Sofia's room, her heart in her throat. The door was open, the bed empty, sheets tossed like someone had left in a hurry.
Elena's knees went weak. She checked the room, the closet, the bathroom—nothing. Sofia was gone. Her phone, her bag, even her sketchbook, all missing. Panic clawed at her chest. She ran to Marcus's room, banging on the door. "Dad! Where's Sofia?"
The door opened, and Marcus stood there, bleary-eyed, in a wrinkled shirt. "Elena? What are you doing here?" His voice was shaky, his eyes darting past her.
"Where's Sofia?" she demanded, pushing past him. His room was a mess with papers scattered, a whiskey bottle half-empty. It looked like their old house the night they'd packed to leave, when her mom had cried and Marcus had promised it would be okay.
"She's… at a friend's," he said, too fast. "She left after the wedding. Said she needed space."
"You're lying!" Elena grabbed his shirt, her voice breaking. "Someone's threatening her, Dad. They sent me a photo of her sleeping, right here. What did you do?"
His face went white, and he stepped back, hands up. "I don't know anything about that," he stammered. "You're upset, Elena. You need to calm down."
"Calm down?" She laughed, bitter and raw. "You dragged me into this marriage, into this mess, and now Sofia's gone. Tell me what's going on, or I'll go to the police with the papers I found."
His eyes widened. "Papers? What papers?"
She froze. He didn't know about the envelope, about Julian's proof. But his fear told her he was hiding something else. "You tell me," she said, bluffing. "What's the land deal? Why's your name on it?"
Marcus sank onto the bed, his face crumpling. "You don't understand," he whispered. "It's bigger than you think. Just… stop asking questions. For Sofia's sake."
Elena's blood ran cold. He was scared, not just guilty. She wanted to shake him, scream until he talked, but a noise stopped her, a loud knock at the apartment door. Her heart jumped. Was it Sofia? Or someone worse?
She ran to the door, Marcus hissing, "Don't!" behind her. She ignored him, peering through the peephole. A man stood there, tall, in a dark coat, his face half-hidden by a hat. He knocked again, harder, and her stomach dropped. He didn't look like a friend dropping by at 3 a.m.
She backed away, grabbing her phone, ready to call for help. But before she could, Marcus grabbed her arm, his grip tight. "Don't open it," he whispered, his eyes wild. "They know you're here."
Elena's heart stopped. The knock came again, and then a voice, low and chilling: "Open the door, Elena. We need to talk."