Chapter 2 — The Mistress Who Counted Every Strike
Chapter 2 — The Mistress Who Counted Every Strike
Victoria had always believed numbers could protect her.
Numbers in bank accounts.
Numbers on contracts.
Numbers on watches.
Numbers on champagne bottles.
And, that night, numbers on a sheet of paper in her hand.
Two hundred.
That was how many times Nathan had ordered the men to strike me.
Victoria counted every one.
Not because she cared.
Because Nathan had asked her to make sure the number was exact.
Now she sat alone in an interrogation room, staring at the same number written across a page.
200.
She had stopped smiling hours ago.
The first thing the investigators had done was separate us.
Nathan was taken downstairs.
Victoria was brought into a private conference room.
I was placed in another wing of the mansion while doctors examined me.
My father stayed nearby.
He didn't leave.
Not once.
But I knew Victoria was being questioned.
I knew because every few minutes, another document appeared on my father's phone.
He read each one.
His expression became darker.
Finally, he looked at me.
“She wants immunity.”
I laughed softly.
“Of course she does.”
“She says she has evidence.”
“She does.”
“She wants protection.”
I looked toward the window.
“She should have thought about that before she counted.”
My father said nothing.
I knew he understood.
I wasn't ready to forgive Victoria.
Maybe I never would.
But I wanted to know why.
Why would a woman watch another woman being beaten and correct the number of strikes?
What had Nathan promised her?
And what had he threatened her with?
Two hours later, an investigator entered.
“Mrs. Ashford.”
I looked up.
“My name is Mara.”
He nodded.
“Ms. Ashford.”
“What?”
“Victoria has agreed to speak.”
I looked at my father.
He said nothing.
“Bring her.”
Victoria entered ten minutes later.
She looked nothing like the woman I had seen earlier.
Her gold dress was stained.
Her makeup had run.
Her hair was disheveled.
She looked exhausted.
She sat opposite me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered:
“I am sorry.”
I stared at her.
“Don't.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
“You don't get to say that.”
“I know.”
“You watched him hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“You corrected his count.”
“Yes.”
“You smiled.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
My voice hardened.
“Why?”
Victoria looked down at her hands.
“Because I was terrified.”
I almost laughed.
“You looked happy.”
“I was pretending.”
“Why?”
“Because Nathan was watching me.”
Silence.
She continued.
“If I looked sympathetic, he would have known.”
“Known what?”
“That I was afraid of him.”
I leaned back.
“Tell me everything.”
Victoria swallowed.
“Nathan contacted me two years ago.”
“I know.”
“He told me his marriage was over.”
“He told me the same thing about you.”
She nodded.
“I believed him.”
“What did he want?”
“Information.”
“About me?”
“About your family.”
My father looked up.
Victoria noticed him.
“He was especially interested in your father.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“That's a lie.”
She shook her head.
“I swear.”
“Then what did you know?”
“That your father had enemies.”
“Who?”
“I never knew names.”
My father stepped closer.
“What did Nathan tell you about my wife?”
Victoria looked at him.
“Your wife?”
“My daughter’s mother.”
Victoria hesitated.
“He said she knew too much.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear.”
She looked at me.
“He said your mother had left something behind.”
My father's face changed.
“What?”
Victoria shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“What did she leave?”
“I don't know.”
My father stared at her.
“Then why was Nathan looking for it?”
Victoria whispered:
“Because someone was paying him.”
Silence.
I leaned forward.
“Who?”
“I never saw the man.”
“Name?”
“No.”
“Description?”
She hesitated.
“Older.”
“How old?”
“Maybe sixty.”
“Hair?”
“Gray.”
“Anything else?”
“He had a scar.”
“Where?”
“Across his left hand.”
My father went completely still.
I noticed.
“Dad?”
He didn't answer.
Victoria looked between us.
“You know him.”
My father finally spoke.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“My wife's brother.”
The room became silent.
Victoria's face went pale.
“He's alive?”
My father nodded.
“He was supposed to be dead.”
Victoria started shaking.
“I didn't know.”
My father stepped toward her.
“Where did you meet him?”
“I never met him directly.”
“Then how?”
“Through Nathan.”
“Where?”
“Private clubs.”
“Which ones?”
“I don't remember.”
“You do.”
Victoria looked at me.
“He used an intermediary.”
“Who?”
“A lawyer.”
“What lawyer?”
She whispered:
“Thomas Reed.”
My father swore under his breath.
I recognized the name.
Thomas Reed had been our family's attorney for nine years.
He had prepared our marriage contract.
Handled the family trust.
Managed several of Nathan's companies.
I looked at my father.
“Could he be involved?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
My father didn't answer.
That scared me more than anything else.
Victoria continued.
“Nathan wasn't acting alone.”
“How many people?”
“I don't know.”
“Five?”
“More.”
“Ten?”
“Yes.”
“Twenty?”
She nodded.
“Maybe.”
“What were they trying to do?”
Victoria looked at me.
“Take everything.”
I already knew that.
“Everything what?”
“Your family.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Your money.”
“That's obvious.”
“Your companies.”
“Yes.”
“Your property.”
“Yes.”
“Your inheritance.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“And your identity.”
I froze.
“My identity?”
“Nathan had documents prepared.”
“What documents?”
“Documents claiming you were mentally unstable.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“To make you disappear legally.”
My father closed his eyes.
Victoria continued.
“If the court declared you incompetent, Nathan would become your legal guardian.”
I felt sick.
“And then?”
“He would control everything.”
I stood.
My legs were shaking.
“But why kill me?”
Victoria looked down.
“Because you found out.”
“Found out what?”
“That the money was already gone.”
“What money?”
“The family trust.”
I looked at my father.
He stared at Victoria.
“How much?”
She whispered:
“Nearly four hundred million dollars.”
Silence.
I felt my heart pounding.
“Where did it go?”
“Offshore.”
“Whose accounts?”
“Nathan's.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Not directly.”
“Then whose?”
She looked at me.
“Your mother's.”
My father went pale.
“That is impossible.”
Victoria nodded.
“I know.”
“But I saw the statements.”
“Where?”
“In Nathan's office.”
“Show me.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because he destroyed them.”
My father stepped forward.
“Did he?”
Victoria hesitated.
Then:
“No.”
I stared.
“Where are they?”
She looked toward the door.
“Safe.”
The investigator returned.
“What happened?”
Victoria looked at him.
“I have a storage unit.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
“What's inside?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“Everything.”
My father looked at me.
I knew what he was thinking.
This wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
The storage unit was opened at three in the morning.
Inside were twenty-seven boxes.
Financial statements.
Contracts.
Photographs.
Passports.
Encrypted drives.
And dozens of envelopes.
I opened the first.
It contained copies of Nathan's bank transfers.
The second contained company registrations.
The third contained photographs.
Nathan.
Victoria.
Thomas Reed.
And another man.
I stared.
The photograph had been taken outside a private club.
Nathan stood beside the older man Victoria had described.
Gray hair.
Scar across his left hand.
My father's brother.
My mother's brother.
The man I had never known existed.
I turned the photograph over.
There were four words written on the back.
He owns Nathan.
My blood ran cold.
We searched the boxes until sunrise.
Then I found something else.
A ledger.
Handwritten.
Names.
Amounts.
Dates.
Every payment Nathan had made.
Every payment he had received.
At the bottom of the final page was a single line:
Mara Ashford — final transfer pending.
I stared.
“What does this mean?”
My father took the ledger.
His hands trembled.
“This isn't a transfer.”
“What is it?”
He looked at me.
“It's a price.”
“For what?”
He turned the page.
There was another entry.
Death — $10,000,000.
My stomach turned.
“Ten million?”
My father nodded.
“Someone paid ten million dollars to kill me.”
Victoria covered her mouth.
I looked at her.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You didn't know?”
“I knew Nathan was planning something.”
“What?”
She began crying.
“I knew he wanted you gone.”
“How?”
“He told me.”
“And you still stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She stared at me.
“Because he had my brother.”
I froze.
“What?”
“My younger brother.”
She wiped her tears.
“Nathan has him.”
The room went silent.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“He calls me.”
“When?”
“Every few weeks.”
“Why?”
“To remind me.”
“Remind you of what?”
“That if I betray him, my brother dies.”
My anger faltered.
For the first time, I saw the truth.
Victoria wasn't innocent.
But she wasn't free either.
Nathan had built his power by controlling people through fear.
He had found everyone's weakness.
And then he had used it.
Victoria looked at me.
“I don't expect forgiveness.”
“You shouldn't.”
“I know.”
“But I'll help you.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the ledger.
“Because I counted every strike.”
Her voice broke.
“And I realized something.”
“What?”
“The number wasn't two hundred.”
I frowned.
“What?”
She pointed to the ledger.
“The first page.”
I looked.
There were numbers beside every event.
One.
Two.
Three.
Not strikes.
People.
Victims.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
I flipped through the pages.
There were hundreds.
Men.
Women.
Employees.
Lawyers.
Investigators.
People who had crossed Nathan.
People who had disappeared.
People who had died.
My father stared at the ledger.
“This is a hit list.”
Victoria nodded.
“Nathan wasn't just stealing money.”
I turned another page.
My name was there.
So was my father's.
Then Emma's.
My heart stopped.
I looked at Victoria.
“Why is my daughter on this list?”
Victoria went completely pale.
“I didn't know.”
“Why is her name there?”
She shook her head.
“I swear I didn't know.”
I looked at the entry.
Emma Ashford — contingency.
Beside it was a date.
Tomorrow.
My blood ran cold.
“Tomorrow?”
Victoria nodded.
“What does contingency mean?”
She didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
She whispered:
“If Mara survives…”
She looked at me.
“…Emma becomes the next target.”
I grabbed my phone.
Called my mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I called the security team.
No answer.
Then my father's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed instantly.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Mara.”
“What?”
“Your mother is missing.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“When?”
“Thirty minutes ago.”
“Where's Emma?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad.”
His voice cracked.
“We don't know.”
I felt the world disappear beneath my feet.
Nathan was in custody.
Victoria was cooperating.
The money was exposed.
The evidence was everywhere.
And yet—
someone had moved before us.
I looked at the ledger again.
The final page had one sentence.
I hadn't noticed it before.
It was written in red ink.
Two hundred strikes were never meant to kill Mara.
Below it:
They were meant to make her believe she had survived.
I stared at the words.
My father took the ledger from my hands.
His face had gone completely white.
“What does it mean?” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“I think your mother knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Nathan wasn't trying to kill you last night.”
“Then what was he doing?”
My father looked toward the door.
“He was trying to frighten you into revealing where you hid the evidence.”
I froze.
“The evidence?”
He nodded.
“The evidence inside your sapphire.”
I touched the pendant.
Victoria stared at it.
“What evidence?”
I looked at her.
“The evidence Nathan doesn't know exists.”
“What is it?”
I swallowed.
“My mother's final recording.”
Everyone went silent.
My father stared at me.
“You listened to it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was waiting.”
“For what?”
I looked at the dark sky outside.
“For the right moment.”
Then I pressed my fingers around the sapphire.
The tiny device was still recording.
Still listening.
Still holding the truth.
And suddenly—
I realized Nathan had made one final mistake.
He had believed the woman he tortured would spend the night crying.
He had believed the mistress who counted every strike would remain silent.
He had believed fear would keep everyone obedient.
But fear had done the opposite.
It had finally made us speak.
And somewhere in that mansion—
someone was still listening.
Someone who had been waiting for us to find the truth.
Someone who knew exactly where my mother was.
And if the final message inside my sapphire revealed what I suspected—
May you like
Nathan Ashford was not the mastermind.
He was only the man standing closest to the fire.
