"Elena!!"
Elena froze halfway through the window, one foot already inside the house.
She sighed.
"Yes, Father…" she replied calmly, as if she hadn't just been sneaking in like a criminal.
Edward Charles stood in the hallway, arms crossed, robe hanging off one shoulder, silver hair a mess. His dark eyes—those soft, worried eyes—narrowed at her.
"Where the hell have you been? And why are you sneaking into the house at one a.m.?"
"I'm twenty-four, old man," she fired back, brushing dust off her jacket. "I'm past the strict-parent routine. And why are you awake at 1 a.m.? Did you forget your meds again?"
"You know very well how anxious I get when you're not home."
Elena exhaled and walked toward him.
This man—Edward—who she now called father (and sometimes old man) had pulled her out of the foster system when no one else wanted the angry, grieving girl she used to be.
He'd raised her. Loved her. Saved her. He was the closest thing she had to a soft spot.
"You need to stop worrying," she said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "I can handle myself."
Edward snorted.
"I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about the other people you could potentially harm."
Elena chuckled.
Fair.
After her parents died, she had spiraled. Anger issues, fights, chaos. She was practically the poster child for court-ordered therapy.
"I haven't harmed anyone since high school," she said proudly. "You know that. I changed. You tortured me with enough therapy sessions to fix ten teenagers."
"Haven't harmed anyone, huh?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "Then why is Greg cleaning up your mess as we speak in the abandoned warehouse downtown?"
Elena's eyes widened.
"I told you to stop having me followed."
"You're sloppy if you didn't notice," he said sharply. "Which is exactly why this revenge fantasy you're clinging to is a terrible idea."
Her expression darkened instantly.
For ten years she had shelved her revenge plan because he wanted her to "live a normal life."
School, self-defense training, college—she did all of it for him.
But now? She was done waiting.
"For years I put my plan aside because I wanted to be a good daughter to you," she said quietly. "No more."
"Your parents are dead, my girl," Edward said softly. "Let them go before you hurt yourself chasing what you think is vengeance."
"I'm not you, old man."
Her voice sharpened.
"Just because you can't avenge your daughter doesn't mean I can't avenge my parents."
The air shifted.
Edward's face fell, pain flickering across it. His daughter had died ten years ago… the same year Elena's parents were murdered.
That wound never healed.
Elena felt her chest tighten with guilt.
He was the one person on earth she truly cared about.
"I need this, Dad," she whispered, eyes burning. "I haven't slept well in ten years. Not a single night. I need this."
For a moment, he simply looked at her, the hardness in his face melting into something weary and tender. Then he pulled her into his arms.
He smelled like warm cologne and expensive cigars, the scent of home she never admitted she loved.
He held her close, strong and steady, before pulling back to cup her face.
"I worry because I want you to have a good life," he said quietly. "And if this revenge is what's keeping you from touching even a glimpse of happiness… then fine. Do what you must."
Her lips parted in surprise.
He tapped her chin lightly.
"But. Promise me that after it's done, you'll try to live. Even a remotely normal life. Maybe even a husband. A child."
Elena snorted.
"Don't dream too far, Dad. You'll give yourself whiplash."
Edward actually laughed—a warm, broken, fatherly sound she treasured more than she'd ever say.
Elena hesitated before speaking again.
"Have you ever heard of the Armstrongs?"
His face went blank.
"What?"
"The men who killed my parents weren't masterminds. Just hitmen. And I always knew the case didn't die naturally—someone smothered the investigation, bribed detectives, shut every door, and declared it cold."
Her jaw tightened.
"Well… tonight the hitman confirmed they were hired by an Armstrong."
Edward went unnervingly still.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"A man doesn't lie," she said, "when his daughter's life is at stake."
Edward rubbed a hand over his face.
"The Armstrongs run half the countries in this world," he said finally. "They are powerful, untouchable, and they have influence everywhere. Courts. Police. Government."
He looked at her with genuine fear in his eyes.
"You will stay clear of them, my girl. They are not child's play."
Elena's smile was slow, cold, deadly.
"Good," she whispered.
"I'm not a child."
Edward's jaw tightened, deep worry clouding his features as he stepped back and rested both hands on her shoulders.
"Elena… listen to me carefully. You cannot go after the Armstrongs."
"I already am." Her voice was quiet and steady.
He shook his head, frustration bleeding into fear. "They are not street thugs. They are not even the type of criminals you've dealt with before. They own senators, military men, entire police departments, the black market. If they covered up your parents' case—and they did—it's because they can erase anyone. Anyone, Elena. Even you."
"I'm not afraid of them."
"Well, I am!" Edward snapped, louder than he intended. His voice cracked at the end, and that alone made Elena flinch. "I already buried one child. I refuse—do you hear me? Refuse—to lose another."
Elena's eyes softened for a second, but the resolve behind them didn't fade. "Dad… I can't live the rest of my life pretending I wasn't robbed. They murdered my parents and walked away without a scratch. And everyone who should have protected me turned a blind eye."
"That's how the world works!" he barked. "And you charging at the Armstrong family is like throwing yourself into a volcano because the fire feels unfair."
"You think I don't know that?" she shot back. "I spent ten years swallowing that injustice while you forced me to pretend everything was fine. Therapy, school, jobs—like routine was supposed to magically erase what happened. But I remember every detail of that day. And I'm done ignoring it."
Edward ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "You are going to get yourself killed. If not by them, then by the people who protect them. They don't leave loose ends."
"And I'm not a loose end," Elena said coldly. "I'm a nightmare they created."
"Elena—"
"No." She stepped back from him. "You want me to be safe, I get it. But safe is not living. Safe is not sleeping. Safe is not breathing while knowing the monsters who destroyed my life sit on thrones built on blood."
Her voice cracked. "I won't die without making them pay. I'd rather die fighting than live pretending."
Edward froze, pain rippling across his face.
"You stubborn, impossible girl… You're going to break my heart."
"Already did." Elena whispered.
Silence settled between them.
Edward swallowed hard. "If you walk out that door… I won't be able to protect you."
"You've protected me for ten years. I can protect myself now."
"Elena—please."
"If I stay, I'll become a version of myself you won't recognize. And you'll hate me for it."
"I'd rather hate you than bury you," he said, voice trembling.
She paused at the doorway… just long enough for him to hope.
Then she walked out.
Leaving Edward standing alone in the dim light, one hand clutching the doorframe, the other pressed over the old wound of a father losing a child—
for the second time.