Signed in Blood: The Price of Secrets

pt~8 Aloof

Henry's POV

"Have you spoken to Lilith about it?" I asked my father, who was sipping from his coffee mug while watching the news. Meanwhile, I was gathering my files, preparing to leave for court.

"Everything is under control, Henry. Don't worry. Things must unfold in due course—have patience," he replied, glancing at me briefly before returning his attention to the television.

"She called me yesterday. She sounded incredibly stressed and uncertain."

At that, my father muted the television, set his coffee mug down, and turned towards me. "Does she know?"

"He told her everything," I said, my concern evident. "Now, he's pressuring her to go through with the case—just as you predicted."

A knowing smile played on his lips. "It's good to see how you gathered her background information through Ronan. You're proving to be more mature than I expected."

"I understand the progress, but I'm worried about her," I admitted, furrowing my brows. "She has no idea about the deeper layers of this case. Don't you think our plan might be too ruthless for her? She's worked hard to build a stable life. If this blows up, it could shatter her career—"

My father cut me off, placing a firm hand on my shoulder as I packed my files. "She cannot spend the rest of her life mourning her past misfortunes. She is responsible enough to make her own decisions, but her emotions are clouding her judgment."

He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes momentarily before continuing. "There are always people below you and above you. You may become more powerful, wealthier, more resourceful—but no one can ever escape this system. It's an unspoken law."

I stood in silence, letting his words sink in, swallowing the bitter truth. "I'm thinking of sending Lilith some help. Otherwise, this plan will backfire. Instead of taking a major role in the case, she might end up destroying Ronan's entire life and reputation."

My father chuckled before nodding. "Alright. I'll send him."

I narrowed my eyes. "Dad, listen to me. If, in the process of saving Ronan, our family becomes collateral damage, Lilith should not have to pay the price. Because if she does—she might just burn down the lives of those who ruined ours."

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my coat and stepped out of the house, leaving my father with his thoughts.

The office buzzed with the familiar sounds of keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and muffled conversations about promotions and bonuses. But for Lilith, the noise barely registered.

She had spoken to her father about the case. That's when she learned something unexpected—Mr. Cross had once been his friend. They had lost contact after her father was forced into retirement following that very case. Soon after, their family relocated to New Zealand.

Lilith had barely slept the night before, her mind tangled in an endless loop of worries. She understood the risks—if she involved herself in this tangled mess, she might be able to turn the case in Ronan's favor. But the cost? Potentially losing her contract with Illumination, her reputation, and any future opportunities for her company.

Surprisingly, she had ended up confiding in Adrian the previous night, since Caleb and Noah were out on a trip.

"Don't stress so much, Lilith. Ronan has a way of pushing people to do his bidding. This is about his sister—he's desperate. I just hope he realizes what this is doing to you," Adrian had said, attempting to reassure her.

But now, sitting at her desk, those words replayed in her mind like a warning. What did he mean by 'he hopes'? Did Adrian himself not trust Ronan? Was he unsure of his own friend?

It was Friday night. The office had mostly emptied out. Lilith sat at her desk, trying—really trying—to concentrate. But all she could see in her mind were fragments of the past.

Her childhood room—cold, empty, and silent.

She shivered. The memories she had buried so deeply clawed their way back to the surface.

Her mother had been a police officer, just like her father. But unlike him, she was an encounter specialist. That meant a significant part of Lilith's childhood had been spent in hospitals, sitting by her mother's bedside while she recovered from bullet wounds—abdomen, leg, shoulder. Scars left as tokens of gratitude from the criminals she had taken down.

A decade later, when her mother earned a higher rank and began working alongside her father, Lilith had dared to hope. Maybe now they could live like a normal family. No more seeing her parents bleed. No more nights spent alone with just her elder brother while her parents fought battles beyond her understanding.

But life had other plans.

When she was barely a teenager, her world crumbled. Her mother was killed in a shootout. The attacker? Unknown. The consequences? Permanent.

They had moved away soon after. Her brother left for law school, and her father—drowned in grief—became a shadow of the man he once was. Lilith, ever the dutiful daughter, never told him about her panic attacks, her OCD, or the rage that had nowhere to go and instead turned inward, morphing into depression.

Those years still haunted her. The only person who had ever truly understood her was a boy her age—the son of her father's closest friend.

With him, she had never needed to explain herself. He had understood her before she even understood herself.

"Everything is perfect. The stars aligned for us to meet and help each other out." His words still echoed in her mind, his raspy voice a distant comfort. He had always seemed older than his years, as if burdened by knowledge too heavy for a boy his age.

But time had pulled them apart. Lilith had thrown herself into her career, the only thing that kept her demons at bay. Their friendship had faded. The last tangible memory she had of him was the tattoo he had convinced her to get—three simple words inked onto her skin:

You never walk alone.

Lilith's POV

The office was nearly empty now. Only a few stray employees remained, working late. I shut off my computer, rolling my stiff shoulders. Today had been a mess. Caleb had botched a critical draft, leading to hours of damage control and endless apologies to a VIP applicant.

Or maybe, I was just irritable because of Ronan. His texts had been relentless, sending me unofficial case details, pressuring me to act.

Just as I cracked my knuckles, ready to leave, I heard movement behind me.

Instinct took over.

I grabbed my pen and swung my arm back, aiming for the intruder's throat.

A sharp gasp. A scuffle.

The pen didn't meet its intended target—instead, it buried itself into someone's thigh.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" a familiar voice shouted.

I froze. My breath hitched.

"You!?" I gasped, eyes widening in disbelief.