𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑰𝒄𝒆 | 𝒈𝒙𝒈

𝑴𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

"Great Jeff, keep me posted, thank you" I said with a polite yet firm tone as we shook hands.

"My pleasure" the grey haired man replied, giving me a polite smile before we parted ways.

Jeff was our private investigator, and I recently had to hire his services. After everything that went down with Emily's father, the non-stopping nasty texts and subtle yet obvious threats he made I decided it was better to keep an eye on the man.

Isaac Lockhart, 53, CFO of a small investment bank and recently appointed member of the board. His daily routine was simple, coffee in the mornings at a cafe nearby his office, work until 6:30, drive home, dinner. The man usually ate out, rarely ordered in, never cooked.

The important part was he was doing all of this in Chicago, far away from Emily, and I'd like to keep it that way. Jeff managed to hack into his phone and computer, so we will know in case he plans a surprise visit to his beloved daughter.

The things I did weren't...legal, but lucky for me the law didn't apply to the rich. Even if dear Isaac found out, which he won't, but even if he will, the police will sabotage the evidence if given the right cheque.

Jeff showed me pictures of him and I realized it's the first time I actually see what he looks like. Salt and pepper hair, gelled back with precision. Sharp jaw and cold features, he didn't look like a man who'd ever be described as 'best daddy ever'. He was usually dressed casually, a polo shirt and jeans for work, a simple t-shirt for dinner, both controversial for a man in his position but that just meant he's actually good at his job.

His car, however, was anything but casual, dark grey Mercedes-Benz AMG. He knew his cars, and he loved the attention, fitting for a narcissist.

The man didn't even look related to Emily, if I had to guess I'd say her mother cheated on him with the mailman. But he was her biological father, unfortunately, hence the complicated consequences. His hair was originally black, hers was golden. His features were hard and sharp, hers soft and round. He had a glint of evil in his eyes, it was evident in the pictures even, Em was all sunshine and rainbows and good.

I hated the man—No, scratch that—I despised him. over the past few days Em told me more about him, about what he did to her, the things he said, how he made her feel unsafe in her own home when he almost hit her. He belittled her for his amusement and I wanted to kill him for it. She says it still affects her, the things he said, and that some days she's still struggling to realize that she's not the ungrateful piece of shit he once told her she was.

Every story she told me helped me understand her better, all the contradictions that lived in a majestic harmony inside her body.

Emily was always interesting to me, even from the first day we met. She seemed innocent at first, shy and polite, the poster-girl of a wallflower. But if you looked deeper, behind the outer layer, there was something intriguing.

I first caught a glimpse of it when we were studying at the cafe for our math exam. There was a little girl who befriended Emily, one of many kids that befriended Em that week. She came in with her dad who got her a cupcake, sat her down in the table next to us, and left.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty, the man still didn't come back for his daughter. Emily, being the perfect girl that she is, played with the five year old until her dad did come back, an hour later that is.

When he came back, even god couldn't help him. He was twice her size and twice her age, but she made him seem like a helpless child. The fire in her eyes burned strong enough to burn the world and turn everything that came in her way into ashes, and it lit something in my chest that hasn't dimmed since.