Chapter 1 - The Blood in the Glass
Alexander’s heart did not beat; it slammed against his ribs like a trapped beast.
"Pull over, Frank," he rasped, his voice barely recognizable.
"Sir? We're in the middle of fifth—"
"I said, pull over now!" Alexander roared, the absolute authority that had built Bennett Enterprises into a global empire cracking to reveal a desperate, terrified father.
The heavy armored SUV veered sharply to the curb, horns blaring in protest behind them. Before the vehicle had even fully stopped, Alexander threw the door open. The biting winter wind of Manhattan hit him like a physical blow, but he didn't feel it. His eyes were locked on the sidewalk.
On the freezing concrete, the young girl flinched at the screech of tires. She began to pull her thin jacket tighter around her shoulders, instinctively preparing to run. The street had taught her that attention from men in expensive suits rarely brought anything but trouble.
"Wait!" Alexander called out, his polished leather shoes striking the slush-covered pavement.
Thomas scrambled out of the SUV right behind him. "Dad, it's her! Look at her hand!"
Alexander stopped dead in his tracks. The girl was clutching a frayed, faded pink satin ribbon. It wasn't just any ribbon. It was the exact shade of blush pink Catherine had chosen for the nursery before she died—or, as Alexander was beginning to realize with sickening certainty, before she was taken.
The girl looked up. When her eyes met Alexander’s, a jolt of pure electricity ran down his spine. It was like looking at a ghost. The same piercing green-gold eyes of his late wife, Catherine. The same high cheekbones. The same stubborn, defiant set of her jaw.
"Who are you?" Alexander whispered, dropping to his knees in the dirty snow, completely uncaring of his five-thousand-dollar suit. "Where did you get that ribbon?"
The girl shrank back against the cold stone of the building. Her hands shook, but her gaze was fierce. "Get away from me. I don't want your money."
"I don't care about the money," Alexander said, his voice trembling. "What is your name?"
"Clara," she spat out, her voice raw from the cold. "And I don't know you."
"Clara..." The name hit Alexander like a physical blow. Catherine had wanted to name their second child Clara if it was a girl. But Richard, his father, had told him the baby had died in the womb during Catherine’s "breakdown."
Suddenly, a shadow fell over them.
Two men in dark, unmarked tactical jackets stepped out of a black sedan that had been idling across the street. They didn't look like muggers. They moved with the synchronized precision of trained mercenaries.
"Step away from the girl, Mr. Bennett," one of the men said, his hand resting casually inside his jacket, right over his holster. "This doesn't concern you."
Alexander stood up, his height and commanding presence instantly shifting into defensive mode. He shielded Thomas and Clara behind him. "You know my name. Who sent you?"
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"Your father sends his regards," the man replied with a chilling smile. "He said it's time to clean up the family estate. Walk away, Alexander. For your own sake."
At that moment, Clara screamed as the second man lunged forward to grab her.
