Page 71 of Shattered By Grace

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, sharp and humorless. And how did Cassian find out?

That question clawed at her the most. Because Cassian had found out. And the moment he did, her father was as good as dead.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. Was it a mistake? A leak? Did someone sell him out?

She sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes still locked on the contract.

It didn’t matter how careful he had been. It didn’t matter how much evidence he had collected.

Cassian won.

Her father was dead.

And if she wasn’t careful, she’d be next.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Still in disbelief, Victoria stared blankly at the contract, the words blurring together no matter how many times she read them. Her father’s signature felt like a betrayal, even though she knew deep down he had no choice. Of course he signed it. He had to. But it didn’t take the sting away.

With a deep breath, she reached for her phone, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped on Detective Adams' name, her thumb hovering over it. Maybe he had answers, maybe he could fill in the blanks. But the thought of involving him right now made her chest tighten. She wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not yet.

She kept scrolling, and her breath hitched when Tristan’s name appeared.

Her jaw clenched. For a split second, she wanted to call him. Wanted to hear his voice, feel like someone was in this with her. But the weight of the notebook, the contract, the bloodstained truth of his last name crushed that impulse just as quickly as it came.

He doesn’t even know who I really am.

Frustration flared hot in her chest, and she scrolled back up landing on Taylor’s name. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

Victoria

Bitch, stop whatever you’re doing and get over to my apartment. I have some stuff I need my best friend and wine to get through.

She hit send and dropped the phone onto the table, rubbing a hand over her face.

If anyone could help her survive this, it was Taylor.

Victoria pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. Clawdia, who had been lounging without a care, protested in the most disrespectful fashion—letting out an exaggeratedmrrpbefore jumping down, flicking her tail in irritation. Without so much as a backward glance, she trotted off toward Victoria’s room, as if to say ‘Deal with your drama quietly, human’.

Victoria huffed.Even my damn cat is over this.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the punching bag.

Grabbing her gloves, she slipped them on, tightening the straps with sharp, practiced tugs. Every movement felt mechanical, like muscle memory taking over where her mind refused to settle.

As she flexed her fingers, a ping from her phone stopped her mid-motion.

She glanced down, and despite everything, despite the weight pressing against her ribs, her lips twitched into a small, relieved smile.

Taylor

I got the wine. I'll be there in twenty.

Victoria exhaled, tension she hadn’t realized she was holding loosening just slightly. She had made the right choice texting Taylor first. No judgment, no complications, just her best friend and a bottle of wine.

She tapped a quick thumbs-up emoji in response before setting the phone aside.

Rolling her shoulders, she turned to the bag and threw the first punch, her knuckles landing solidly against the vinyl. The impact vibrated up her arm, grounding her. She hit it again, harder this time, letting the burn settle into her muscles.

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