Page 42 of Santa Daddy
Let them come.
Let them try to take what’s mine.
Because whatever prices had to be paid, whatever war this started, one thing had become clear in the space between Christmas trees and peaches and snow:
I wasn’t letting her go.
Even if it killed us both.
9
BEAUTIFUL PRISONER
DANI
Iwoke up to empty sheets and a silence that sat heavier than Konstantin’s body ever had.
Thin winter light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the bedroom into a glass box. It should’ve been beautiful—the city dusted in snow, Christmas lights blinking weakly in the pale morning—but all I saw was a spotlight on my captivity.
First things first: phone.
If I could call anyone, if I could text anyone, if I could prove I still existed outside this penthouse, maybe this would stop feeling like a really long, really vivid hallucination.
Nightstand. Drawer—locked.
Other side. Nothing.
Dresser. Nothing.
Under the bed, because why not completely degrade myself before breakfast. Dust and a single, mocking sock.
By the time I spotted my phone plugged discreetly into an outlet by the wall, my heart was already climbing my throat.
I snatched it up. Screen lit. Blank home screen.
My stomach dropped.
Factory reset.
No contacts. No photos. No apps. Location services off. It looked like a brand-new device fresh from the box, except the case was mine and the sticker on the back still said “Property of Dani’s Anxiety.”
“Bastard,” I muttered.
The word tasted like betrayal and stale peppermint.
I remembered the 911 call. The operator’s voice. His hand on my throat. His calm “wrong number” as he ended my last good idea with one tap.
And then this. Not enough to just block the exit. He had to rip up the map, too.
Fury hit me harder than fear this time.
Good. Fury I could work with.
I stalked out of the bedroom, bare feet slapping against cold marble, the too-fancy pajama pants Natasha had left me whispering around my ankles. The Christmas tree in the living room blinked its precise rhythm—on, off, on, off—like it was laughing.
Front door.
I grabbed the handle and yanked.
