Page 24 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
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I didn’t recognize the name, but I recognized the words underneath it. The same phrases my father always used when he talked about“trimming the fat”and“keeping payouts low.”
And there—at the bottom—was my name.My signature.
It was shaky, uncertain, but mine.
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t remember signing that one, but it didn’t matter. There were more pages behind it, each one stamped and dated, my signature neatly lined up at the bottom like proof of complicity.
I’d helped ruin someone. Maybe more than one.
When Vincent came back, I asked him what it was. Tried to sound calm.He smiled.“You’re learning, Holly. That’s all.”
When I said I didn’t want to be part of it, his smile changed.
“Don’t be dramatic,” he said. “You’re already part of it.”
But for the first time I stuck up for myself, and for the first time Vincent hit me. That was the moment I knew I wasn’t getting free. He didn’t need to lock me in a cellar. He’d already built the walls around me on paper.
I went cold all over, the kind of cold that starts in your bones and doesn’t leave.
That night, I started planning. Pretended I was okay, but then I heard them talking. Vincent was taking me away so I panicked and ran. Ashamed it had taken me too many years.
The second knock made my legs move. The woman standing there looked like she’d stepped out of one of those glossy lifestyle magazines my mother used to read.
Tall. Polished. A coat the color of champagne, not a speck of snow on her heels. Hair glossy and perfect, makeup subtle in the kind of way that took hours to look effortless.
“Hi,” she said, smiling wide enough to show perfect white teeth. Her smile didn’t waver, but her eyes—cool, sharp blue—moved past me, scanning the hallway like she already owned it. “Is Blake here?”
“No, he’s at work,” I said, instantly wishing I hadn’t.
She laughed, low and knowing. “Of course he is. Always working.” Then she sighed, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I should have known I’d miss him. I was supposed to be home last night, but my flight got in late.”
“Your… flight?”
“From New York,” she said smoothly. “Business trip. I tried calling, but I must’ve mixed up the number.” Her hand brushed her hair back, flashing a diamond so bright it caught the winter light and sent it splintering across the porch.
I couldn’t look away from it.
“I’m Amanda,” she added. “Blake’s fiancée.” The words hit like ice water.
I swallowed hard. “Oh.” My voice came out small, strange. “I— I didn’t know.”
“Well, it’s not exactly public yet,” she said, laughing again. “We were waiting to make it official after the holidays.” She looked down, feigning a bashful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wanted to surprise him this morning, but I forgot my key. Typical me.”
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My fingers curled against the edge of the door just to keep from shaking.
She looked me up and down then—my messy braid, my kitten sweater, the flour still dusted on my sleeves from baking earlier—and her expression softened, but not kindly. “You must be the new help he mentioned getting,” she said, voice sweet as honey and twice as fake.
“I—yes,” I stammered. “Just…house stuff. Baking.”
“Of course.” Her smile sharpened, just enough to draw blood. “Blake wouldn’t let me get my hands dirty.”
The words stung before I even understood why.
“I’ll just wait for him inside,” she said breezily, starting forward, and I automatically stepped backward. I could see myreflection in her sunglasses as she slipped them off, still small, still pale, ridiculous. A Little girl playing dress-up in a world that didn’t have room for her.
