The paper trembled in Khloe’s hand. Three simple words—He’s not done—had the power to freeze her blood.

Across from her, Matthew Grayson stood perfectly still, the edges of his composure cracking for the first time since she had met him. The warmth that had filled their home just hours ago—Jacob’s laughter echoing through the halls, the quiet peace of their new beginning—seemed to vanish under the weight of those words.

“Matthew,” Khloe whispered, her voice barely steady. “Who’s not done?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he took the letter from her hand and set it on the table. The paper lay between them like a ghost from another life.

“It’s him,” Matthew said finally, his tone low, controlled—but his eyes betrayed something deeper. Fear.

Khloe frowned. “Victor?”

Matthew shook his head. “No. Someone far worse.”

Hours passed before he spoke again. The house had gone silent; Jacob was asleep upstairs, unaware of the storm rising beneath him. Matthew sat in his study, the letter open on the desk, the firelight flickering across his face. Khloe stood by the doorway, watching him struggle against memories she didn’t yet understand.

“You once told me you grew up in Detroit,” she said quietly. “That you’d lost someone. Is this about that?”

Matthew exhaled sharply, the sound almost a laugh—but there was no humor in it. “You could say that. But what I lost back then… wasn’t just someone. It was everything I was.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out an old photograph, its edges worn and yellowed. A young boy stood beside a teenage girl in front of a crumbling house. They were barefoot, smiling despite the dirt on their faces.

“That’s me,” he said softly. “And her name was Lydia. She was my sister.”

Khloe’s breath caught. “You never mentioned—”

“I couldn’t.” His voice broke for the first time. “She disappeared when I was twelve. We thought she’d run away, but I knew better. There was a man—someone who ran a shelter for kids in the neighborhood. He said he wanted to help, but…” He paused, the next words trembling. “He took her. And by the time anyone believed me, she was gone.”

Khloe felt a chill run through her. “And you think… this letter is from him?”

Matthew’s gaze lifted, sharp and haunted. “No. He died years ago. But his son didn’t.”

The name Julian Cross hadn’t passed Matthew’s lips in nearly a decade. Yet the sound of it still burned. He had met Julian years ago during a business acquisition—a polished, charming executive with cold eyes that reminded Matthew too much of his father. At first, they had been partners. Then rivals. Then enemies.

When Matthew began funding shelters and child rehabilitation centers across the country, Julian launched a competing foundation—one that, as Matthew later discovered, wasn’t saving children at all, but selling them.

Julian had vanished before Matthew could expose him. And now, after years of silence, his message had arrived. He’s not done.

Khloe stared at him, horrified. “You think he’s coming for you?”

Matthew nodded slowly. “For me… or for what I love.”

Her throat tightened. “You mean Jacob.”

“And you.”

By morning, the mansion no longer felt safe. Security was doubled, every entrance locked, every camera checked. Mrs. Whitmore tried to keep Jacob calm, insisting it was just “grown-up business,” but Khloe could see the worry in her eyes.

Matthew hadn’t slept. He stood by the window overlooking the bay, the same look on his face he’d worn the night he brought them here—determined, controlled, but quietly breaking.

“I thought we were done with the past,” Khloe said softly, stepping beside him.

He didn’t turn. “The past is never done with people like me.”

Khloe hesitated. “What if we left? You, me, Jacob—we could disappear. Start somewhere new.”

Matthew’s jaw tightened. “If I run, he’ll follow. He doesn’t want my money, Khloe. He wants revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“For destroying his father’s legacy,” Matthew said, his voice grim. “And for taking something he believes belonged to him.”

“What could that possibly be?”

He looked at her finally, and in his eyes she saw something that made her heart stop.

“You,” he said.

The next few days unfolded like a fever dream. Khloe barely left Jacob’s side, while Matthew worked behind closed doors, calling in private investigators, tracing unmarked accounts, chasing ghosts through encrypted files.

But every time he thought he was close, another message arrived—slipped beneath a door, tucked under a windshield, delivered by hands that vanished into crowds.

“You took what wasn’t yours.”
“One of them will pay.”
“I never forget a debt.”

Each note was written in the same jagged hand.

By the fourth night, Khloe couldn’t stand the silence anymore. She found Matthew in the study again, staring at the fire.

“This isn’t just about you, is it?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer. “Tell me the truth, Matthew. All of it.”

He looked up, the weight of years in his eyes. “When Lydia disappeared, I wasn’t just a helpless kid. I went after him—the man who took her. I found things… things that would’ve destroyed him. I gave that evidence to the police. It got him arrested. But it also destroyed his son’s life. Julian swore he’d make me feel what he felt—loss, fear, guilt. I thought he’d moved on. I was wrong.”

Khloe’s pulse raced. “Then he’s been watching you all this time.”

“Not me,” Matthew said, his voice barely a whisper. “Us.”

That night, a storm rolled over the city, lightning cutting through the dark like cracks in the sky. Khloe woke to the sound of thunder—and something else.

A noise downstairs.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Jacob. The halls were dim, the storm’s glow flickering through the windows. As she reached the staircase, she froze. The front door was open, rain sweeping across the marble floor.

“Matthew?” she whispered.

No answer.

Then she saw it—on the entry table, next to the vase of white roses Matthew had given her weeks ago, another envelope.

Her fingers shook as she opened it. Inside was a photograph—Jacob, asleep in his bed, taken from outside the window.

And beneath it, a single line scrawled in ink:

“If you want to keep them safe, come alone.”

Khloe’s knees nearly buckled. She looked up to find Matthew standing in the doorway, rain dripping from his hair, his face pale as the lightning behind him.

He didn’t need to ask what was written. He already knew.

The storm outside roared, but the one between them was silent—terrifying in its stillness.

Khloe whispered, “What does he want?”

Matthew’s voice broke. “He wants to finish what his father started.”

“Then what do we do?”

He took a step closer, his expression torn between rage and despair.

“We end this,” he said. “Once and for all.”

Khloe shook her head, tears spilling down her face. “You mean—?”

“I mean I’m done hiding.”

He reached for her hand, his grip trembling but firm. “Whatever happens next, I need you to trust me.”

Khloe’s heart pounded as thunder cracked above them. “I trust you,” she whispered.

Outside, headlights cut through the rain, stopping at the gate.

A shadow stepped out.

The past had found them.