His Fathers's Ring, His Son's Touch

Arthur's Pov

I sat in the back, my gaze fixed on the blurring lights of 5th Avenue. The car had jerked to a halt, the tires screaming against the wet asphalt.

"Sir, I'm so sorry-she came out of nowhere," my driver, Marcus, stammered, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

I didn't answer him. I stepped out of the vehicle, the rain instantly soaking through my clothes. I looked down at her. She was shivering, her eyes rolling back into her head as the shock took hold. Before she lost consciousness completely, her gaze met mine for a fraction of a second-a look of terror. Then, she went limp.

"Is she dead?" Marcus asked, stepping out to stand beside me.

"No," I murmured, my voice smooth and cold as polished stone. "She's exactly what I've been looking for."

I didn't wait for the driver to help. I leaned down, my hands easily scooping her slight frame from the ground. She was ice-cold, her wet blonde hair clinging to my sleeve.

"Get the door," I commanded. "We're going home."

My townhouse on the Upper East Side was a fortress of shadow and marble. I carried the girl through the foyer, my footsteps echoing against the high ceilings.

Minutes later, She was laid out on a bed draped in grey cover. I stood at the foot of the bed, my arms crossed over my chest. I looked down at her, a slow, dark smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Fate is a curious thing, Elias," I said to my personal assistant, Elias, my voice barely a whisper. "I've spent weeks searching for her, and she walks right into my path on a rainy Tuesday."

Elias stepped forward, holding a thick Manila folder. "It took some time to verify the facial recognition from the street cams, sir. But it's her. Amara Vance."

I reached out and took the file. I flipped it open, the pages crisp under my touch. The first thing I saw was a badge photo-Amara, looking younger, her hair pulled back, wearing a medical ID.

Staff Registry: Saint Jude's Psychiatric Institute.

"The same girl," Elias confirmed. "The one who had seen the private file of the hospital. She disappeared the same night you instructed to kill her. It seems she fled Italy and is hiding in New York as a junior architect."

I scanned the notes. "An orphan. No living relatives. No close friends in the city. She's a vacuum, Elias. No one would even report her missing for weeks."

"It's the perfect time to finish it, then," Elias said, his voice dropping. "She escaped our reach at the hospital, and she knows far too much about the files she had come across. If she speaks, the entire Hale's legacy becomes a crime scene. We should kill her now, while she's already half-dead from the cold."

"Before she dies, we need to know what she knows first."

"Sir, the hospital is in fear. If the hospital is exposed–"

I interrupted, finally looking at him. My eyes were hard. "Call the institute. Tell them she has been found, and let them know I will personally oversee her 'rehabilitation' here, in my home. She won't be leaving this house until I know exactly what she saw that day."

Elias hesitated, then bowed his head. "As you wish, sir."

He turned and left the room.

I walked around the side of the bed and sat in the velvet armchair beside her. I leaned forward, my shadow stretching across her body. I reached out, my long fingers hovering just inches away from her throat before moving to brush a stray lock of blonde hair from her forehead.

"You were so clever, Amara," I whispered to the sleeping girl. "To run so far, only to end up back in my hands. Did you think New York would protect you?"

I stood up, my gaze lingering on her parted lips and the way her chest rose and fell. She looked fragile, like a bird with a broken wing, but I knew better. She was a witness. A loose thread in a tapestry of lies I had spent years weaving.

"Should I kill you?" I asked the silence. "You know too much. You should've stayed hidden and quiet, but you chose your path."