Chapter 7 The Dark Past

• The atmosphere became still.
• The man by the entrance, his hand unwavering as he pointed the gun at Alexander, had a face I hadn’t encountered in years—but one I could never erase from memory. His gaze blazed with the same anger I recalled from my youth, the same resentment I had previously suffered.
• “Thomas Salmon,” Alexander stated, his voice steady, showing no sign of apprehension. His cool blue eyes remained steady as he reclined in his chair, an image of unsettling tranquility.
• My breath became stuck in my throat. My dad was there, alive and furious, his anger clear. The most recent time I encountered him, I vowed to myself that I would never be around him again. Still, he stood before me, a ghost from my history, gripping a weapon as if it were the sole thing supporting him.
• “Release her,” my father hissed, his tone deep and poisonous.
• Alexander's lips curved into a slight smile, one that failed to reach his eyes. “I don’t follow commands, especially from someone who can’t settle his obligations.”
• My father's jaw tightened. "I erred," he remarked, his eyes darting to me for just an instant before shifting back to Alexander. “However, I will resolve it.” “She is not yours.”
• A bitter laugh escaped me, unbidden. I wasn’t sure where it came from—anger, fear, or the sheer absurdity of the situation. “She doesn’t belong to you, either,” I said, my voice trembling but defiant.
• Both men turned their attention to me, the weight of their gazes suffocating. My father’s eyes softened, a calculated display of remorse. “Dysis,” he said, his voice dripping with feigned regret. “I came to get you out of here.”
• “Like you got me out of every other nightmare you created?” I shot back, my anger finally breaking through my fear.
• His expression wavered briefly, but then his façade of composure returned instantly. "You fail to comprehend—"
• “I completely understand,” I interjected. "You betrayed me to protect yourself." "You've been selling parts of me throughout my whole life."
• The words lingered in the atmosphere, weighty and unrefined.
• “Enough,” Alexander asserted, his tone slicing through the tension like a knife. He stood up from his seat, his imposing stature dominating the space. “If you want to talk, put down the gun.” If you're here to battle, then proceed. "However, don't squander my time with this feeble effort at atonement."
• My father paused, his hold on the gun growing firmer. For a brief instant, I believed he could genuinely squeeze the trigger. However, gradually, he brought the weapon down.
• "I arrived to strike a bargain," he stated, his tone softer now, verging on urgent.
• Alexander lifted an eyebrow. "A transaction?"
• “You let her go,” my father said, his gaze shifting between us. “And I’ll give you something better.”
• “Better?” Alexander repeated, his tone laced with disdain. “You’re already out of things to offer, Salmon.”
• My father moved nearer, and for the first time, I observed the shake in his hands. “There’s a thing you aren’t aware of,” he stated, his gaze fixed on Alexander’s. “An aspect of your family.”
• The atmosphere in the room changed. Even Alexander, as poised as he was, appeared briefly unsettled.
• "What are you referring to?" Alexander insisted, his tone deep and menacing.
• My father paused, looking at me as though I shouldn’t know what he was about to mention. "Not in this place," he whispered. "Don't do it in her presence."
• Alexander's jaw clenched, yet he gestured to his troops. "Bring him to the study," he commanded, his tone icy.
• Two of Alexander’s guards advanced, seizing my father by the arms. He did not fight back, yet his eyes remained fixed on me while he was pulled out of the room. "I'll take care of this, Dysis," he shouted back. “I give my word.”
• The doors shut behind him, leaving me once again alone with Alexander.
• "What was that regarding?" I inquired, my tone cutting.
• Alexander remained silent. Instead, he approached the window, his stance rigid. For the first time, he appeared less like a man in command and more like someone struggling to maintain composure.
• “Alexander?” I pressed, stepping closer.
• He turned to look at me, and the expression in his eyes froze me in my place. It wasn't irritation or frustration—it was something more profound, something genuine and exposed.
• “You think you’re the only one with ghosts, Dysis?” he said quietly, his voice almost bitter. "You believe you’re the only one with specters, Dysis?" he spoke softly, his tone nearly resentful. "Do you believe you're the only person who has felt betrayed by those meant to keep you safe?"
• I was paralyzed, the impact of his words settling in. For an instant, I glimpsed beyond the icy, heartless surface to a deeper vulnerability. However, just as swiftly as it emerged, the mask returned to its position.
• "You will remain in this house," he went on, his tone becoming more severe. "And you will adhere to my guidelines." "Anything your father said to you earlier is irrelevant at this point."
• I wanted to protest, to resist, but the way he gazed at me caused me to hesitate. There was anguish in his gaze, anguish that reflected my own.
• Nevertheless, I couldn’t permit myself to feel sympathy for him. He continued to be my captor, still the one who governed my life, determining the pace of my days, the air I inhaled, and the boundaries of my liberty. Compassion would only cloud the boundaries I needed to maintain—the boundaries between us, between liberty and imprisonment, between endurance and giving up.
• “I will stay,” I finally declared, my tone soft but resolute. "Yet, do not think for a second that I am here by my own free will."
• His icy-blue gaze remained on me, observing, evaluating, as if he were uncovering my defenses one layer at a time. For a brief instant, I believed I noticed something glimmer within them—maybe regret or comprehension—but it disappeared almost as fast as it emerged.
• His lips shaped a faint, joyless grin. "You will comprehend, Dysis." In some manner, you will acquire understanding. "I can assure you of that."
• His voice gave me a chill down my back. Was it a menace? A caution? Or perhaps something completely different? I was unable to discern, and that doubt made me feel more exposed than I wanted to acknowledge. He turned abruptly and made his way to the door, his footsteps resonating in the lavish dining room, each one emphasizing his steadfast dominance.
• The massive oak door shut gently behind him with a quiet thump, leaving me solitary in the expansive area. The following silence was suffocating, stifling even, as if the room itself was pausing, anticipating my breakdown.
• I stayed in my seat, my hands clenching the table's edge as if it could hold me steady. My eyes wandered to the place where my father had been seated before, his complexion ashen and tight, his gaze flickering anxiously while Alexander loomed over him. A surge of resentment swirled in my heart. My father—my real kin—had traded me like a possession, a pawn in his frantic attempt to survive.
• However, while I remained in that spot, gazing at the vacant chair, a haunting realization enveloped me.
• Regardless of the deal my father had made, regardless of any secret he possessed concerning Alexander—it wasn't just about money. It wasn't possible. Alexander Levi didn’t seem to be a person who acted only based on financial obligations. Wealth represented influence, indeed, but for someone like him, influence reached far beyond just that.
• My father had proposed something different, something more sinister, something much more perilous than money could ever be.
• A shiver ran through me as the idea took hold. Whatever this "something" was, it had caught me in a web I didn’t fully grasp—a web that reached past my father’s shortcomings and into Alexander’s realm of darkness and hidden truths.
• I needed to find out.
• I couldn’t bear to stay in ignorance, powerless and uneducated. For whatever this was, it exceeded me, surpassed my father's selfishness, and, I dreaded, eclipsed Alexander's empty assurances.