The takedown went sideways. My dad, Deputy Chief Miller, was taken hostage shielding a civilian. Then the feed went live, broadcast by the scumbag who had a knife to his throat. "You've got ten minutes," the man snarled into the camera. "Let me walk, or he's dead." My hands shook as I frantically dialed Cole’s number. He was my father’s protégé, the detective my dad had personally trained. He was also the only person I knew who could get to that warehouse in time. The phone picked up. "Cole," I choked out, my voice a raw whisper. "The address I just sent you—you have to go. Now! You're the only one who can save my dad." He cut me off with a light, condescending laugh. "Phoebe, is this another attempt to get my attention? Does this jealousy thing ever get old?" A cat meowed in the background, followed by a woman's playful, syrupy voice. "Bro, that's way too much soap!" "I just talked to your dad yesterday," Cole said, his voice softening for her, not for me. "He put in his retirement papers. What kind of danger could he possibly be in? Just be good, okay? Don't make things difficult." He hung up before I could scream. Thirty seconds left on the kidnapper's countdown. I called Cole again and again, my desperation clawing at my throat. Each call went straight to voicemail. He’d blocked me. At the same moment, an Instagram story popped up on my feed. It was from Jenna, his “best friend.” [Image: Cole and Jenna, heads close together, laughing as they lather a fluffy white cat in a sink. The lighting is warm, intimate.] Caption: My dad just has to say the word, and my bestie drops everything to come give my baby a bath. The brotherhood is real, people. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a joy I hadn't seen directed at me in months. He was glowing with a sweetness that felt like a physical blow. On the livestream, the knife dragged across my father's throat. His eyes, wide with shock, found the camera for a split second before he collapsed. My phone slipped from my numb fingers. My heart, in that precise moment, stopped beating and turned to stone. 1 The department brought my father’s body home. At the funeral, one of his oldest friends, a captain from the narcotics division, pulled me into a hug. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Phoebe. Your father cracked more major cases than anyone in the history of this precinct. He died a hero, saving a civilian. He's the pride of the department." He choked up then, his eyes filled with a pity that went beyond grief. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone in the department knew my fiancé had ignored a hostage situation involving his own mentor to stay home with his “best friend.” I stood before the polished headstone, dry-eyed, clutching the detective’s shield my father had been awarded years ago. Its sharp edges dug into my palm, the pain a welcome anchor, a reminder to stay upright. My phone buzzed. A text message. My condolences, Phoebe. I’ve been briefed on what happened. I will make sure you get justice. It was from Captain Evans, my father's successor and a man I trusted implicitly. I scrolled through my phone. Not a single call, not a single text from Cole. Steeling myself, I dialed his number. I just wanted him to be here. To say one last goodbye to the man who had treated him like a son. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. My dad had poured everything into Cole, personally mentoring him, fast-tracking his promotion to Detective. He had been a good student. He had been a good fiancé. Until Jenna came back to the States. Then came the missed dates. He wasn't there for my birthday. He wasn't there when I had the miscarriage. He wasn't there when my father was dying. And now, at his funeral, he was still gone. Hours later, after the last of the mourners had left and I was alone in the rain, his text finally came through. Phoebe, you need to be more understanding. Stop with the drama. It’s exhausting. Jenna is my friend. You have no right to be jealous of her. A second text followed. I took a couple days off to go hiking with Jenna, clear her head. The signal is bad up here. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. Those two messages shattered the last, fragile piece of hope I had for him. For us. I tilted my head back, letting the cold rain wash over my face, mixing with the tears I could no longer hold back. The sting was sharp, real. Then, with a decisiveness that felt foreign and terrifying, I blocked Cole’s number, his social media, every possible avenue of contact. Don't worry, I thought. I'll never bother you again. Back at the apartment, I locked myself in my room and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. He answered immediately. He didn't speak, but I could hear the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. I took a shaky breath. "It's Phoebe Miller." His voice was a low baritone, steady and reassuring. "I know. I'm here." "I want to inherit my father's badge number," I said, the words coming out in a rush. "I want to finish what he started. I need you to approve my request to go undercover." Silence. I could picture Captain Evans on the other end, his brow furrowed with concern. "That crew works for the Kael Syndicate," he said finally. "Your father, a deputy chief, couldn't get out alive. I can't let you walk into that kind of danger. Besides..." "I already passed the internal evaluation," I cut in, my voice sharp with urgency. "I'm the top candidate for this operation. You know my mother died when I was young; my dad raised me by himself. He's all I had. I can't let the men who did this to him walk free. I won't." A heavy sigh came through the line. "Does Cole know about this?" "No," I said, the word like ice. "And he doesn't need to." "Alright," he conceded. "Send me the report. I'll make the arrangements. The operation begins in two days. That gives you time to get your personal affairs in order." He paused for a beat. "Come back safe, Phoebe. For your dad. And for... for the people who truly care about you." "I will." After hanging up, I started packing. I decided to sell everything I owned, including all the gifts Cole had ever given me. While clearing my desk, I found a framed photo of us. We were at the beach, the sun bright in our eyes. He was hugging me from behind, his chin resting on the top of my head. We looked so happy. The sight of it was nauseating. I pulled the photo from its frame, tore it precisely down the middle, and dropped his smiling face into the trash. Just then, I heard a key in the lock. The front door swung open and Cole walked in, his arm around Jenna. She was practically draped over him, her chest pressed intimately against his bicep. Her eyes immediately landed on the baby grand piano in the corner—my father’s piano. Her face lit up. "Bro, there it is!" she squealed. "I played it last time I was here, remember? The acoustics are amazing, and it looks so good in photos! You promised you'd give it to me. No take-backs!" Cole’s smile faltered when he saw me standing in the middle of the living room. "Phoebe. You're here. Good," he said, forcing a casual tone. "Jenna loves this piano. I'm going to have it moved to her place. You haven't played in years, anyway. It's just collecting dust." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My father had spent his entire savings on that piano for me. And he was just... giving it away? Without even asking? "What did you just say? That was a gift from my father. It's mine. Don't you dare touch it." Jenna let out a little "oops," her eyes darting to the trash can. She leaned over, delicately plucked the torn half of the photo between two fingers, and dangled it in front of Cole. "Looks like we really pissed off the dragon lady, bro," she said with a smirk. "She's already tearing up pictures of you. We better get this piano out of here before she takes a sledgehammer to it." Cole's face darkened. "Phoebe, have you had enough? First, you lie about your dad being in trouble, and now this? How childish can you be?" He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. "This piano is leaving today, whether you like it or not. It's not like you can play it anymore with that useless hand of yours." The words struck me like a slap. "You forgot how my hand got this way, Cole?" I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. "I took a knife for you. The tendons were severed. Do you not remember that?" Jenna clicked her tongue, putting on a show of magnanimity. "Come on, Phoebe, that's not fair. My bro remembers your sacrifice, he appreciates it. But he's right, you can't use the piano now. And what's his is mine. It's only natural that he'd give it to me. We've known each other forever. We don't keep secrets, or possessions, from each other." Cole looked at Jenna with sickening fondness. "Exactly. It's just a piano. My best friend wants it. Can't you just be generous for once? Instead of tearing up photos and throwing a tantrum?" I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. "My father is dead, Cole!" I screamed. "You think this is a tantrum? He was held hostage by armed criminals, and you were closer than anyone. The entire department knows you were the only one who could have saved him! And what were you doing?" I pointed a shaking finger at Jenna, who was smirking triumphantly. "You were washing her cat!" "He adored you! He was your mentor! Why didn't you save him? You didn't even show up for his funeral!" "That's enough!" Cole roared, his voice cracking like a whip. "Are you still keeping up this act? Constantly talking about your dad being dead, cursing your own father... I never knew you were this twisted." Jenna’s tone was pure innocence, but her eyes danced with malice. "You're still holding a grudge over that? All he did was wash my cat. It wasn't a big deal. We're best friends, Phoebe. We don't have all those complicated rules you seem to live by." She ran a possessive hand over the piano's glossy lid. "I really do love it, Cole." He grinned, a flash of the old charm, and gave her a quick, playful slap on the ass. "Of course. We're ride or die. I'd pull the moon down from the sky for you." His gaze shifted back to me, his expression turning to ice. "The piano is moving today. And from this moment on, you are not to touch it." He pulled out his phone and started dialing a moving company, right in front of me. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy wooden jewelry box—and hurled it at them. It caught Jenna on the side of the head. Cole exploded. He lunged forward and slapped me, hard, across the face. The force of the blow sent me stumbling back into the piano bench. I put my hand out to catch myself, and a sickening crack echoed from my injured wrist. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up my arm. Tears welled in my eyes. For a second, Cole froze, a flicker of shock on his face. He reached out to help me up. I recoiled as if he were toxic. "Don't touch me," I spat. "You're filthy." He snatched his hand back, his face a mask of fury. "Fine. Have it your way. You care so much about this thing? I'll have it chopped up for firewood." Jenna dabbed at a tiny scratch on her forehead, her expression aggrieved but her voice triumphant. "Look, Phoebe, you've drawn blood. You can't just assault me and get away with it. How about this? As compensation, you give me the piano, and I'll convince my bro not to press charges." "Get out," I seethed. "Both of you, get out!" A surge of adrenaline drowned out the pain. I grabbed the piano bench and heaved it toward them. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. Jenna shrieked and hid behind Cole. I stood in front of the piano, my eyes blazing. "Anyone who touches this piano," I snarled, "will have to go through me." "You've lost your damn mind, Phoebe!" Cole was livid. He shoved me aside with brutal force. I crumpled to the floor. He loomed over me, his eyes filled with pure disgust. "Look at you. This pathetic, crazy act. No wonder your own father couldn't stand you. If he really is dead, you probably drove him to it. You deserve this." He still had the audacity to mention my father. With every ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and slapped him across the face. The impact sent a shockwave through my already broken wrist. "Shut up!" I screamed. "You don't have the right to even say his name!" His head snapped to the side. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Jenna gasped dramatically. "Phoebe, how could you hit him? I would never even dream of hurting a single hair on his head!" Just then, the doorbell rang. The movers had arrived. Cole’s face was tight with suppressed rage. "That's the one," he said, pointing at the piano. "Take it." "No!" The movers hesitated, looking from my desperate face to Cole's furious one. "Sir, the lady doesn't seem to agree..." Cole scoffed and pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet. "Triple the rate," he snapped. "You don't have to listen to a crazy person." Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Gentlemen, please don't mind her. She's my friend's girlfriend. She's got... you know..." She tapped her temple with a single finger, a universally understood gesture for she's not well. "Right," the lead mover said, casting a pitiful glance my way before nodding to his crew. "Let's get to work." "No! You can't!" I tried to block their path, but Cole grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. His grip was like steel, but his voice was a mockery of gentleness. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Your doctor said this piano is a trigger for you. We're just moving it for your own good." They lifted my father's piano and carried it out the door. I watched it disappear down the hallway until it was gone. Cole released me. His eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. I was numb, hollowed out by despair. I looked at him, my own eyes burning. "Cole," I whispered, the words tearing from my raw throat. "We're done." He didn't even turn around as he slung his arm around Jenna's shoulders. "Fine with me," he called back. "Don't come crying to me when you regret it."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394373", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel