CHAPTER 104: NOT HIS DAUGHTER

Eleanor’s POV

The supermall was a buzzing hive of activity. It wasn’t jam-packed, but there were people everywhere. If the place wasn’t so massive, with its high ceilings and multiple floors creating so much space, it would have felt overwhelmingly crowded.

We were tucked away in the women’s clothing section, a colorful maze of racks and displays. Roxy let out an exaggerated sigh, her arms crossed. "Why am I always dragged along on these expeditions?"

Mira, flipping through a rack of dresses with a critical eye, didn’t even look up. "Weren’t you the one who declared we’re a pack now? Pack members shop together."

"You know that’s not exactly what I meant," Roxy grumbled.

Mira finally glanced over, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Stop whining. Look on the bright side. In a place like this, there’s always a chance some freaks will cause trouble. Gives you a legitimate reason to beat someone up, right?"

A slow, genuine smile spread across Roxy’s face. "Yeah, that’s true. It’s practically unavoidable. And there will be very good reasons for beating them up."

Before I could process that unsettlingly cheerful exchange, Mira thrust a hanger into my hands. "Here. Try this on."

I held up the garment. It was a dress, I supposed... though it was so short and made of such a tiny amount of shimmering fabric that I hesitated to even call it that.

"Mira, I’m not sure..." I began, my voice meek.

She fixed me with a look. "If you want to keep enjoying the benefits of your... entertainers," she said, lowering her voice meaningfully, "and if you want to learn more wild ideas and be more free with yourself, you will follow my advice. Now go."

I knew there was no point arguing with her. Clutching the hanger, I turned and made my way toward the dressing rooms, my heart doing a nervous little flutter.

I slipped into the dressing room, entering one of the doors inside. The "gown" Mira had chosen was a slinky slip of white velvet, so short it barely covered my thighs. The fabric was shockingly soft against my skin, but it felt more like a second skin than clothing.

As I adjusted the thin straps, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me. This was a definite no. There was no way I could—

A sudden commotion broke my thoughts—a frantic rustling and the sound of the door banging open. Some people are just in a rush. I turned to examine my reflection in the long mirror, the dress clinging to my curves.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone was hammering on my door, hard and urgent. My heart jumped into my throat. "What?" I called out, my voice shaky.

I unlocked and opened the door a crack, only for a woman to shove her way inside, her eyes wide with panic. She slammed the door shut behind her.

"What the heck are you doing?" I demanded, pulling the velvet fabric tighter around me.

"Do you have your phone?" she gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants. "Please, I need your phone!"

Was this a robbery? A new kind of scam? "You can’t just barge in here and demand my phone!"

"It’s an emergency! Please, I just need to make one call, please!" Her desperation seemed genuine, a raw fear that clawed at the air. A part of me wanted to help, but caution screamed not to trust anyone. People use all sorts of tricks.

"I’m not with my phone," I told her, the lie feeling flimsy. "My friend is holding it."

The hope in her eyes died instantly, replaced by a devastating emptiness. To my horror, she dropped to her knees, hitting her forehead on the tiled floor. "I’m sorry for approaching you like this, but I really need help! You can dial the number, you can hold the phone, just please!"

The gesture was so extreme, so degrading, it shattered my last bit of resistance. Maybe there would be no harm if I held the phone myself.

I turned to where I’d left my clothes, ready to relent, but my phone wasn’t there. Oh. Right. Mira had taken it when she handed me the dress.

I turned back to the woman, a genuine ache in my chest. "I’m sorry," I said, my voice soft. "I really don’t have it with me."

She stayed on the floor, a crumpled heap of despair. Muttering another apology, I stepped carefully around her and slipped out of the dressing room, the whole encounter leaving me shaken and unsettled.

I headed back toward Mira and Roxy. But I stopped dead in my tracks.

My blood ran cold.

There, talking to my friends with a polished, charming smile, was Mr. Hans. The man who owned the gilded cage I’d escaped from. A high-ranking political figure whose public persona was a pristine mask over a monster. I noticed the hulking shapes of his personal guards lingering nearby.

Instinct screamed at me to hide immediately. I spun around to retreat to the dressing room.

"Eleanor! Where are you going? I want to see how the dress fits." Mira’s voice rang out.

Bad timing. The worst possible timing.

I forced myself to turn back and approach them, my steps feeling heavy and unnatural. "I... I just forgot something in the dressing room," I said to Mira, my voice coming out a little too high.

Mr. Hans turned his predatory smile on me. "What a delightful coincidence, seeing you all here."

My skin crawled. How? What was he doing in the women’s clothing section? Roxy, thankfully, voiced the thought. "But if I may ask, what brings a man of your high regard to a place like this?"

He chuckled. "Even a man in my position has a family. I’m here spending some quality time with my children."

The hypocrisy was staggering. This man, who had children, thought nothing of buying and selling other people’s kids. The cruelty of it was a physical ache in my chest. Mira smiled, completely taken in. "That’s so nice." If only she knew. Why haven’t i told them? That this was the monster who had sent men after me, covering up the news that they were just going after a psychiatric patient.

Before I could speak, Mr. Hans took a step closer to me, his gaze sharpening. "Did you by chance see my daughter? She wandered off. Surely you must have seen someone? Perhaps in the dressing room?"

Before I could speak, one of his guards spoke up. "Sir, we’ve found her."

I turned. The woman from the dressing room was being escorted by two other guards, her head bowed, her entire posture one of utter defeat. Mr. Hans walked over to her, his voice a sickening parody of paternal concern. "My dear, why did you leave my side? I was so worried."

She didn’t look up. "I’m sorry, Father. I won’t do it again."

Her eyes lifted, just for a second, and locked with mine. In that fleeting moment, I saw it the sheer, unadulterated terror, the silent plea. It wasn’t just a bad feeling anymore. It was a chilling certainty.

She’s not his daughter. And she is in terrible, terrible danger.