The Mad Heiress's Dangerous Mercenary Lover

The door to the East Wing guest room clicked open.

Abram Oliver walked in, looking like he hadn't slept in a decade. His tie was loosened, his hair a mess. He stared at his daughter, sitting in the wheelchair by the window, her eyes blank and empty.

His face crumpled. He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, his hands hovering near her pale, thin cheeks. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, afraid she might shatter.

"I'm sorry, Cilla," he whispered, his voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry. I should have gotten you out of there years ago. I was a coward."

Cilla tilted her head. A line of drool escaped the corner of her mouth. She let out a low, guttural moan.

But inside, the gears were turning. Cold. Precise.

You are a coward. You didn't even notice that the East Wing corridor has three blind spots in the security cameras. Anyone could walk right up to this door and put a bullet in my head.

Abram froze. The tear hanging on his eyelash didn't fall. He stared at his daughter, his mouth slightly open. He looked around the room. They were completely alone.

The shift change has a four-minute gap, the voice in his head continued, sharp and irritated. And that oak tree branch outside the balcony? It's a perfect entry point for a climber. Amateur hour.

Abram's lungs forgot how to work. He stared into Cilla's dull, lifeless eyes, searching for some sign of the sharp intelligence he had just heard. There was nothing.

"Cilla?" he breathed, leaning in closer. "Is that... is that you?"

Cilla violently jerked back in the wheelchair. She let out a piercing shriek, clawing at her head, curling into a tight ball.

Shut up, you idiot, she thought furiously. Do you want the guards outside to know I'm not a vegetable?

Abram jerked back as if he had been slapped. But the shock quickly melted into something else. A wild, desperate hope exploded in his chest.

She wasn't crazy. She wasn't brain-dead. His little girl was in there, and she was smarter than all of them combined.

He took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to slow. He was a businessman. He had to play the hand he was dealt.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Abram said out loud, his voice cracking with fake emotion. He reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Daddy's here. Daddy will protect you."

This spineless old man actually has some liquid assets, Cilla mused in her head, still rocking back and forth. If I can manipulate him into cutting down that tree, my odds of survival go up by thirty percent.

Abram stood up. His shoulders squared. A fierce, protective energy seemed to radiate from him. He turned and marched to the door, yanking it open.

"You!" he shouted at the security chief standing in the hall. "Get a crew out here right now!"

The chief blinked, startled. "Mr. Oliver?"

"That oak tree outside the balcony," Abram roared, pointing a finger at the window. "Cut it down. Now. It's blocking the light. And I want panoramic cameras installed in the hallway... I mean, in the corners. Immediately."

"Sir, that tree is over a hundred years old. Mr. Horace loves-"

"I don't give a damn if George Washington planted it!" Abram bellowed, his face red. "If my daughter gets hurt because of your incompetence, I will take this entire family down with me! Do it!"

Inside the room, Cilla stopped rocking. She raised an eyebrow, a tiny flicker of surprise crossing her face before she smoothed it away.

Huh. The pushover actually grew a pair of teeth.

Out in the hallway, Abram heard that thought. A fierce grin threatened to break through his worried mask. He stood taller, feeling, for the first time in years, like a father.

He gave one last look back into the room, his eyes meeting Cilla's. For a split second, the mask slipped, and she saw the steel beneath his usual.

He turned and strode down the hall, his footsteps heavy and purposeful.

Cilla sat alone in the room, frowning at the closed door.

What's gotten into him? she wondered. Why is he suddenly acting like he has a spine?

Down the hall, Abram cracked his knuckles, a fire burning in his gut. He didn't know how he could hear her, and he didn't care. He was the only one who could. He was the only one who could save her.