Chapter 6 - The Woman in the Recording
The next morning, every major network received an encrypted package.
It contained financial records, photographs, transaction histories, and audio recordings.
Within hours, the city exploded.
Politicians denied everything.
Executives resigned.
Two judges requested legal counsel.
A senior police official disappeared from public view.
And the name Black Meridian became the headline everywhere.
Dorian's name appeared beside it.
My name appeared too.
The public wanted to know who I was.
The wife.
The pregnant woman.
The person standing beside the man accused of running an empire.
My attorney told me not to speak.
Dorian told me the same.
I ignored both.
I stood in front of the cameras and said:
“My husband is not innocent of every mistake he's ever made. But I will not let men who have threatened my family rewrite the truth.”
That statement spread across the country.
For the first time, people saw me as more than Dorian Cross's wife.
They saw me as Alina.
The trial became national news.
But the biggest shock came two days later.
A live video appeared online.
My mother.
Alive.
She looked directly into the camera.
“I know my daughter will think I abandoned her.”
I could barely breathe.
She explained that she had been placed in protective custody after discovering Black Meridian.
She had remained hidden because investigators believed any attempt to contact me would put me in danger.
She had trusted Dorian to protect me.
“I know he made mistakes.”
Her voice trembled.
“But I also know what he sacrificed.”
I cried so hard that Mara had to hold my hand.
My mother continued.
“Dorian was supposed to testify six years ago.”
I looked at him.
He was staring at the screen.
“He refused only because the prosecutor at the time was compromised.”
A document appeared.
The prosecutor had been receiving payments.
Dorian had secretly gathered evidence instead.
My mother's final words were:
“Please tell my daughter that I am sorry.”
The video ended.
Dorian sat beside me.
I leaned into him.
“I thought she was dead.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
He closed his eyes.
“Because if I told you and they found out she was alive, they'd use her against you.”
I touched his cheek.
“You always choose silence.”
“I thought silence was protection.”
“It isn't.”
He opened his eyes.
“No.”
“Sometimes people need truth even when it's frightening.”
“Yes.”
He kissed my forehead.
“I am learning.”
Then the phone rang.
Dorian answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
“Where?”
He stood.
“Stay with Alina.”
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
He looked toward me.
“Marcel has escaped custody.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“Someone inside the prison helped him.”
“What does he want?”
Dorian stared at me.
He didn't need to answer.
I already knew.
That night, we moved to a federal safe house.
The baby kicked for the first time.
I placed Dorian's hand against my stomach.
He froze.
“Did you feel that?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
Another small movement.
He laughed softly.
“I didn't know they could do that this early.”
“Neither did I.”
He kept his hand there.
“Hello.”
I smiled.
“Are you talking to the baby?”
“Yes.”
“What are you saying?”
He looked embarrassed.
“I'm introducing myself.”
I laughed.
The moment was interrupted by an explosion outside.
The entire building shook.
Dorian immediately covered me with his body.
Federal agents rushed into the hallway.
“Move!”
Smoke filled the corridor.
We were evacuated through an underground passage.
As we reached the exit, a gunshot hit the wall inches from Dorian's head.
He pulled me behind a concrete barrier.
“Stay down.”
I heard screaming.
Then another gunshot.
Dorian looked toward the street.
He saw a black car.
Marcel stood beside it.
He wasn't shooting.
He was watching.
Then he smiled.
A second vehicle pulled away.
Someone was inside.
My blood ran cold.
“Mara.”
I looked around.
My sister was gone.
I screamed her name.
Dorian's face changed.
Marcel had never wanted me.
He had never wanted the baby.
May you like
He had wanted the one person who could break me without touching me.
My sister.
