Nathan's glare cut through Amy like a blade. "If you dare touch Victoria," he spat, his voice venomous, "you're finished. Just wait until Alexander deals with you!"

Amy finally met his gaze, her lips curling with faint amusement. "Nathan," she said, her tone dripping with sincerity, "have you evolved from being just a pathetic simp? Or are you aiming for the title of full-time lapdog now?"

Nathan's face flushed scarlet with rage.

He jabbed a finger at her, his voice rising. "Alexander! Dominic! Did you hear that? She called me a lapdog! And before that—she said I was a simp!"

Dominic cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Nathan, maybe it's best to let Alexander handle this."

"No!" Nathan snapped, his voice sharp. "I'm not leaving until Alexander gives me an explanation!"

Amy shrugged, unfazed. "Suit yourself. I have better things to do." She moved to step past them, rubbing her sore wrist.

Alexander's expression darkened as he caught her arm again—this time, his grip was firm but not bruising. Still, Amy couldn't pull free.

Nathan opened his mouth to protest, but one icy look from Alexander silenced him. Victoria, sensing the tension, stayed quiet.

Alexander shoved Amy into an empty room, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Amy, is this your new strategy? Playing hard to get?"

Amy frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His lips twisted into a mocking smirk. "Last time, you faked a kidnapping just to get my attention. Pathetic. When did you sink so low?"

Her heart plummeted. The words hit like a physical blow, each syllable twisting deeper into her chest.

She clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms. The sharp pain was a welcome distraction from the suffocating ache spreading through her.

Low? The accusation echoed in her mind. Is that what he really thinks of me?

The last time she had stepped out to buy groceries, she had been kidnapped.

That morning, Liam had thrown a tantrum over the vegetables, refusing to eat them. Amy suspected Victoria had made sure to mention Eleanor was in charge of the shopping, stirring the pot. So, Amy had gone herself.

Her kidnapper was a desperate man—ruined by a scam, left with nothing but rage. He'd chosen his victim at random.

And that victim had been Amy, standing in the produce aisle.

He'd pressed a knife to her throat, demanding ransom from the police, his shaking hand leaving a shallow cut. Amy had told him her husband was wealthy—that he could pay off his debts if he just let her make a call.

The man had hesitated, torn between disbelief and hope. Amy had promised him a chance at a normal life.

But when the call connected, she'd barely whispered, "I've been kidnapped—" before urgent news cut her off. Victoria needed emergency surgery. Alexander's response had been curt. "Victoria's critical. I'll call you back." Then, the line went dead.

The kidnapper, realizing she was his last hope, refused to let her go.

So, they waited.

For two agonizing hours.