Someone pounded on the front door—three sharp, aggressive knocks that echoed through the house like gunshots.
Grace’s face went white. “Dad… that’s him.”
I stood up slowly, my jaw set. “Stay here.”
I walked to the door and opened it.
There he stood—Chase, the biological father who had contributed nothing but DNA. Everything about him screamed performance. Designer leather jacket. Perfectly styled hair. Expensive sunglasses, even though the sun had already set.
“Move,” he said flatly, stepping forward as if he owned the place.
I didn’t budge an inch. “You’re not coming inside.”
He smirked, the kind of smile that had probably charmed countless people but made my skin crawl. “Oh, still playing daddy, huh? That’s adorable.”
Behind me, Grace whimpered softly.
He spotted her over my shoulder, and his grin widened. “There she is. Let’s go, kid. We’ve got photographers waiting. Interviews lined up. I’m due for a comeback, and you’re my redemption story.”
“She’s not your marketing tool,” I said, my voice cold as steel. “She’s a child.”
“MY child,” he shot back, leaning in close enough that I could smell his overpowering cologne. “And if you get in my way again, I’ll burn your pathetic little shop to the ground—legally. I know people, shoemaker. You’ll be out of business by Monday morning.”
The threat felt real. Too real. But I wasn’t going to let him see me flinch.
It was time to put my plan into action.
“Grace, honey,” I called over my shoulder, never taking my eyes off Chase. “Go get my phone and the black folder on my desk.”
She hesitated, confused. “What? Why?”
“Trust me, sweetheart.”
She ran toward my workshop, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
Chase laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Calling the cops? That’s precious. You think anyone will take YOUR side over MINE? I’m Chase, pal. I AM the story. I’m the hero. And you’re just some nobody who fixes shoes.”
I smiled calmly. “Oh, I’m not planning to call the police.”
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