Chapter 5 A Father's Demand, A Savior's Refusal

The black Rolls-Royce Phantom moved through the Manhattan streets with a silent, predatory grace. Inside, the cabin was so quiet that the only sound was the soft sigh of the air conditioning and the whisper of Alexandrea's breathing.

Ace sat in the expansive back seat, holding her sleeping form against his chest. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. He gently brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her cheek, his expression unreadable.

His private phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a name: Bret Terry.

Ace's eyes went cold. He knew this call was coming.

He carefully adjusted Alexandrea so she was lying more comfortably against the plush leather seat before answering the call and putting it on speaker.

A man's voice, deep and controlled but laced with a tightly leashed anger, came through the phone. "Mr. Griffith. This is Bret Terry."

"Mr. Terry," Ace replied, his own voice perfectly level. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where is my daughter?" Bret demanded, forgoing any pretense of civility. "Ivette told me you took her by force. I am demanding that you bring her back immediately."

The tone was one of absolute authority, the voice of a man used to being obeyed.

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Ace's lips. "Your daughter? Are you sure you're concerned about your daughter, Mr. Terry, or a piece of property that belongs to you?"

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Ace's voice dropped, turning hard and cold, "that I witnessed your wife, in front of a room full of reporters, verbally abuse and physically shove a young woman who had just been through a traumatic event."

"It means I saw the raw terror in her eyes when your wife approached, the way she flinched like a cornered animal. That is not how a beloved daughter is treated, Mr. Terry."

Silence. Bret was clearly not expecting Ace to be so well-informed.

"Ivette... she's not always stable," Bret finally said, his voice strained. "She loves Alex very much. Her methods can be... extreme."

"Love?" Ace shot back. "You call public humiliation and physical abuse love?"

He decided to play his trump card, to completely demolish any moral high ground Bret thought he had.

"Perhaps you're not aware of your daughter's true character, Mr. Terry. I've seen it for myself. She is nothing like you or your wife, and you are not fit to judge her."

Another, longer silence from Bret's end. He clearly knew nothing about it.

"She has a strength you can't comprehend," Ace pressed on, his voice relentless, "and your family treats her like she's garbage."

"So, to answer your question: I am not bringing her back. Not now. Not ever."

The finality in his tone was absolute.

Bret's composure finally cracked. "Mr. Griffith, this is a family matter. You have no right to interfere."

"The moment I decided to marry her," Ace said, his gaze softening as he looked down at Alexandrea's face, "her business became my business."

Bret took a deep, steadying breath, shifting his strategy. The threats hadn't worked, so he tried a different approach.

"Ace, I know you. You're a friend of Linden's," he said, his tone becoming more conciliatory. Linden Terry was his eldest son, a man Ace knew from business circles.

"For Linden's sake, let's talk about this reasonably. Alex... she has a complicated background. She's not a suitable match for you. This will only bring shame to the Griffith name."

He was trying to appeal to class, to the rigid, unspoken rules of their world.

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