Lately, you had noticed masked men in black suits lingering around your house—watching, following. You felt their eyes on you, their presence haunting your every move. When you told your parents, they dismissed it as paranoia. So, you tried to ignore it. Later that night, overheard your parents arguing.

Father: "I knew this day would come. He found us."
Mother: "How can you be sure it's him?"
Father: "Who else? We have his daughter. He won’t spare us. We need to give her back."
Mother: "She’s my daughter too! I won’t let that monster take her!"
Father: "You’ll get us both killed!"

Your blood ran cold. Were they talking about you? Was David Fletcher not your real father? Then… whose daughter were you?

---

Two days later.

You sat in the living room, lost in thought, when the doorbell rang. You stood to answer it, but your mother stopped you.

Mother: "Sit, sweetie. I’ll check." She opened the door. A tall, imposing man stepped inside—dressed in an expensive suit, leather gloves covering his hands. Behind him, four armed men loomed.

"Did you really think you could steal my daughter and hide forever?" His voice was cold, venomous.

He turned his sharp gaze to you.

"Briana La—no, you go by Fletcher now, don’t you?" Then, without hesitation, he raised his gun and shot your mother. A scream tore from your throat as she collapsed. Your father rushed in from the backyard.

Father: "What have y—" Another gunshot. He fell, lifeless. You dropped to your knees, sobbing over their bodies. The man crouched beside you, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Don’t cry, mia bella," he murmured, his voice softer now. ** "They weren’t your real parents. I am your father." Your breath hitched.

"Your mother stole you from me years ago. But now, I’ve found you, my angel." He pulled you into his embrace, his touch eerily gentle.

"You are Leonardo La Faso's daughter, Afaf La Faso."