Page 68 of Shattered By Grace

The hardwood floors were scarred and warped, their smooth surface long forgotten. The windows, once a source of bright light, were now shadowed by thick dust hanging over them like a curtain. The old fireplace, cold and hollow, still stood, its mantel covered in a fine layer of dust, untouched for years.

Victoria’s feet moved on their own, drawn toward the dining room. The space was empty, no furniture left, only the remnants of a past life scattered in the air, like ghosts that refused to leave. But it was the floor that held her gaze.

There, where the floorboards met, was a dark stain. A discoloration that had seeped deep into the wood. It was faint now, years of time having dulled it, but it was unmistakable. The blood had been cleaned long ago, but the memory of it remained, ingrained in the wood. She hadn't heard her father scream that night. The shock had frozen her in place. But standing here now, it felt as though she could hear it, feel it reverberate through the walls.

Her chest tightened, and she almost couldn’t breathe. The weight of the memory hit her, suffocating her. This room, once full of laughter, of warmth, now felt like a mausoleum. The walls seemed to close in, and the air grew heavier, thick with the weight of the past. Her pulse quickened, her throat tight with the unspoken horrors that lingered here, tied to every inch of the space.

The blood was still there, even if it had long since dried. It stained the house in a way nothing could wash away, a cruel reminder of what she had lost. The grief, the rage…it surged in her chest, choking her. She should leave, should run as fast and as far as she could, but her feet were rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the floor, on that stain.

Chapter Thirty-One

Finally, her feet moved, taking her to the staircase. A massive hole gaped in the stairs and the wall where the family photos had once hung, now gone, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness.

Nothing felt right about being here.

On the second floor, Victoria’s heart hammered against her ribcage, her cell phone flashlight cutting through the darkness. The narrow beam flickered, each unsteady breath making it tremble. She refused to look to her left, toward her father’s room at the end of the hall.

Turning right, she crept down the hallway, her footsteps careful on the rotting floorboards which groaned beneath her weight. Her hand shook so violently that the light bounced off the walls, casting erratic shadows that reached for her. She forced herself to breathe in shallow, ragged gasps, but kept moving.

When she reached the office door, she hesitated, the weight of all the secrets it might still hold pressing down on her. Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, trembling, before she slowly pushed it open.

The door creaked in protest, a mournful wail that sent chills down her spine.

Her flashlight swept across the room, illuminating fragments of her past. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper, peeling at the edges like old skin. Dust motes floated in the air, caught in the beam of light. In the center of the room sat the desk, partially covered by a yellowed sheet that fluttered slightly in the draft, like a ghost clinging to the last remnants of its earthly form.

Her father’s chair, an old leather relic, was tipped slightly to the side, as if someone had left in a hurry. The smell of old paper and dampness filled her nose, mingling with the faint, phantom scent of her father’s cologne. It was a scent she hadn’t truly smelled in years, but now it seemed to hover in the air, bringing a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.

She took a step forward, and something crunched beneath her shoe. A framed photo—theframe she had given him—lay nearby, its now broken glass scattered across the floor. Her hand shook as she reached for it, tears blurring her vision. The edges of the picture were curled and stained with water damage and dust, the memory now tarnished by time.

Victoria’s breath hitched, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, choking back a sob.Why did I come here?she asked herself, the question hanging in the stale air.What was I hoping to find?

As she pulled the photo from its shattered frame, her fingers brushed against something else—an envelope, yellowed with age, hidden behind the picture. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled it free, seeing her name scrawled in her father’s familiar handwriting:

"To my darling daughter."

Her hands trembled as she carefully unfolded the letter. The paper felt fragile, almost like it would disintegrate if she wasn’t gentle. She blinked back tears, trying to steady herself as she began to read.

My Dearest Victoria,

I prayed you’d never have to find this letter, never have to carry the weight of what I’m about to tell you.

And God, sweetheart, that’s not how it was supposed to be. I wanted to be there. I wanted to watch you grow, to see with my own eyes the woman I always knew you’d become—strong, brave, fiercely determined. But please know, I have always been proud of you.

There’s something you need to know about the Locke family. They aren’t just powerful and wealthy. They’re dangerous. They built their empire on blood and lies. Behind the front of their fight circuit, the Grand Reaping, is a drug operation, a laundering empire, and a trail of lives ruined in silence.

If they ever come for you, if you’re in danger and have nowhere else to turn, you’ll know where to look. The red leatherledger is hidden in the place I always told you to go if something ever happened. It holds the truth. Names. Payouts. Dates. The kind of truth they would kill to keepburied. If it comes to that, use it. It’s the only chance at stopping them. But only if you have no other choice.

Please don’t take this burden on unless you absolutely have to. You deserve more than this darkness. You deserve freedom, light, love, a life far from all of this.

Walk away if you can. Start fresh. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Being your father has been the greatest joy of my life. You were always the best part of me.

Take care of yourself, and remember, I’m with you. Always.

Love you.

Dad

Tears blurred Victoria’s vision as she stared at the letter, her father’s familiar handwriting flowing across the page. How many times had she seen this handwriting? On notes, birthday cards, little messages left around the house? The creaking house seemed to hold its breath as she read, the silence pressing in on her, heavy and oppressive. The wind howled outside, its mournful whistle sounding like a warning.

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