Her phone was blowing up and her email was stacked with urgent unread messages but Heiran didn’t care. She was too busy sitting in middle of her floor surrounded by every document related to SmartLogic she could find. There was a frantic energy radiating off of her as her hands shook; every number, every correspondence, every funding request still looked completely normal even after she knew what she did about her father’s involvement.

They covered every angle so that someone like her, someone who worked her undergrad in banking and could spot a fraudster from a mile away couldn’t catch on. Her hands fell limply on her lap as an invoice slipped through her fingers.

Millions.

She had helped her father clean tens of millions of dollars that were used to commit a countless number of horrendous crimes and she had no clue the entire time.

A hysteric lump grew in .

No judge would ever believe that defense.

Her breathing was becoming erratic as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against her plush carpeting. She couldn’t go to jail, she wouldn’t last, Lucy would have to be raised by strangers who didn’t actually love and care for her.

Tears filled her eyes at the sheer absurdity of the entire situation. A murderous psychopath was out for bloody revenge because they thought she had set them up to get caught by the police. It was gut-wrenching, to be used like that.

It wasn’t fair that someone who abandoned her, someone who left her and her family to fend for themselves had the right to benefit off of the fact that they shared the same DNA.

Spending her life fighting to be powerful, to no longer feel abandoned and worthless, only to be thrown back to where she desperately didn’t want to be: cursing her father for being alive.

“Heiran, the Samsung rep just called and said you missed their Skype call. Wh—”

Heiran lifted her head and looked at Eun who was standing by the door, staring at the landfill that had become her office with wide eyes. “What is going on? Did something happen? Oh my god, did those men do this?”

She made quick work of wiping the tears off her face before standing, trying not to wobble on her heels. Clearing , she gathered her belongings and walked to her door. 

She needed to get out of here. Suddenly the Jackson Pollack paintings hanging off her wall we’re making her sick. Paint recklessly splattered felt like too close to home right now.

“Clear the rest of my schedule, I’m going home, I’ll clean this later, and don’t let anyone in.”

“I-I promise. I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

Heiran glanced at Eun briefly before passing her, “It’s not your fault, Eun.”

It was hers.

Her fault for being her father’s daughter.

-----

Mark strolled into a small record shop he found tucked away between artisanal coffee shops and high-end boutiques, after being kicked out of Heiran’s office. It was a shock that he found it at all on such a polished street.

It reminded him a lot of the woman he just came from meeting, deep inside all the prim and proper shell was a connection to dirty past.

You don’t outgrow blood ties.

He remembered sitting in his Boss’s office for hours after the others had left, going over every detail of his new assignment.

His daughter.

And what a daughter indeed.

Smiling dryly to himself, he stepped into the shop that smelled like tobacco and nodded at the teenage cashier who just snapped her gum and rolled her eyes before going back to flipping through her magazine.

Ah, the joys of youth.

He didn’t know why he liked record shops, he didn’t listen to records, he was in the digital age like everyone else, but there was something fascinating about old records that have passed through the hands of so many people.

They were relics, like finding a floppy disk. 

Using his fingers to thumb through the shelves of music, he let his eyes scan them half-heartedly. The other half of his mind was with the duchess in a silk shirt, he wondered what she was doing now, if she was in mid-meltdown or on the way to the police station to turn herself in.

She seemed like the righteous type.

Which was more of a paradox than he thought it would be. A pretty rich girl with a young daughter, the mouth of a sailor, a moral compass and legs that a better man would kill for. A perfect package on the outside and the cruel DNA of her father on the inside.

His eyes skimmed the cover of an old Beatles records before a buzzing in his pocket distracted him. 

He glanced at his phone, blinking at the unfamiliar number before picking up.

“Yeah.”

-----

You know when you learn about something new for the first time and then all of a sudden you see it everywhere you go? Was this all a coincidence or did it always exist but you just never noticed any of it before until you were told? 

Like, did cars always follow behind you for long stretches of time or did you only notice after you learned that dangerous people wanted you dead?

That was what Heiran thought when she glanced at over her shoulder and noticed a navy-blue jeep driving behind her car. Her hands started shaking as her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she drove her usual route home. How long had it been following her?

Maybe it was someone from DS tailing her. Maybe they were going to run her off the road. Maybe they had a gun.

“You’re being paranoid.” She muttered to herself as she flipped on her indicator and to a random road. She glanced at the rear-view mirror and did a double-take when the same jeep turned the corner, driving closer to her.

She pursed her lips as her heart raced, “What the hell…”

Pressing her foot down on the gas, she drove faster towards another turn and this time, without turning on her signal, she swung around the corner, repeatedly glancing back over her shoulder.

The jeep turned the corner too.

And it was moving faster.

Panic crawled up and her heart began to pound as the jeep came up behind her and peeled into the opposite lane. It was driving parallel to her and she had no way to moving out of their sights.

She just wanted to get home and process the bomb that was dropped on her. Was that too much to ask for? 

But right before she accepted death, the jeep took a sudden turn and pulled up to a house off the side of the street. She slammed on her brakes and stared, as the doors swung open and a group of teenage boys jumped out, yelling and laughing at each other with boxes of food in their hands.   

She let out a breath and felt every muscle soften as the tension evaporated out of her body and was replaced with a feeling of foolishness. She rested her head against the steering wheel, “I can’t do this. I can’t keep doing this.”

She sat like that for a moment, trying to collect her composure. She was being silly and paranoid. This wasn’t an action movie, there wasn’t going to be a dramatic car chase in the middle of the city. 

But peace was never meant to last long.

Heiran lifted her head when she caught movement to her right. She looked over and a scream lodged in when she stared down a barrel of a gun for the second time that day. The man was on a motorcycle on the opposite side of the street with a helmet covering his entire head and his hand outstretched with a gun pointed directly at her.

She was so preoccupied with the jeep that she didn’t notice the motorcycle.

Without thinking, she slammed her foot against the gas pedal and skidded away, speeding down the street while constantly glancing at the rear-view mirror. A scared whimper escaped her lips as she watched the motorcycle rider close in behind her.

She reached out with one hand and dug furiously through her bag until her fingers brushed a thin card while trying to keep her eyes on the road. Heiran pulled out Mark’s business card and glanced at it with a moment of hesitation until she noticed the motorcycle get even closer.

Heiran jabbed her finger against the touch screen display on her dashboard; trying to drive in a straight line while dialling his number at the same time. She wasn’t sure how long it rang for, but it felt like centuries passed until he finally picked up.

His voice came out crisp and bored, “Yeah.”

“M-Mark.” Her voice, on the other hand, came out too high and shaky even for herself, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. The second she hit a red light, that motorcycle was going to catch up to her and she’d have much bigger problems.

There was a pause before he spoke again, “Who is this?”

“ are you kidding me?” She screamed, “You just pointed a gun at me hours ago and you have the nerve to ask me who I am?”

Another beat of silence passed, “I didn’t think you’d call so soon, duchess.”

“Shut up.” She hissed, her tears blurring her vision, “Shut up, and help me.”

“Why should I?” He muttered.

A growled escaped her lips, “Because it’s your damn job.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” His tone shifted; it was harder, darker.

She glanced at the mirror again, seeing him close in, “Someone on a motorcycle just tried to shoot me and they’re following me, and I don’t know what to do.”

“.” He hissed. She could hear a door slam on the other end and prayed he was already in his car, “Where are you?”

She looked at a street sign as she blew through a stop sign. There goes her spotless driving record, “I just passed 18th, going south.”

“I’m close.” His voice was basically a quiet snarl.

Her heavy breathing was making her lightheaded, “What do I do until you get here?”

“Avoid small roads, don’t stop at red lights.” He ordered.

She scoffed, “Instead of getting shot, I should just get T-Boned. Great.”

“I don’t know about you but a car accident sounds a whole lot better than getting your brains blown out.” Mark said calmly.

“Screw you. I wouldn’t have to choose if it wasn’t for your kingpin.” She looked back at the motorcycle and felt her gut churn, “He’s getting closer.”

“So am I.” He ground out.

She felt her breathing shallow out when she spotted a stoplight in the distance. She pressed her foot down on the gas, hoping to make it while it’s green but to her horror and absolute luck, it flashed yellow.

“Mark, there’s a stoplight and it’s turning red.” She whispered.

It angered her beyond reprieve how calm he sounded despite her having her life flash before her eyes, “You know what to do, duchess.”  

“Are you insane? It’s a busy road.” She countered.

He said nothing in response, and it made her panic, “Mark.”

“Just do it.” He murmured.

Taking a deep breath, she watched the speed barometer go up before gliding through the red light, and leavin