Chapter 1: The Threat
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🎨 ✍️ This novel is currently a work in progress. Content, plot, and translations are subject to change. Thank you for your support!
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2025 Violet Crosby
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Cover: Violet Crosby
English translation: Violet Crosby
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Can you rebuild your destiny when the entire system wants to crush you? Wrongfully convicted, Kayce Daly faces the relentless world of prison after losing his honor and his land. Opposite him, Maya Gayney also seeks to break her own chains, having spent her life enduring military orders and relocations. United by the same visceral desire for freedom, they join forces to expose the guilty parties and rewrite the destiny imposed upon them. Amid state secrets and mafia threats, their alliance transforms into a forbidden and dangerous love. The fifth installment of the Stewart Brothers saga plunges you into a breathtaking fight where the truth comes at a high price.
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Chapter 1: The Threat
Hamilton, Montana, United States of America
Orchard Daly
March 14, 2035
Kayce Daly
The throbbing pain in my head was the first thing that came back to me, a relentless hammer pounding away. My entire body was an echo of suffering, every muscle sore, every cut a burning sensation. I opened my eyes, but the raw light of the barn forced me to close them again immediately. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth made me wince, and a wave of nausea swept over me.
Then the memory came back in a brutal, relentless flood. Melody.
I had heard the sound, a dull crash coming from the orchard's warehouse. It wasn't a routine noise. It wasn't the wind slamming a door; it was the sound of impact, of violence. Without thinking, I ran, my heart pounding in my chest. The orchard, usually so peaceful in the early morning, had suddenly become a place of horror. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows over the rows of still-sleeping fruit trees. The buds, barely visible, seemed to shiver in the cold breeze. And in the middle of this tranquility, the warehouse, a rustic wooden building I had renovated myself, was the scene of insane violence.
What I saw froze my blood. Melody lay on the ground, motionless. Her body was a dark stain in the early dawn, a sight that would haunt me. There were signs of a struggle, overturned crates, a mess that betrayed the violence of the confrontation. I screamed her name, but there was no response. Just silence, heavy and threatening. That's when I felt a presence behind me, a shadow that was growing larger. I turned around too late. A brutal shock sent me sprawling forward, then another, and darkness took over. It felt like I was falling into a bottomless abyss.
The sound of sirens tore me from that hell. I opened my eyes again and saw the face of Rick Caufield, my neighbor and a police officer, his expression a mixture of shock and concern. Behind him, other lights were flashing, blue and red. The police lights swept over the trees, creating a surreal ballet of shadows and light on the barn floor.
"Kayce! Stay still, don't move," he said, his voice grave. "Help is on the way."
I wanted to get up, to rush to Melody, but I didn't have the strength. Two paramedics arrived and immediately went to work on me and Melody. I saw that they took her first, the urgency of the situation clear on their faces. My heart clenched, a feeling of guilt gripping me. I should have been there sooner; I should have protected her. I was the most difficult to convince to get into the ambulance. My only concern was to follow her. After a verbal fight, the paramedics managed to get me in as well.
Once at the hospital, the wait felt like an eternity. The white walls, the smell of antiseptic, everything made me want to run away. My body, however, reminded me to stay put. I had a terrible headache, dizziness, and cuts that burned.
The doctor came to see me. First, he checked my reflexes. He passed his hand in front of my eyes to see if my pupils reacted, then he asked me to follow the light of his lamp. I felt nauseous doing it, and my head spun. He asked basic questions: where I was, what day it was, who my parents were. I answered in a confused way, my brain clouded by the concussion.
Then they did a series of more advanced tests. I had a scan to make sure there was no internal bleeding. I also had to have an MRI to check the extent of the concussion. The noise of the machine, like an incessant drum, amplified my nausea and headache. Every test, every question, every contact with a nurse or a doctor only increased my anxiety. My mind was elsewhere, with Melody, praying that she would make it.
Finally, a doctor came to talk to me. I barely listened to the report on my injuries: a concussion, multiple cuts, and bruises. I only managed to grasp two things: I could leave the hospital, but Melody would remain under observation.
When I entered Melody's room, the silence was heavy. Ryan, my sister Callie, and my brother-in-law Ethan were there, their faces drawn, fear in their eyes. Melody was hooked up to a ventilator, her body frail. The sight of my friend in that state broke my heart.
I squeezed Callie's hand.
"I'm so sorry," I murmured, my throat tight. "I should have protected her."
Ryan stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder. "It's not your fault, Kayce. You were too late. No one could have done anything."
Night fell, and the small community of Hamilton, usually so peaceful, was plunged into uncertainty. Who could have done this? And why? This question hovered over our heads like a vulture.
A few hours later, Melody opened her eyes. A sigh of relief went through the room. But her gaze, though clear, was confused. She tried to speak, her voice just a whisper.
"There... there was a noise. I went to check."
She paused, her eyes closed. The confusion was palpable on her face. "Then... then everything went blurry."
She couldn't say anything more. The fact that she couldn't identify her attackers added to the horror of the situation. The feeling of powerlessness that gnawed at all of us intensified.
My gaze remained fixed on her, this woman so strong, so full of life, now so fragile. I knew that my own recovery was secondary. My mission was to find the truth. My mission was to avenge her. And I wasn't going to stop until I found the culprits.
