𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

"𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱, don't tempt him, just get the information, then get out," Derek says as he hands her some pieces of paper that have the images of all the women linked to Ian.

"I think you're forgetting that I've done this before," Noah says with a slight smile.

Derek shows a smirk and pats her shoulder. "Just try not to get too worked up. He doesn't deserve that, okay?"

"Yeah," Noah nods. "I know."

She goes to the door, walking right past her mother without a word. Noah won't even offer a glance in Emily's direction and it's killing her inside. All Emily wants is her daughter, but what she did to get to this point may have ruined her chance at forgiveness, at least for right now.

Aaron analyzes Noah's behavior. He notices her avoidant eye contact with her mother and how wound up her shoulders are. As Noah opens the door to the interrogation room, his gaze flickers to Derek and Emily, wondering if they are seeing the same indications as him.

"Yeah, she has a plan," Derek mutters as he watches the teen through the glass.

"Is this really a good idea?" Emily asks as she bites at her fingernails.

"This is all we have left," Aaron says before they go quiet to hear the interaction.

Noah takes her first step into the interrogation room. There, right in front of her, with his eyes looking into hers, is her father, stuck with his hands in cuffs. It feels like she's in control, like she has the power he did that night in the warehouse, except she doesn't show that she wants it.

"Hello, darling," Ian says with a smile. "You look well."

"You don't," Noah replies, eyeing his scruff and dirty shirt.

"You here to ask me the same thing?"

"No," she shakes her head as she sits across from him. "Well, yes, but also no."

"What's your piece then?"

Noah eyes him curiously, his blue eyes forcing her into a rage. "Seriously? What's my piece? What do you think my piece is?"

"You wanna know why I did what I did," he assumes. "I mean, does it really matter now that she's back? I'm assuming you saw her. That reunion must have been fun," he says but pauses for a moment to take in Noah's expression. "Or, knowing you—which is kind of like knowing me—it made you angry."

Noah remains quiet, afraid that if she speaks too much, she'll give her emotions away.

"Okay," Ian nods. "Where should I start? The very beginning? But only if you're gonna converse with me. This isn't an interview, love, I'm your father."

Noah takes a deep breath, her anger seething under the surface. She blinks, each time promising herself to let a little bit of it go. She glances up and into the eyes that reflect her own. There's no shock written into his expression, it's almost daring, his eyes challenging her to a game that she never asked to play.

"How did you know that I existed?" the teen starts their conversation, going along with him to make him feel like he's in charge.

"I knew that your mother was pregnant with you before she was pulled out," he answers. "And her boss knew, too, which is why he pulled her out."

"Easter?"

Ian nods very subtly, their eyes never looking away from one another, trained on every microexpression the other shows.

"That's not what he said," she replies with furrowed brows.

"You talked to him?"

"I did," she nods, giving away part of her investigation to her mother and the team. "But he didn't give me very much. Just more information about Declan and my mother's investigation on you."

"Is that what you would call what she was doing?"

"So, you knew about me, you sent spies," she continues, changing the topic. "How?"

"You know, it's sort of funny. I did all these horrible things and was sent to a horrible prison and yet I still got visitors. It was just rare because everyone was scared of the place, maybe even a little more than they were of the people inside it. So, I sent my friend, Liam, to keep eyes on you. Honestly, I have to say, he outdid himself, chose people that no one would ever question. It's a shame he had to go—"

"And they let you see Liam?" she asks, interrupting him. "They didn't know he was attached to your crimes?"

"The great thing about sketchy prisons is that there were sketchy guards watching us. People who are very easily bought. When Liam told me that George Foyet was after the team, I paid one of the guards for a letter to be sent to him. All I asked was for him to scare Emily, but never to put a hand on you. And he's lucky I was stuck there because if I would've had a chance to get my hands on him, I would've killed him myself."

Noah leans back in her chair, showing a small amount of acceptance. "Then, what? You didn't want to protect me that night in the warehouse?"

"That was part of a larger plan," Ian says as he leans forward, unable to resist asserting dominance.

"And what was that plan?"

"Have you connected the dots?" he asks, avoiding the questions. "I told you that I was watching you, testing you. You didn't believe me?"

Noah's fingers dig into her palms as she realizes he won't give her anything. She's guarded, which makes him react the same. He won't give in until she does too. And maybe it's not the worst thing to let her father see how he's made her feel. Maybe it doesn't have to be a game at all.

"Ciara Walsh," she speaks a name that feels foreign on her tongue. "She was the mother of the boy I was friends with?"

"Max," Ian says, his voice softer for a moment.

"Was that really her son?"

"Yes," Ian nods. "From another relationship. Although, I knew the boy for a while. Sweet kid. Very unfortunate what happened to him."

Noah blinks for a second longer, trying to keep her voice steady. "Why did she agree to help you?"

"She wanted money. You think she afforded that house with two part-time jobs and no husband?"

"What did she tell you about me?"

"That you were struggling," he says with a hard expression. "I almost lost her for a second. She wanted to help you, take you out of that house."

"Why didn't she?"

"Because I told her not to."

Noah's chin quivers at his words, a silent tear slowly rolling down her cheek. Emily's heart clenches at the sight of it on camera. Noah is practically curling into a ball in her seat, making herself look as small as possible. Emily wishes she could take her out and rid of the sick satisfaction that Doyle is getting from seeing his daughter afraid of him, knowing he has the upper hand on her.

"Is that all you wanted for me?" she asks with desperation laced in her voice. "To know that I was struggling?"

"I wanted to know that, one day, your mother would eventually see what she put you through because of her hatred of me."

"And that night in the warehouse?"

"That was to hurt her," he assures her, but it brings no comfort. "I'm not a monster, Noah, I don't hurt children, especially not my own."

"Declan and I will always have to live with the fact that our father is a criminal. And that he's in prison, and he's never getting out. And that he could never parent us because he thought selling illegal weapons for big bucks was more fun."

Doyle doesn't have much of a reaction, but he speaks, changing the conversation once again. "Does it scare you?"

"Does what scare me?"

"That you may be like me," he says with a smirk. "That pain, to you, is more than just a consequence—it's an art. That you relish the way someone tries to mask their terror until it cracks and bleeds through. You think rules and laws are beneath you, weak barriers for weaker minds. The thrill of slipping past them, of bending the world to your will, fills you with pride, a sense of superiority. You move through life with the confidence of someone who knows they're untouchable, and it fuels you, that thrill of control."

Noah shakes her head, her brows furrowing with frustration. "No—"

"When you killed Liam," Ian says quietly as he leans towards her. "You didn't feel a moment of satisfaction, a relief that his life was over and that it was at your hand?"

The teen continues to shake her head, almost as if she's trying to convince herself that he's wrong. Tears slip down her cheeks, burning her skin as they pass. Ian watches her tears with satisfaction that borders on twisted pride, his eyes glinting with a cold, calculated pleasure as he savors each crack in her composure. Noah feels her stomach knot just at the sight of the smile he's failing to hide.

But she's sick of the game they're playing, and she can't let him win anymore. Moving her game plan along, she wipes the tears from her cheeks and sits up straight. It's as if she sobered up from his intoxicating gaslighting, the power of his words that usually bring people to their knees hasn't truly affected her at all.

"You're good," she says sarcastically. "Great theory. Can I tell you mine now?"

"It's not a theory—"

"You're right, it's more than that," she says with a fake smile. "It's what I understand about you that most people never will. You could've threatened anything—my friends, the team, even Declan, who I've never even met. But instead, you chose me. You threatened me with my own life. You watched me, studied me, and, when the time was right, you kidnapped me, tied me to a chair, branded me with your crest, and forced me to listen to the sound of you killing my mother. That was your way of forcing me into your lifestyle, trying to make me into what your father made you. You wanted me to be like you."

Ian's eyes narrow, anger flickering across his face. But it doesn't scare Noah or make her shy to continue. She knows that now is her time. If she doesn't lay it out on the table now, she may never have another chance.

"All that time, you always charmed people by telling them you have everything; wealth, weapons, women, a big mansion in a foreign country. But you've never been able to truthfully say you have a family. People who love you, not because you're their boss, but because of who you are. And your child, someone inferior to you, had the one thing you've never had and never will have. And that's what you can't stand, isn't it?"

Blood rushes back to her face, bringing her color back. She uses everything she's studied about him, using his own gameplay against him, fighting back just like he wanted her to. But in the end, he's sitting in the cuffs and she's finally free.

"So go ahead, pretend to be whoever you want," she says, voice steady but sharp as a blade. "But I know who and what you are—a broken, bitter man that nobody loves and who will always be truly alone. And that's your fault," she grits as she points at him. "You fell into the crime life, you made orders to end people's lives, you tried to kill my mother, and you drove your children away."

"You insult me for an absence that your mother caused," Ian says through his teeth. "Is this really how you treat a father who never had a chance to prove himself?"

"You lost that chance every time you invaded my life instead of standing in front of me like the coward you are!" Noah raises her voice. "You hide behind henchmen, make them do your bidding for you! And you spent your time in prison thinking of ways to come after me instead of letting me live a life that you didn't provide for me—"

"And it was any better than I could've given you?!"

"I deserved better than all of you!" she shouts, slamming the table with her palm. "I deserved to be a kid! A little girl!" her voice falls, the screams scratching at her throat. "A child who didn't have a fear of the world, who didn't flinch every time someone raised their hand near me. A kid who played with toys and whose best friend's mother wasn't one of your sick, psycho plans to ruin my life! I deserved that, but it was taken away from me!"

"Your anger is getting the best of you, darling," he replies smoothly.

"My anger is the only reason I survived what you put me through," she says, thinking about all the time when her adrenaline and that fire in her chest helped her. "Unlike yours, my anger has purpose. It keeps me in check—it doesn't drive me to kill."

"You think that makes you any different from me?" he asks, his voice low. "In the end, anger always finds a way to devour whatever's left. You'll see—you can try to fight it, but it will eat you alive, just like it did me."

"Anger can only ever be what you turn it into," she says. "And I may hold onto it, but there will be a time when I don't have to be mad about what you've done to me anymore."

"What will give you closure?" he asks, his tone almost mocking. "Is that what you want? For me to disappear? Or would you like an apology, a hug?"

"This isn't done until the day I can throw cold dirt on your casket."

Ian's expression tightens, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his icy facade. He knows she means his death, and if he's honest with himself, it stings more than he cares to admit. Whether he was trying to get revenge or keep an eye on his daughter, he disrespected her trust in a way that could never be reversed. He broke a love that he could never begin to understand, and the realization cuts deeper than a blade for both of them. As his daughter's words crash over him, he becomes speechless, as the very foundation of his power crumbles under the gravity of her hatred.

"And I'm willing to be patient enough to wait for it," she says and leans back, feeling satisfied with his reaction.

Emily watches the confrontation unfold from behind the mirror, her heart pounding in her chest. A swell of pride fills her as Noah stands her ground against Ian, her words sharp and unwavering. It's a fierce display of strength that reminds Emily of the resilience she always knew her daughter to have. But alongside that pride, a cold knot of fear twists in her stomach.

As Ian's expression falters, Emily recognizes the satisfaction flickering in Noah's eyes, a satisfaction that sends a chill down her spine. It's a look she has seen in Ian before, a twisted sense of power drawn from another's pain. In this moment, Emily feels the weight of her failures as a mother, torn between wanting to protect Noah from the monster Ian is and celebrating the fierce spirit that he inspired. But she can't shake the worry that her daughter may be teetering dangerously close to becoming like her father—a darkness lurking just beneath the surface.

On the other side of the glass, there's a deafening silence. Noah can hear ringing in her ears as she glares at her father, never having spoken such sharp words before. Ian's eyes shift between his daughter's. He's never seen such a ghostly stare, especially from someone so young. But in a way, he understands her and knows that Noah's not truly her age. The things that have happened to her, most of them he caused, have made the innocence drain from her eyes, but also her soul. It's dimmed a spark that once had the potential to be the brightest of them all.

It doesn't take any realization to know that all he's ever done is strip people of everything they have. And even in his rare moments of kindness, he always reverted to the person everyone knew him to be: a selfish, cruel man. And when he took everything from Emily, he became history, a shadow she left behind. For Noah, he became the heart of every nightmare that seizes her whenever she closes her eyes. She's haunted by flashes of everything he stole: her mother, her home, her happiness, and even, for a time, her freedom. He took until she had nothing left, and even in the hollowed-out emptiness he left behind, it all still felt impossibly heavy.

Noah shakes the thoughts away as she places the pages of women before him. "Which one?"

Ian carefully analyzes her, almost as if he's deciding whether or not he got what he wanted. His eyes flicker down to the images, each representing a ghost of his past.

He must have gotten what he had hoped for because he points to one of the women. "Chloe Donaghy."

Not being able to withstand giving him another second of her life, Noah swipes the papers off the table, leaving one with a pencil so he can write the names of anyone who could be helping Chloe. As he begins to write, Noah knows that she's got what they needed, and she got her last words. With a final, silent defiance, she opens the door, steps through it, and leaves him behind—proof that she's done with his lies, his power, and everything he ever held over her.

As the door closes, Emily reaches out to graze Noah's arm, but she strides past without a glance. With cold precision, she thrusts the papers against Derek's chest, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"You're welcome."