Chapter 3

The safe house wasn't a house.

It was a fortress.

Hidden in the hills outside the city, surrounded by walls and cameras and enough security to guard a president. Kieran led me through marble hallways to a suite bigger than my entire apartment.

"You'll stay here," he said. "There's a medical team on standby for the pregnancy. Anything you need, just ask."

I ran my fingers along the silk curtains, the designer furniture, the view that stretched for miles.

"This is too much."

"It's necessary." He stood in the doorway, watching me like I might shatter. "Celeste has connections everywhere. Police, hospitals, media. Until we're ready to strike, you need to be invisible."

"And after?"

His expression darkened. "After, she'll wish she was invisible."

I should have slept that night. My body screamed for rest. But every time I closed my eyes, I felt Derek's hands on my throat, heard Celeste's laugh, saw the dead woman in the photograph.

At 3 AM, I gave up.

I wandered the halls until I found the kitchen—all stainless steel and cold surfaces. I was reaching for the tea when I heard it.

Crying.

Quiet, controlled, like someone trying to muffle their grief.

I followed the sound to a small study. The door was cracked.

Kieran sat at a desk, head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

In front of him was a photograph. The same woman from the file—his mother.

I should have walked away. Given him privacy.

Instead, I knocked.

He looked up, face wet, eyes red. For a moment, he just stared—stripped of every mask, every wall.

"I couldn't save her," he said, voice cracking. "I was supposed to protect her, and I couldn't—"

"It wasn't your fault."

"I hired the best doctors. The best hospital." His laugh was bitter. "And Celeste was there the whole time, smiling, playing the concerned physician, while she—"

He couldn't finish.

I crossed the room and did something stupid.

I hugged him.

He froze. Then his arms wrapped around me—desperate, shaking—and he buried his face in my shoulder.

We stayed like that for a long time.

When he finally pulled back, something had shifted between us. The air felt different. Charged.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For not running." His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away tears I didn't know I'd cried. "For being here."

I should have stepped back.

I didn't.

"We're going to destroy them," I said quietly. "For your mother. For my baby. For everything they took."

His eyes burned into mine. "Together?"

"Together."

He leaned closer. I felt his breath on my lips—

CRASH.

The window exploded.

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