Philip held Julia's gaze, the depth of his love warring with a vulnerability he rarely showed. Her hands on his face were an anchor, but the question burning in his chest felt like a tide trying to pull him out to sea. He took a shaky breath."Julia," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling both foreign and essential. "Do you love me?"The question landed in the quiet room with the force of a physical blow. Julia's hands stilled on his cheeks. Her eyes, so full of concern a moment before, widened in pure, uncomprehending shock. She pulled back slightly, creating a space between them that felt suddenly vast."Why are you asking such a question?" Her voice was low, edged with a hurt that was sharper than anger. "Philip, we've been married for over fifteen years. Our life, our family, everything we've built... do you honestly believe any of that could exist without love?"The raw confusion in her eyes was more painful than any accusation. Philip instantly regretted

Time lost all meaning in the windowless cell. It could have been minutes or hours since Helsin was taken. The silence was a living thing, pressing in on them, broken only by Janelle’s occasional, shuddering breaths and the distant, indeterminate hum of the building’s machinery.Wilfreda held Janelle, her own mind a tempest of dread and furious, impotent planning. Every footstep in the corridor outside sent a fresh jolt of terror through them, each one a potential herald of their own doom.Having watched Helsin being dragged away earlier had really done something to them psychologically, and even if they didn't really want to admit it, both of them were already afraid that something bad might have happened to them, and that one of them would be next in line.Then, a new sound. Not the usual heavy, synchronized tread of the guards. This was lighter, quicker. A single set of footsteps, approaching with a strange urgency. They stopped right outside their cell.A key scraped in the lock.J

“Christopher,” Harry said, his voice carefully level. He subtly shifted, placing himself more squarely between the threat and Wilfreda and Janelle. “This doesn’t have to get worse. Just walk away. Things are bad enough as it is.”Christopher’s lazy smile widened into something cruel and knowing. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his polished shoes clicking on the stone. “Walk away? While you play the hero with our fathers' property?” He let out a low, mocking chuckle. “You always were a slow learner, Harry. But maybe you’re confused about the fundamentals.”His cold eyes flicked to Wilfreda, then back to Harry. “Let me remind you, in case your dear old Dad never spelled it out. That O’Connor name you’re so recklessly defending? The blood you think you’re betraying?” He paused for maximum effect. “It’s not in your veins. It’s not in mine. We’re both just… well-cared-for cuckoos in the nest. Any attempt to protect a true O’Connor bloodline…” he gestured dismissively at Wilfreda,

As Wilfreda and Janelle descended a narrow service staircase into the lower depths of the estate, the atmosphere changed. The sterile, dungeon-like halls gave way to corridors with keypad-locked doors, visible security cameras in every corner, and the low murmur of radios.They pressed themselves into an alcove as a pair of guards marched past, armed not with rifles but with compact submachine guns, their eyes scanning professionally. Wilfreda’s heart, already hammering from the run and the horror of leaving Harry, sank into a cold, leaden weight. “We can’t,” Janelle breathed, her voice trembling with a new kind of fear. “Wilfreda, look at it. We’ll never get through. They’ll cut us down before we take two steps.”Wilfreda’s mind raced, assessing with a clarity born of desperation. Janelle was right. Harry’s directions had gotten them to the beast’s lair, but they had no weapons, no codes, no disguises. Charging that checkpoint wasn’t bravery; it was suicide. A suicide that would w