Sabine found Verity in the old study, hunched over the glowing screen of a cracked data pad. Outside, dusk was falling, casting long amber shadows across the safehouse walls. Inside, the tension was quieter but no less deadly. “Still tracking signals?” Sabine asked from the doorway. Verity didn’t look up. “No. Job hunting.” Sabine stepped inside. “For what?” “I studied journalism and now I am applying for journalist post and I would be able to expose Isabel in that way in the shadows” Verity's voice was flat, but the undercurrent was unmistakable. She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t pretending. Sabine's jaw tightened. “This isn’t the time to spiral into sentiment.” “It’s not sentiment.” Verity finally looked up. “It’s strategy. I want out.” Sabine blinked, once. “Out?” “Yes. I’m applying for off world trade contracts im going to start with small admin posts, resource distribution centers as well as journalism… anywhere beyond the war lines.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ea

Sabine stood outside the kitchen, still gripping the mug that had long gone cold she hadn’t meant to listen. But the moment she heard Damon’s voice through Verity’s cracked door, she knew something had changed. And now hours later Verity’s bag was still by her bed she didn’t leave. Sabine’s chest tightened aquiet storm brewed behind her eyes. She had held her tongue for weeks, letting things play out. But this was too much she found Verity alone in the hallway, tying back her hair and pretending like nothing had happened. “You’re still here,” Sabine said sharply. Verity turned, surprised. “Yeah. I decided not to leave.” “You decided,” Sabine repeated, her voice cold. “Just like that?” “You were the one begged me not to leave when things got hard,” Verity said calmly, brushing past her. But Sabine moved fast, stepping in front of her. “No,” she said. “But I just didn’t think you would change your mind just like that, especially after Damon begged you to stay. I heard you guys i

Verity didn’t sleep much that night her fingers moved absent mindedly over her sketchpad, but the lines had no meaning. Just noise she felt with the silence that comes before a storm, heavy and watchful. A soft knock came at her door she opened it, half expecting Damon. But it was Elian again Damon's friend coming to check her again. “Verity…” he said, more gently than usual. Her brows furrowed. “What is it?” “You need to come downstairs.” She followed him without asking where the common room of the safehouse was dim, lit by one tired bulb swinging from the ceiling. Everyone stood around the table and it was tense because of the silence. Someone had set down a data tablet Verity stepped closer. A newsfeed was playing with the headline hitting her like a cold slap: “Professor Marcus Alden, former cybersecurity lecturer turned biotech magnate billionaire, dies in private jet crash off on his way to the Mozambique coast.” She stared. “No… that’s not him he was careful.” Elian p

The invitation came encrypted, anonymous, and direct. “Zurich. One meeting. One truth. Come alone.” Verity stared at the message it had arrived through a private channel, masked behind three proxy servers. But the trace was unmistakable it came from inside the shell company laundering funds for Alden Industries. She knew the risk but she also knew one thing for certain: if she wanted to sever the last thread of corruption, this was her only chance. “Absolutely not,” Damon said. He stood with arms crossed as she packed a slim case. “You’re twenty weeks pregnant. And walking into a trap and I actually cant believe you kept your pregnancy a secret for 5 months.” Verity didn’t stop moving. “If I don’t go, this will never end.” “I’ll go instead.” “They asked for me. By name.” “Then it’s bait.” She turned, eyes hard. “Damon, I have to end this.” A tense silence followed. Then she softened. “You can follow. Just don’t let them see you.” His jaw flexed. “You think I’m

Then a week later they moved in into her father's villa and changed the locks, and it seemed asleep beneath the moonlight. Warm terracotta walls, shuttered windows, and a breeze whispering through lemon trees in the courtyard. But inside, beneath the kitchen’s tiled floor and the wine racks of old prestige, a deeper chamber stirred. Damon crouched beside the antique lever and whispered into his earpiece, “Motion detected. West corridor. She’s here.” Verity stood beside him, one hand on her belly, the other clenching the necklace her father had left her. Her pulse raced not just from fear, but from the certainty that this was the moment everything changed. Isabel Alden had returned to Venice and she just parked in her father's driveway, her and Damon they were looking at her outside the window and she wasn’t alone. Three mercenaries, dressed in black with visors and silenced weapons, swept through the villa like shadows. They moved in formation, professional, methodical. Isabel trai