Chapter 12: The PackageThe message sits on my phone screen like a live grenade.She’s very pretty.It would be terrible if something happened to her.The photo is crystal-clear: Bella asleep on my chest, my arm locked around her, the penthouse terrace lights soft in the background. Taken less than ten minutes ago. Someone was close enough to zoom in through the glass.My blood turns to ice.I’m out of bed in a heartbeat, careful not to wake her. I pull on jeans and a black hoodie, grab the pistol from the nightstand safe, and move silently to the windows. Forty-eight floors up. No balcony access from below. No adjacent buildings tall enough. The only way that shot was possible is a drone. High-end. Military-grade lens.I kill every light in the penthouse with the master switch by the door. The whole place drops into darkness except for the city glow.Bella stirs behind me. “Damian?”“Stay in bed,” I say, voice low but sharp. “Don’t turn on any lights.”I hear her sit up. “What’s happ

Chapter 14: Forty-One Hours in HellI died three times.The first time was on the rooftop, the moment the bullet tore through me. I remember the heat, the wet spread across my side, Bella’s scream cutting off as the concrete rushed up to meet my face.The second time was in the chopper. Marcus’s hands pressing so hard on the wound I felt ribs crack. Bella sobbing my name over and over like a prayer, her blood-slick fingers tangled in mine. The medic shocking me once—nothing. Twice—nothing. Then a weak blip and the pilot screaming we were two minutes out.The third time was on the operating table. Four minutes twenty-two seconds. No heartbeat. The surgeon later told Lydia he’d already called it when the monitor suddenly kicked back. He called it a miracle. I call it spite. I wasn’t done yet.I wake up to pain so absolute it feels like my soul is on fire.Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. Existing hurts.The room is dim, machines hissing and beeping in a rhythm that says I’m still aliv

: The Storm BreaksThe morning after Damian put the ring on my finger starts perfect.Sunlight pours through the penthouse windows, turning everything gold. I wake up wrapped in his arms, the diamond catching the light every time I move my hand. It feels heavy in the best way, like a promise I can feel on my skin. He’s still asleep, breathing slow and steady, the scar from the bullet wound a fresh pink line across his ribs. I trace it with my fingertip, careful not to wake him.For the first time in weeks, the nightmares didn’t come.I slip out of bed quietly, pull on one of his shirts, and pad barefoot to the kitchen. The new chef Marcus hired has the day off, so it’s just me and the ridiculously huge espresso machine. I manage to make two cappuccinos without setting off any alarms. When I carry them back to bed, Damian is already awake, propped up on the pillows, watching the door like he knew I’d be coming back.He smiles, slow and sleepy and mine, and my heart does that stupid fli

: The Video That Breaks EverythingThe press conference is still playing on loop across every screen in the city when the second bomb drops.It’s 9:14 p.m.Damian and I are back in the penthouse, doors locked, phones silenced, security on every floor. He’s pacing the living room like a caged animal, already on the phone with Marcus, barking orders to sue every outlet that aired Vanessa’s interview without fact-checking.I’m curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around me, trying to breathe through the nausea that’s been coming in waves since the paternity lie went viral. My hand rests on my stomach. Our baby. The one the world is calling fake.Then Damian’s tablet chimes.A priority alert from his cyber team.He freezes mid-sentence.Marcus’s voice crackles through the speaker.“Boss. You need to see this. Now.”Damian taps the screen.A new video is trending at number one worldwide.The thumbnail is grainy, dark.A timestamp in the corner: five years ago.The Reyes house hallway

Chapter 20: Ashes to Ashes The penthouse feels like a pressure cooker at dawn. I haven’t slept. Neither has Damian. He’s been up since the press conference ended, pacing between the office and the living room, phone glued to his ear, voice low and dangerous while he gives orders to Marcus, Lydia, and a whole team of lawyers who sound like they’re scared to breathe wrong around him. I’m curled on the couch in his oversized hoodie, knees pulled to my chest, staring out at the city waking up below us. The ring on my finger catches the first light — heavy, beautiful, terrifying. Every time I look at it, my stomach flips. Not just from the baby. From everything else. Damian finally hangs up and walks in. His shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the scar on his side peeking out like a reminder of how close we came to losing everything. He sees me and stops. “You okay?” he asks, voice softer than it’s been all night. I nod, but it’s a lie and he knows it. He always knows. He