Chapter 4 - Safehouse

-LIANA-

The safe house door slammed behind me with a dull thud, cutting off the city’s hum. I leaned against it, trembling, bruised, raw.

My body ached in ways I didn’t know were possible. Ribs throbbed with each breath. My cheek stung like it had been branded. Arms sore from every shove, every punch,I felt each one in my bones, in my muscles, in the way my body refused to obey fully. But for the first time in months, I breathed air that wasn’t tainted by iron bars and fear.

Was I more sensitive because of the baby? Maybe. Maybe I was more awake, more aware, more alive,and yet more vulnerable.

Tristan walked toward me, a glass of water in hand. Water. It looked almost holy. I grabbed it, gulping every drop, letting the cool liquid wash down, soothing the rawness in my throat.

He then crouched beside me, inspecting the worst of my injuries. His touch was calm, precise, clinical. Not gentle. Not condescending. Just controlled.

He dabbed a cool cloth across my swollen cheek, eyes sharp, calculating. I caught a flicker there, attention, assessment, but it was impossible to read completely.

“You made it,” he said, voice flat. Not congratulatory, not interrogative. Just a fact.

I nodded, swallowing hard, too tired to speak. My stomach growled, reminding me that survival wasn’t over.

He placed a tray of warm broth, bread, and dried fruits before me. “Start with this. Not heavy. You need nutrition, not nausea.”

I nodded again, eating slowly, scanning the room with careful, predatory focus. Cameras lurked in corners, reinforced doors, windows minimal. Every detail screamed control. Tristan had built this like a fortress, and I cataloged everything like instinct. Every corner. Every shadow. Every escape route.

But the relief didn’t last.

,----

It had been a week since I accepted Tristan’s help, since I’d left the prison and become less of a shadow to my former self. Physically, I was improving, but mentally… I was shattered. Emotionally, too, I was a storm bottled inside me.

Anger clawed through me, hot, sharp, unrelenting. Every humiliation, every betrayal, every scar surged back, and my fists clenched so tight my palms stung. Nails bit into flesh. I barely felt it.

I turned on the TV. My stomach sank. Cassian and Scarlett,triumphant, smug, flaunting a life I had been ripped from,stared at me from every screen. The headlines screamed:

Billionaire gets engaged to beautiful ally after ousting traitor wife X.

I was seething. I squeezed the remote as I stared at Cassian, his grin wide, his kiss to Scarlett’s cheek bright and careless. That smile, once mine, was now another blade in my chest.

T-that used to be me.

My heart shattered completely. Not a trace of pain on his face. “Scarlett has always been the one for me,” he said to the interviewer, smooth, practiced, flawless. Bastard.

I stared at her neck, the bright sapphire stones lying on it. Wow. She didn’t even wait for me to die before ransacking my closet.

I shut the TV off, wiping tears I refused to fully let fall. Hands trembling, I approached the table and opened the folder Tristan had brought. Maps, company intel, alliances, subtle vulnerabilities, all laid bare.

Every move. Every weak link. Every small advantage. Cataloged in my mind. Survival was one thing. Revenge another. And I intended to master both.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, the baby tucked beneath my ribs like armor. My spark of fire. My reason. My motivation.

“Don’t worry, my child,” I whispered, teeth gritted. “I’ll make you strong. Untouchable. Nothing like your father. Not heartless. Not naive. Free.”

Tristan watched silently, eyes flicking to my stomach and back. I didn’t need words. His presence reminded me: the tools were here. The rest was mine. Every risk, every step, every move accounted for.

Outside, the city sprawled beneath the window, indifferent. Lights flickered like distant stars, cars moved like veins of life, oblivious. I traced every alley, every entrance, every escape route, memorizing them, imprinting them in my mind like a hunter. The wind whipped my hair against my face. My body ached, but my mind was sharp,focused, dangerous, calculating.

I ran scenarios in my head, fast and precise:

Guards at the gala: timing, patterns, weaknesses. Security cameras: blind spots, feeds, hacking potential.

Cassian’s habits: arrogance, predictability, overconfidence. Scarlett: the leverage she thought she had, over him and me. That leverage would break. Slowly. Brutally.

I paced, letting anger ripple through every muscle. My chest burned. My fists ached. But I fed it. This wasn’t just survival. It was payback. Every smirk, every hollow victory, every careless headline,fuel. And I was fire.

Tristan finally spoke. “You’re focused. Good. But anger alone won’t keep you alive.”

I shot him a glance. “I know how to fight,” I said, voice low, sharp. “Not just for me. For him… for them… for the life inside me. I’ll make them regret everything.”

His smirk was almost imperceptible. “Good. But survival first. Vengeance… after.”

Survival was preparation. Vengeance was execution. Two sides of the same coin. I returned to the folder, tracing every name, timeline, vulnerability. Every thread could be a weapon. Every weakness is a lever. Every careless move is an opportunity.

I paused, letting fury settle. Visualizing confrontation with Cassian,watching arrogance drain from his face. Imagining Scarlett faltering, realizing she wasn’t untouchable. Every detail of humiliation I could impose, every empire I could shake. Fantasy stoked the fire, sharpened the blade.

I traced my hand over my stomach, gentle but protective. The baby would be safe. Even if the world burned, that life would survive. Untouchable. Strong. Free.

Tristan’s eyes followed. “Planning already,” he said, voice smooth, amused. “Good. But be careful. They think you’re broken. Don’t prove them right.”

I didn’t respond. I smiled, a thin, dangerous curve. Broken? No. Shattered? Maybe. Fragile? Never.

Hours passed. Plans formed. Escape routes mapped. Backups imagined. Allies noted. Enemies cataloged. Every detail is stored in my mind like ammunition. Every heartbeat sharpened the blade that would strike them down, one calculated move at a time.

Finally, we stepped into the car. Tristan drove to the private airport. To fight our enemy, we had to be as powerful as our enemy.

He placed a hand on mine. “We will be back. And we will take the revenge as you want.”

I nodded, feeling the tremor in my body, the unbreakable determination in my mind.

The plane hummed beneath us, indifferent, yet the night stretched long, alive. I stared at the city through the window. Watching. Waiting. Ready.

And I whispered into the darkness, low and deliberate, words meant only for me:

They think I’m gone. They’re wrong. This is only the beginning.

When I return… they’ll wish I had died.