Leah’s POVGolden morning light filters through the sheer curtains, casting soft, shifting patterns across the bed. The distant hum of waves reaches my ears, a steady rhythm against the stillness of my hotel room. I blink slowly, letting the warmth of the sun pull me into wakefulness.For a moment, I forget everything—the weight of the past, the storm of emotions Dwight stirred back into existence.But the moment is fleeting. Reality presses at the edges of my mind, creeping closer with every breath. I refuse to let it in.Not today.Stretching, I push back the covers and pad toward the balcony. The air is warm, tinged with salt and the faint, citrusy scent of the trees below. The sea stretches out in the distance, a perfect shade of blue under the early light. The streets hum with life—laughter, footsteps, the occasional ring of a bicycle bell.This is what I came here for.I deserve this.The thought steadies me. Anchors me.Breakfast. That’s a start. Something simple. Something nor
Leah’s POVAfter breakfast, I leave Mateo to his books and make my way through the narrow streets, allowing myself to soak in the warmth of the sun, the scent of fresh pastries, and the distant murmur of waves. Athens feels alive in a way that grounds me—steady, unbothered, unburdened by the past.I pause at a small shop with a glass display of handcrafted jewelry. Gold and silver pieces glint under the morning light, delicate chains adorned with tiny charms, rings inlaid with sea glass. The artistry is remarkable, each piece telling a story.A woman behind the counter catches my eye. She’s older, with graying curls pinned up in a messy twist. Her smile is kind.“Beautiful, aren’t they?” she says, her voice lightly accented.I nod, fingers ghosting over the glass. “They are.”She picks up a necklace, a fine gold chain with a small pendant—a pearl encased in an intricate sunburst design. “This one is a favorite. The pearl represents wisdom gained through experience, and the sun…” She g
Leah’s POVAthens has this pulse to it—a rhythm that doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is, ancient yet modern, loud yet quiet. I find a street vendor selling fruit, the rich smell of ripe peaches nearly overwhelming. I pause to pick one up, its skin warm and fuzzy against my fingers, and take a bite. The sweetness bursts in my mouth, so different from the dry, overripe ones I’ve had at home.I smile to myself, feeling the weight of Judith’s call still tugging at me. My father wants to talk. Wants me to come back. Wants me to pick up the pieces of my old life and return to the routine I left behind—the one that feels like it’s been waiting for me, frozen in time. But I know I can’t stay here forever. I’ve had my escape, but now it’s time to go back.I’m not a quitter. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.My phone buzzes in my bag, but I ignore it. Instead, I let myself focus on the soft chatter of a nearby café, the clicking of a bicycle wheel, the way the sun feels o
Leah’s POVMorning finds me before I’m ready for it.Sunlight spills across the cool marble floor of my hotel room, pouring through gauzy white curtains that sway just slightly in the sea breeze. The hum of Athens rises gently beneath me—a quiet prelude to the day. I don’t move at first. I let myself drift in that fragile space between sleep and waking, where nothing yet demands anything of me.The sheets are tangled around my legs, soft and warm with the imprint of the night. I stare at the ceiling, memorizing the delicate crown molding, the way light moves along it, slowly brightening the corners. My limbs feel heavy, not from exhaustion, but from something quieter. Something deeper. Like the weight of a goodbye I haven’t yet said out loud.Athens hums beneath me—faint, familiar now. The soft whirr of scooters as they zip along uneven streets, the distant clink of cutlery from cafés setting up their terraces, and the occasional bark of a dog from somewhere far below. The air carries
Leah’s POVNew York greets me with a sigh.It’s a different kind of morning here—louder, steel-edged. The air bites with the scent of exhaust and something vaguely metallic, like the city’s been grinding its teeth all night. There’s no sea breeze. No citrus trees. No Acropolis glowing in the distance. Just buildings. Tall, grey, and unsentimental. Just like the people streaming past me as I wheel my suitcase across the terminal floor at JFK. I should feel relieved to be back. This is familiar. Structured. It’s the life I know. But as I slide into the back seat of the town car Dad sent, I feel like a guest in my own city.Judith had insisted that I send over my travel details. She had reiterated that father needed them. Right before I'd boarded, she'd informed me that a town car was going to wait for me. Father had always been protective. It wasn't new. When I was in High School, he had never allowed me to return home on foot, or use the school bus like my friends did. Heck, at 16,
Leah's POVThe coffee shop on Spring hasn’t changed. Still too cold, still too loud. The walls are still cluttered with vintage postcards no one reads, secondhand books no one touches, and a playlist that feels like someone’s breakup soundtrack stuck on loop.It feels weird walking in, suitcase still at my heel, fresh from the cab. Like I never left. Like the city’s been waiting with its usual indifference.And then I see it—our booth. Mine and Cece’s. Empty, like it’s been saving me a seat all this time.She’s already there, naturally. Halfway through a cinnamon roll that could be classified as architectural, waving me over like I’ve committed some great betrayal by arriving late.“About time,” she says, grinning wide as she slides my Americano across the table like it’s holy.I drop my bag with a soft thud and sink into the seat across from her. “Miss me that much?”“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I was two seconds away from calling your dad to report a kidnapping.”I snort. “He woul
Dwight’s POVThe coffee on my desk has gone cold. I haven’t touched it. I don’t even remember when I ordered it—Carter must’ve dropped it off hours ago, before retreating with that look of quiet concern he doesn’t dare speak aloud. The surface has a faint film now, oily and still. It’s a small detail, insignificant, but it gnaws at me. Just another thing left unattended. Another thing that slipped past my grip.I haven’t eaten. Can’t. The reports in front of me blur, the black ink melting into the white paper like shadows bleeding into snow. I read and reread the same line over and over, but nothing sticks. My brain refuses to process it. The numbers, the projections, the incident breakdowns—they’re all just noise.My mind keeps drifting. Backward. To her.To Leah.The fire was here. In New York. Not overseas. Not one of our satellite facilities in developing regions where corruption, corner-cutting, and poor infrastructure might make for a believable excuse. No. This wasn’t negligenc
Dwight’s POVThe rhythmic clinking of metal against metal fills the air, a soft cadence that calms the storm behind my ribs. I’ve been here for hours, maybe longer. Time has folded into itself, unraveling only in the form of the golden loop I’m working on—intricate, flawed, human.It’s supposed to be a ring, but it’s more than that. It’s a tether. Something to keep me grounded when everything else feels like it’s slipping.My fingertips are blackened with soot and metal polish. I haven’t eaten. My back aches, and I can feel the stiff pull of a burn on the side of my wrist from where I grazed the torch earlier. Still, I don’t stop. I’m not ready to face the world waiting outside this place.This workshop is tucked far enough away from the main building that I rarely get disturbed. It’s smaller, more private. It smells of cedarwood, oil, and scorched silver. I didn’t even bring Carter here. Only a few know it exists. I needed a space that didn’t scream success or wealth or responsibilit
EPILOGUE Leah's POV I sit quietly by Dwight’s hospital bed, my fingers gently wrapped around his, the steady beeping of the heart monitor grounding me. After two surgeries, he’s finally resting.When I’d been told that Dwight was shot, I had felt my entire world crashing down. I’d cried all the way to the hospital, and it’d taken three men to keep me out of the operating room.But miraculously, he’s alive. Still here. Still breathing. Still mine. And yet, it all feels surreal—the whirlwind of the past few days catching up in uneven bursts. Ethan’s arrest, Gerald’s disgrace, the truth about Glimmr being Dwight’s all along becoming public. But nothing compares to the ache that comes from the one betrayal I never saw coming—my uncle’s.I had trusted him. Loved him. Thought of him as a steady force in my life. But behind all the warmth and concern was a man plotting to control me—using my heartbreak, pushing me toward Ethan, and scheming to seize Veloura for himself. He’d sat there at t
Dwight's POVThe road coils like a serpent beneath my tires, black and endless. Trees lean in on either side like silent witnesses, their twisted branches clawing at the pale sky. Gerald’s directions run through my head again and again, carved into memory. The House of Silence—what a sick, ironic name. My grip tightens on the wheel as I push forward, heart hammering in a rhythm I haven’t known in years.I tap my earpiece.“Parker.”Static, then his clipped voice. “Sir.”“I have done it. Coordinates check out." I tap on my screen, sending a screenshot of the map Gerald had handed me.“Mr. Spencer, wait. I’m pulling in backup. Don’t go in alone. I mean it.”“I don’t have time. He could be doing God knows what to that young woman right now. He needs to be stopped.” I couldn't let them do to her what they'd done to me.“Dwight—”“There’s no time, Parker. You won’t make it before it’s too late.”He curses under his breath. “At least wait nearby. Don’t breach. I’ll be there in fifteen.”But
Ethan’s POVShe looked like porcelain under the low light.Pale, trembling, slick with sweat. Her chest heaved as she lay on the stained cot in the far corner, wrists bound to the headboard with nylon straps, ankles tied tight. Her hair—light brown, maybe even blonde in the right light—was matted against her temples, soaked. And those eyes. Translucent blue, darting like a cornered rabbit, searching for a way out that didn’t exist.“I don’t know what I did,” she sobbed. Her voice cracked like something brittle. “Please, please let me go…”I didn’t move. I just watched her from the shadows, still as a breath held underwater. She tried to sit up, trembling, her arms pulling at the restraints with a sound like Velcro peeling from skin.“I’ll give you everything,” she cried. “My paychecks—every single one. I swear. Just don’t hurt me. My boyfriend… he doesn’t have money. He can’t pay ransom. Please…”God. She was alive. Alive in the way most people forgot how to be. The kind of aliveness
Dwight's POV Gerald Carrington lived in a two-story villa tucked behind a quiet cul-de-sac on the city’s west end. The neighborhood had a curated calm about it — hedges trimmed to military precision, pavement scrubbed of all disorder. Unlike his brother Felix’s sprawling estate with its sweeping gates and Greek statues, Gerald’s home was the kind of place that whispered wealth rather than screamed it. Tasteful. Secluded. Expensive, but not decadent.I parked three blocks down and approached on foot, dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater. No cologne. No jewelry. Nothing that caught the light.Judith had delivered the address an hour ago. She’d also found a layout of the house — a scanned blueprint buried in some renovation permits from two years back. I studied it on the ride over, memorizing the entry points, camera placements, the blind spots between hedges and roof angles.I wasn’t here for a polite conversation.I was here for answers.The backyard was mostly covered — two
DWIGHT'S POVThe office around me — my own private quarters at Glimmr — felt too big, too empty, too quiet. Every tick of the clock on the wall sounded like a drumbeat inside my skull.I couldn't sit still.Couldn't stop moving.Pacing back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows like a caged animal.My hands itched to do something — to tear something apart, to find Ava, to end whatever nightmare she was living through because of me.Ava had trusted me.Worked for me.Smiled at me, grateful for opportunities and promises.And I had failed her.Just like I had once failed myself, locked in that dark, cold hell three years ago.I dragged my fingers through my hair, jaw locked so tight it ached.Where was Parker?Where was the goddamn call?My phone buzzed sharply on the desk.I lunged for it like a drowning man reaching for a rope.“Talk to me,” I barked, not bothering with hellos.Parker’s voice crackled through, low and urgent.“We hit Ethan’s place. Just finished. He's not
Dwight's POV The tires screeched against the pavement as I pulled out of the driveway, my hand clenching the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned beneath my grip. The night sky stretched endless above me, but I barely saw it. All I could see was Ava's face. Bright, smiling Ava, who was now missing — God knew where — because somewhere, somehow, I'd let my guard down.Not again. I wouldn't lose another innocent to this madness. I swore it.I jabbed the button on the dashboard, calling Parker first.He answered on the first ring. "Boss?""I need you to move," I barked, weaving through traffic like a man possessed. "Ava's missing. Her fiancé called the office — she never showed up back there after leaving my house."A sharp intake of breath. "Shit. You think it's connected?""I know it is." My gut was screaming, every instinct sharpened to a fine, deadly edge. "I need you to pull every favor, use every contact you have. Track her phone, hack into traffic cams, do whatever it take
Dwight's POVIt was dark out. Leah lay half-sprawled across my chest, the silky strands of her hair tickling my skin. Our clothes were scattered haphazardly across the room, abandoned in our urgency. The heavy rug under us cushioned our bodies, still slick and languid from the intensity of our lovemaking. I still couldn't believe the feelings that coursed through me as I'd made love to her. It was better than all the times I had allowed myself to imagine... to fantasize.It had been pure magic. Messy, but perfect. And having her here in my arms filled me with the duty of contentment that had been missing for three years. I could have stayed like that forever. Her breath warm against my skin. Her heart beating in slow, contented rhythms against mine. Her fingers moved idly over my chest, tracing lazy patterns. Every touch sent aftershocks through my nerves, subtle reminders of how close we had just been, how perfect she felt wrapped around me...And then her fingers stilled. She brushe
Dwight's POV The clock on the wall ticked mockingly at me, but I barely noticed it anymore.I sat behind my desk, staring at the documents spread out before me, but none of the words made it past the thick wall of energy thrumming in my veins. It was all background noise. Filler. Nothing compared to the singular, burning thought anchoring me:Leah.Home. Waiting for me.The thought wrapped itself around every nerve ending, making it almost impossible to sit still. I knew it wouldn’t last—this arrangement was temporary. But even knowing that, I couldn't stop the anticipation that practically vibrated in my blood. The pull toward her was too strong, too fierce to deny.I remembered the kiss we shared. God, I remembered every detail. The tentative way I had brushed my mouth against hers. The way she had frozen for a breathless second before melting against me, kissing me back like it was the only thing keeping her alive. That kiss had shattered something inside me. It wasn
Leah’s POVAfter Ava left, the house felt much bigger.Much quieter.And somehow, even though I knew I was safe, the silence made me feel small.I sprawled on the plush sofa in the sunken living room, laptop abandoned beside me, staring out at the endless stretch of green beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The afternoon sun slanted in golden beams across the polished floors, painting everything in warm, sleepy light.I could still hear Ava’s cheerful goodbye ringing in my ears."Call me if you need anything, okay?"I had promised I would. But really, there was nothing Ava—or anyone—could do for me now.I needed time. Space.Maybe even forgiveness.The soft shuffle of footsteps pulled me out of my thoughts. I sat up just as the house chef—a kind-eyed woman named Marla—approached, wiping her hands on a white apron."Miss Carrington," she said with a polite nod, "would you like anything for lunch? I made a chicken and asparagus salad. Fresh bread too."My stomach gave an unexpe