The morning After

Chapter 9 

Bailey's POV

My fingers were still locked around his wrist, my muscles coiled and ready to strike out of pure instinct. For three agonizing seconds, neither of us moved. The thunder rumbled outside, shaking the villa’s glass walls, while the storm lit up the shadow of the unconscious mercenary lying just a few feet away from us.

I forced my hands to uncurl. I let go of his wrist and took a shaky step backward, letting my hands tremble slightly as I brought them to my chest.

"I... I don't know," I breathed out, my voice cracking with a high, frightened edge that I forced up from the deepest part of my gut. "I heard footsteps after you left the room. I thought you were in danger, Raven. I just... I panicked."

Raven stood up slowly, picking up his fallen gun from the floor. His grey eyes locked onto mine, sharp and penetrating. He didn't look convinced. A man who had just been pinned by a lethal wrist lock wasn't going to believe a simple panic story easily.

"You swept my leg, Bailey," Raven said, his low voice dangerously quiet. "You disarmed a man twice your size in complete darkness without making a sound."

Before I could construct another lie, heavy footsteps pounded up the marble staircase. The backup security team, led by Mr. Harrison, burst into the third-floor corridor with flashlights drawn, their tactical boots heavy against the floor.

"Mr. Crest!" Harrison called out, his voice laced with panic. "The perimeter has been secured. The main power grid is coming back on now."

The overhead lights flickered twice before buzzing back to life, flooding the dark hallway with stark, white light.

The security guards froze as they saw the scene: the unconscious mercenary lying cold against the pillar, Raven standing with his gun drawn, and me trembling slightly against the wall in my grey silk robe, my hair messy, looking like a frightened victim caught in the crossfire.

Raven didn't break eye contact with me for a single second. "Harrison, sweep the floor. Call the private medical team to clear these men out discreetly. No police."

"Understood, sir," Harrison replied, gesturing for two guards to drag the mercenary away.

Raven turned back to me, taking a step closer. "Go back to the master bedroom, Bailey. We will talk about your... instincts... in the morning."

*****

By seven o'clock the next morning, the storm had passed, leaving behind a crisp, sunny sky over the ocean. But inside the Crest Coastal Villa, the air felt heavier than ever.

I sat at the small breakfast table near the balcony, holding a hot cup of black coffee between my hands. I hadn't slept a single minute. My mind had spent the entire night running through damage control scenarios. Raven was smart, paranoid, and highly observant. The small slip-up in the dark hallway had placed a massive target on my back.

The door to the dining area opened, and Raven walked in.

He was wearing a dark charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt, looking every bit the cold, untouchable CEO of Crest Holdings. But the dark circles beneath his eyes told me he hadn't slept either.

He walked over to the table and set a tablet down right next to my coffee cup.

"Eat your breakfast," Raven said coldly, sitting down opposite me. "You're going to need your energy."

I looked down at the tablet screen. It was displaying the front page of every major news outlet in the city. Bold, glaring headlines jumped out at me in bright red letters:

“THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET BRIDE: RAVEN CREST MARRIES UNKNOWN WOMAN FROM THE OLD DISTRICT”

“FROM POVERTY TO POWER: WHO IS BAILEY LOCKETT?”

“CREST HOLDINGS STOCK ROCKETS AFTER SURPRISE NUPTIALS.”

Photographs of me stepping into Raven's limousine two nights ago were plastered across every gossip site. There were even low-quality photos of my mother's small house in the Old District and a summary of my father's death from eight years ago.

"The press has already picked up the trail," I whispered, feeling a genuine lump of anxiety forming in my throat. Maya was going to see this. My mother's doctors were going to see this. My entire private life was being laid bare for millions of strangers to tear apart.

"Frank leaked the story early," Raven said, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of weakness. "He wants to push us into the spotlight faster so he can execute his next move. The entire city expects us to attend the Crest Foundation Gala tonight as a united front."

"And if I refuse to go?" I asked, looking up into his eyes.

"You won't refuse," Raven replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup. "Because your mother's secondary surgery at Saint Jude's is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and the final ten-million-dollar wire transfer depends on how well you play your part tonight."

For a brief second last night in the dark hallway, when he pulled me against his chest and told me he wouldn't let anyone hurt me, I felt a dangerous flicker of warmth toward him. I had almost forgotten who he was. But now, sitting under the bright morning sun, the cold billionaire was back, using my mother's life as leverage to keep me in line.

"I'll wear whatever dress your team picks out," I said softly, my voice dropping all emotion. "I'll smile for your cameras. I'll play the loving wife."

Raven set his cup down with a sharp click against the saucer. He leaned forward, his face inches from mine. "I don't just need a smiling wife tonight, Bailey. I need to know who I brought into my house. My head of security ran a deeper background check on you at three this morning."

My heart did a slow, heavy drop in my chest. "And what did he find?"

"He found that three years ago, while working a minimum-wage job at an electronics warehouse, you took an advanced night course in martial arts combat," Raven whispered, his voice dangerously dark. "A course meant for professional private security personnel. Why would a poor girl struggling to pay her mother's medical bills spend her last savings on tactical self-defense?"

The room went completely silent. The ocean breeze blew gently against the glass balcony doors.

Before I could answer, my phone on the table buzzed violently.

It wasn't a text from Viktor, and it wasn't a news alert. It was a direct call from a restricted, untraceable number.

Raven looked at the ringing phone, then looked back up at me. "Answer it on speaker."

I hesitated for a split second before tapping the green icon and setting the phone on the glass table between us.

A distorted, deep voice echoed through the speaker, cold and mocking:

"Good morning, my dear Bailey. I hope you enjoyed your first night in Raven's coastal villa. Tell your new husband that if he brings you to the gala tonight, I will project the original, unedited video of your father's death onto every screen in the ballroom... and let the world watch who really killed Lockett Thomas.”