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Chapter 25
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2025-05-17 16:46:21The city didn’t sleep, but Isla tried to.
It was nearly 3:00 a.m. when she awoke in a cold sweat, her skin clammy, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. A nightmare. The same one that had returned for the third time that week—Victor’s hand around her throat, her father’s voice muffled behind glass, the sound of crashing metal and the metallic scent of blood.
She sat upright in bed, pressing her palms to her face.
The war outside had awakened the war within.
Christopher lay beside her, his back to her, one arm stretched over the empty space between them. The distance was intentional. Since the confrontation call with Victor, something had shifted again between them. He’d been gentler, more restrained, as though afraid one wrong move would break the last thread connecting them.
And Isla didn’t know how to tell him she felt broken anyway.
She rose from the bed quietly and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The lights from the city cast a dim glow through the glass walls, giving the space a haunted feel. She didn’t bother turning on the lights.
Opening the fridge, she grabbed a bottle of cold water and leaned against the marble counter. Her mind buzzed with information—Marcus’s files, Vi’s latest discovery that someone inside the District Attorney’s office had been on Victor’s payroll, and the fact that a car had followed them last night for six blocks before disappearing.
It wasn’t just about exposing Victor anymore.
It was about surviving him.
“I heard you scream.”
Christopher’s voice broke the silence behind her.
She didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he said gently.
She closed the fridge door and walked past him toward the balcony, water bottle clenched tight in her hand. He followed, standing in the doorway while she leaned on the railing.
“I can’t sleep,” she said finally. “Every time I close my eyes, he’s there.”
Christopher nodded slowly. “I know the feeling.”
She turned to face him. “Do you? You worked with him for years. You did things I don’t even know about. How do I know the monster I’m chasing wasn’t just a reflection of the man I let into my bed?”
His eyes flickered with hurt, but he didn’t flinch.
“You don’t,” he replied. “But I do.”
That stopped her.
He stepped forward. “I let you in because I knew you’d see the worst in me and still make me want to be better. And I am. Because of you.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’ve lied. I’ve hurt people. I’ve manipulated every piece of my life into something profitable. But the day I met you, something changed. Maybe I didn’t even realize it then. But I do now.”
She looked down at her hands.
“You’re not the only one with nightmares,” he whispered.
There was a long pause before she replied.
“Then maybe… we stop running from them.”
He reached out, fingers brushing hers.
“Together?”
Her answer was a breath against his chest as she stepped into his arms and let him hold her—not as a savior, not as a man who needed redemption, but as someone just as haunted, just as cracked.
Two survivors in the eye of a storm.
---The Next Morning
The apartment was eerily quiet.
Vi had called. Urgent. “You both need to come to the safehouse. Now.”
Ten minutes later, they were in the SUV, racing through the city. Christopher drove like a man possessed, his grip on the wheel tight, eyes hard.
Isla sat beside him, phone in hand, staring at the image Vi had sent—a still from a CCTV camera. A man, hooded, standing across the street from their penthouse at 2:47 a.m.
Seconds after Isla’s nightmare.
She hadn’t imagined the feeling of being watched.
“They’re escalating,” she whispered.
Christopher didn’t answer.
Vi met them at the safehouse, a small, reinforced flat in the industrial district, protected by layers of digital and physical security.
“I’ve tracked the phone ping from the man watching your building,” she said, dragging them to a monitor. “It traces back to a burner used by someone inside Victor’s inner circle.”
“Who?” Isla asked, heart pounding.
Vi hesitated.
“That’s the thing,” she muttered, typing furiously. “It’s pinging from inside the District Attorney’s Office.”
Isla went still.
Christopher frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless someone in law enforcement is working both sides,” Isla said darkly.
“No,” Vi corrected. “It’s worse than that. The burner traces to someone close to your family.”
She turned the screen.
A name appeared.
Naomi Hart.
Isla staggered.
Naomi—her late mother’s best friend. The woman who held her after the funeral. Who visited her in prison. Who swore she believed in Isla’s innocence.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”
Christopher reached for her, but she stepped back.
“Show me,” she demanded.
Vi pulled up the logs—calls between Naomi and Victor, coded payments transferred from an unknown account under her name, and a photo of Naomi at a gala, her hand touching Victor’s arm.
All smiles. Like they’d known each other for years.
Rage boiled in Isla’s veins.
“I need to see her,” she said. “Now.”
Christopher’s voice was calm. “We go together.”
---The Confrontation
Naomi’s brownstone hadn’t changed—quaint, elegant, trimmed with ivy and the scent of jasmine in the garden. Isla remembered hiding in that garden as a child. A simpler time. A false one.
Naomi opened the door with a surprised smile.
“Isla,” she gasped. “Darling, what a surprise—”
“Cut the act,” Isla snapped, stepping inside.
Naomi’s face shifted.
Christopher followed, silent and towering, exuding a menace that made Naomi’s eyes dart.
“Who’s watching me?” Isla demanded. “Who did you send?”
Naomi’s lips parted. “I—I don’t know what you’re—”
“I know you’re working with him,” Isla growled. “Victor. The man who destroyed my father, ruined my life, and tried to kill me.”
Naomi’s composure cracked.
“I had no choice!” she cried. “I was protecting you!”
Isla laughed bitterly. “From what? The truth?”
“Victor had power. Influence. He threatened to ruin us all if I didn’t help keep the files buried. Your father found out too late. I tried to warn him—”
“You didn’t try hard enough,” Isla spat. “And now you’re helping him silence me, too?”
Naomi looked at Christopher. “He’s using you, Isla. Don’t you see? Christopher is no better. He’s manipulating you—”
“I know who he is,” Isla cut in. “And I’d still choose him over you.”
Naomi’s eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t come near me again,” Isla said coldly. “Or the next file I leak will have your name on it.”
Naomi sank into a chair, broken.
They left in silence.
---That Night
Isla sat alone in the safehouse lounge, staring at her father’s old pocket watch. It had stopped years ago. Just like his life.
But hers hadn’t.
Christopher entered quietly.
She looked up, tear-streaked but strong.
“I see it now,” she whispered. “I see how deep this goes. How much they lied to me.”
He sat beside her.
“You still want to do this?” he asked.
“I have to,” she said. “If I don’t finish this, it will finish me.”
Christopher leaned in, their foreheads touching.
“Then we do it together.”
And when their lips met, it wasn’t lust or desperation—it was a pact. A vow made in silence.
To fight. To burn. To rise.
---
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