MasukThe weeks that followed Isabella’s arrival were a blur of quiet chaos.Our estate, once a sanctuary for just Julian, Alexander, and me, had transformed into a bustling refuge. Isabella and Hope had settled into their apartment nearby, but they spent most of their days at our house. Victoria visited constantly, her laptop always open as she documented the stories of the women Adrian had victimized. Marcus had hired a team of private investigators to track down the remaining four women on the corkboard.But the shadow of Adrian still lingered.One evening, as I was preparing dinner in the kitchen, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number."You think you can save them all? You can't even save yourself."I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. Then I deleted the message and blocked the number.I didn't tell Julian. He was already carrying too much. But I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching us.---The break came three days later.Marcus burst into the study, his
The drive back to the Hudson Valley was silent.I stared out the window, watching the trees blur past, but I wasn't seeing them. I was seeing my own face on that corkboard, my own name in Adrian's handwriting. The perfect vessel. The perfect heir. The perfect revenge.He had never loved me. He had never even wanted me. I was just a means to an end—a womb to carry his legacy, a tool to be used and discarded.And I had almost let him win.When we arrived at the estate, Marcus was waiting at the door. His expression was grim, but there was something else in his eyes—something I hadn't seen before. Respect."The FBI just called," he said. "They found one of the women. Isabella Rossi. She's alive."Julian's head snapped up. "Where?""Rome. She's been living in a convent for the past six months. She fled Italy after Adrian's men tried to take her child.""She had a child?""A daughter. Eight months old." Marcus paused. "She named her Hope."---Julian booked a flight to Rome that night.He
The drive to the estate took less than an hour, but it felt like a lifetime.Julian drove with the same ruthless focus I had seen in Scotland, his hands gripping the wheel, his jaw set like carved stone. I sat beside him, my hand resting on my belly, my mind racing through every possible horror that awaited us in that hidden room.Six other women.Six other victims.Six other children, perhaps.The FBI had cordoned off the entire property by the time we arrived. Yellow tape fluttered in the autumn wind, and armed agents patrolled the perimeter. Agent Morrison met us at the front door, her face pale and drawn."You need to prepare yourselves," she said quietly. "What's down there... it's not pretty.""We've seen worse," Julian said.Morrison didn't argue. She just led us through the house, past the grand staircase and the portrait gallery, to the study where Richard Blackwood had once ruled his empire. The bookshelf had been pulled aside, revealing the hidden staircase that led to the
The days after Adrian’s capture were a strange, quiet kind of purgatory.The media storm raged outside the gates of the Hudson Valley estate, but inside, Julian had built a fortress of silence. He had taken a leave of absence from Marchetti Capital, delegating everything to Marcus, and had barely left my side.I was on strict bed rest. Dr. Okafor had been clear: no stress, no traveling, no drama. Just rest and time for my body to heal.But being confined to bed while pregnant and traumatized was its own kind of torture. I felt useless. Frustrated. And worst of all, I felt ugly. The bleeding had stopped, but my body felt foreign to me—heavy, aching, and scarred by the past.One afternoon, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom. I was wearing one of Julian’s old Harvard sweatshirts, my hair was a messy knot on top of my head, and dark circles bruised the skin under my eyes. My belly was just beginning to show—a small, subtle curve beneath the fabric.I didn't look lik
The world stopped.I heard the shot before I saw what happened—a deafening crack that echoed off the warehouse walls. My lungs seized. My vision tunneled."Julian!" I screamed, shoving the car door open.But Julian was still standing.Adrian was not.His body crumpled to the cracked asphalt, the gun skittering out of his hand and spinning into the gutter. Blood spread beneath him in a dark, glistening pool. Marcus had fired from the flank—a single, precise shot that took Adrian through the shoulder and dropped him before he could pull the trigger.I reached Julian's side and grabbed his face with both hands. "Are you hurt? Did he—""I'm fine." Julian's voice was ragged but steady. He pulled me against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head. "I'm fine, Elena. I'm here."Across the parking lot, Marcus advanced on Adrian with his weapon raised, shouting orders. Adrian was writhing on the ground, his blood pooling on the asphalt, his face twisted not with pain but with rage."Yo
Adrian had been free for forty-eight hours.Forty-eight hours of silence. Forty-eight hours of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The estate was locked down like a fortress—armed guards patrolling the perimeter, security cameras sweeping every inch of the property, motion sensors hidden in the trees. Julian barely slept. Marcus didn't sleep at all.And I sat in the nursery, holding Alexander, planning a war."We need to stop reacting," I said at the breakfast table on the third morning. "We've been playing defense since the day we met. Adrian attacks, we defend. Adrian threatens, we hide. We need to flip the script."Julian looked up from his coffee, his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. "What do you mean?""Adrian is a predator. He hunts. But predators have patterns. Habits. Weaknesses." I set my fork down. "He's not hiding in a cave somewhere. He's out there, right now, moving pieces on a chessboard. We need to find out where he's staying, who he's meeting, and what he's planning. A







