LOGINThe cabin in the Adirondacks was not a "glass castle."It was a fortress of timber and stone, nestled deep in a forest that smelled of pine needles and damp earth. It was primitive, as Liam had promised. No internet. No cable. Just a landline, a fireplace, and silence.For two days, it had been a sanctuary.Aurora sat on the porch, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, watching the rain drip from the eaves. The air was cold, sharp, and clean—a stark contrast to the recycled, surveillance-heavy air of the penthouse.Inside, Ethan and Liam were building a fire.It was a slow, deliberate process. Liam was teaching him how to stack the kindling, how to leave space for air, how to strike a match."Like this?" Ethan asked, his voice muffled by the thick glass door."Exactly like that," Liam’s voice rumbled back. "You have to be patient. Fire needs to breathe."Aurora watched them. The large, dark head bent over the small, chestnut one.It was a scene from a life she had never let herself imagi
The penthouse was no longer a sanctuary. It was a cage with glass walls.Two days had passed since Vanessa’s visit to the Cross Empire tower. Two days since she had listened at the vent, since she had held the lighter in her hand.Aurora didn't know about the lighter. She didn't know about the recording. But she knew something was wrong.It was a feeling. A cold draft in a sealed room. A shadow that lingered a second too long when she turned her head.She was standing in the kitchen of Liam’s residence, making breakfast. Ethan was at the table, eating toast and watching cartoons on a tablet. Liam had left early for the office—the war for Lumina was still raging, despite the "truce" in their personal lives.Aurora poured coffee, her hand trembling slightly.She had moved in with Liam to be safe. But she didn't feel safe.She felt... watched.Yesterday, she had taken Ethan to school. The security detail was tight. Three men. An armored car.But as they pulled away from the curb, she had
The exile from Cross Empire had not been a retreat for Vanessa Leigh. It had been a incubation.Her office—the "Special Projects" purgatory—was gone. Her access cards were deactivated. Her company phone was wiped.She was, for the first time in a decade, unemployed.But she was not powerless.She sat in her apartment on the Upper East Side, a space that was as cold and sterile as the ambition that had paid for it. The lights were off. The only illumination came from the city outside, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor.On the glass coffee table in front of her, lay the "weapon."The plastic bag with the juice box straw. The DNA test results. The photos of Liam and Ethan.She had thought it was "Game Over." She had thought she had won.But then Liam had bought the bank. He had sealed the records. He had dismantled her leverage with a single, terrifying display of financial brute force.You have nothing.His words echoed in the silent room.She picked up the DNA report. She c
The Atlantic Ocean was not a polite body of water.It was a violent, gray, churning expanse that slammed against the Montauk shoreline with a deafening, rhythmic roar.It was the sound of erosion. The sound of things being worn down, grain by grain, until nothing was left but the bedrock.Liam Cross stood at the edge of the surf, the cuffs of his dark jeans soaked, his expensive leather boots ruined by the salt water.He didn't care.He was on his knees in the wet sand, digging."Deeper, Liam!" Ethan commanded, his small voice barely audible over the wind. "The moat has to be deep. Or the dragon will swim across!"Ethan was a blur of energy, his navy blue coat unzipped, his chestnut hair whipped by the wind. He was holding a bright red plastic shovel with the same seriousness Liam usually reserved for signing mergers."Right," Liam said, scooping out a heavy handful of cold, wet sand. "Deeper. We can't have dragons swimming."He dug. The cold bit into his fingers—his "bear hands"—numb
The city beyond the tinted windows of the Maybach was a blur of steel and rain, a fitting backdrop for the storm raging inside the car.Aurora sat next to Liam, her body angled slightly away from him, a reflex she couldn't quite shake.The silence between them was no longer the loaded, electric quiet of the elevator.It was heavier. Denser. It was the silence of a truce built on a foundation of secrets that were slowly, agonizingly, being unearthed.They had just left the school. They had faced the cameras. They had presented the "united front."But the front was a facade."We should talk," Liam said. His voice was low, barely audible over the hum of the engine. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at his hands—the "bear hands" that had held their son."We are talking," Aurora said, her voice tight. She was watching Ethan in the rearview mirror. He was in the third row of seats, happily playing with a new toy car Liam’s driver had "found" for him. He was oblivious. He was safe."N
The elevator doors closed on the most pivotal moment of Aurora Vale’s life, sealing her inside the descending steel box with the man she had spent five years running from.But this time, the air wasn't heavy with fear. It was charged with something new. Something dangerous.A partnership.Liam stood next to her. He wasn't invading her space. He wasn't looming. He was simply... there. A solid, warm, quiet presence that felt less like a threat and more like a gravitational pull.He didn't speak. He didn't try to touch her. He just let the silence stretch, a truce woven from the thin, fragile threads of their new agreement.Co-parents. Co-CEOs.It sounded like a business plan. It felt like a tightrope walk over a canyon.Ding.The elevator doors opened into the lobby. The chaos of the morning had subsided, but the energy of the city was still frantic."My car is waiting," Liam said, gesturing to the glass doors where his black Maybach idled at the curb."We can take mine," Aurora suggest







