Masuk~Jane’s POV~
I walked back into the living room, completely ignoring the way Victoria raised an eyebrow at me from the couch. She was sipping a glass of water, looking like the undisputed queen of the manor. "Have a lovely dinner, Victoria," I said. My voice was sweet, full of faked innocence. "Thank you, sweetie," she replied. Her tone was dripping with fake sweetness, though her eyes remained sharp, icy, and tightly fixed on my face. "Make sure to lock the doors behind us. It's a big house for a young girl to be alone in. We wouldn't want anything bad happening to you while Benjamin is busy taking care of me." Ten minutes later, Benjamin walked down the stairs. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored midnight-blue suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. His hair was combed back into place, and his expression was completely cool, calm, and collected. He offered Victoria his arm. She took it with a triumphant smile, leaning heavily into his side to ensure I saw it. As they walked toward the front door, Benjamin finally let his gaze flick to me. It was a cold, warning look that explicitly said: Stay put. "Goodnight, Benjamin," I called out softly, ensuring my voice carried that slight, husky edge from our kiss. His posture went completely rigid for a second. His fingers tightened on the doorknob until his knuckles turned white. But he didn't turn around. He opened the door, escorted Victoria out, and the heavy oak door clicked shut behind them. The house fell into a deafening, suffocating silence. I stood alone in the grand foyer, the ghost of his touch still burning my skin. He thought he could just walk out that door, pretend I was just a child, and enjoy a romantic evening with his perfect girlfriend. He thought his words had broken me. But he underestimated me. I didn't just want his possessiveness. I wanted to break his composure completely. I wanted him to look at Victoria and see my face. I wanted him to realize that no matter how much he claimed to love her, his darkest, filthiest desires belonged entirely to me. I walked up the stairs to my bedroom and flung my closet doors open. I wasn't going to sit here and eat leftover pasta while he tasted expensive wine off Victoria's lips. If Benjamin wanted to treat me like a dangerous temptation, then I was going to become his worst nightmare. I pulled out the most reckless outfit I owned: a backless, skin-tight black mesh dress that clung to every single curve, hitting mid-thigh. I slid into a pair of sky-high stiletto heels, touched up my makeup, and darkened my lips with a deep, sultry gloss. I let my hair fall in wild, messy waves over my bare shoulders. I looked older, dangerous and entirely unbothered. I knew for a fact that Benjamin’s elite estate security team watched the cameras 24/7. The moment I walked out those front gates, the head of security would call him. It was exactly what I wanted. I bypassed the estate cars and ordered a ride directly to "The Vault," the most exclusive, high-energy club near the university campus. It was loud, packed with college students, elite singles, and flashing neon lights. The moment I walked through the VIP entrance, the heavy, pulsing bass echoed through my chest. The atmosphere was thick with sweat, expensive alcohol, and cologne. Within five minutes of standing near the lounge, I felt the heavy gazes of multiple men tracking me. A tall, handsome guy from the university’s rugby team slid next to me at the bar, flashing a wealthy, confident smile. "Can I buy you a drink, beautiful? I haven't seen you around here before." I tilted my head, letting a flirty smile touch my lips. "I'm new in town," I purred, leaning against the bar counter. I intentionally mimicked the way I had leaned against Benjamin's kitchen counter earlier. "And I'd love a gin and tonic." As the guy turned to order, my phone buzzed in my clutch. I pulled it out. The caller ID made my blood rush with pure, intoxicating adrenaline. Benjamin. I let it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. I waited until the absolute last second before sliding the screen to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. "Jane," his voice exploded through the receiver. It was so deep, raw, and trembling with an unhinged fury that it completely drowned out the roaring club music. "Where the hell are you?" "Hi, Benjamin," I said, my voice smooth, breathy, and completely relaxed. I intentionally let the loud, pulsing beat of the club background bleed into the call. "I thought you were at dinner with Victoria. How is the pavilion?" A heavy, terrifying silence stretched over the line, followed by the sound of his ragged, furious breathing. "My security told me you left the gates twenty minutes ago," he hissed. His voice dropped into a lethal, quiet growl that made a thrilling shiver shoot down my spine. "I told you to stay in your room, Jane. I gave you a direct order. Who are you with?" "Just making some new friends," I giggled softly. I looked up as the handsome rugby player handed me my drink with a wink. "Don't worry about me, Benjamin. Go back to your girlfriend. I’m having a great time." "Jane, listen to me very carefully," he rasped, his composure completely shattered. I could hear the distinct sound of a car engine roaring to life in the background, tires screeching against asphalt. He had abandoned Victoria at the restaurant. "Do not move. Do not let anyone touch you. If I get there and a single hand is on your skin, God help me, I will burn that entire place to the ground." The line went dead. I slowly lowered my phone, a wave of absolute, triumphant ecstasy washing over me. He loved Victoria, or so he claimed. But his dark, toxic possessiveness over me was a sickness, and I was the only cure. I took a slow sip of my drink, turning back to the handsome guy waiting for me. "So," I smiled, my eyes flashing in the dark neon light. "Where were we?" Twenty minutes later, the atmosphere in the VIP lounge completely shifted. The heavy oak doors of the club were shoved open, and the crowd near the entrance instantly parted as if a predator had just entered the room. I turned my head slowly. Standing under the flashing red neon lights was Benjamin. He was still in his midnight-blue tailored suit, but the jacket was unbuttoned, his tie was completely ripped off, and the top buttons of his white shirt were undone. His dark hair was messy, and his eyes—pitch black, unhinged, and savage—swept over the crowd like a demon searching for its prey. And then, his gaze locked directly onto me. More specifically, onto the rugby player's hand, which was currently resting on my thigh.Jane's POV The midday sunlight didn’t feel like the harsh, clinical glare of a hospital suite or the emerald warning glow of an underground bunker. It fell in wide, warm slanting beams across the polished white oak floor of our home, tasting of salt air, wild grass, and peace. Through the massive open glass doors of the terrace, the steady, rhythmic murmur of the Atlantic Ocean swept through the house. There were no magnetic deadbolts here. No manual override levers. The security grid was running, but it was silent, unlinked, and invisible. From my place at the long cedar dining table, I paused my pen over the morning medical foundation reports and simply watched the lawn. Out on the grass, a tiny, dark-haired toddler was sprinting toward the sand dunes, his sturdy legs pumping with an endless, frantic energy that made my chest tighten with a familiar, breathless joy. Leo Benjamin Williams. He was one year old today, his face carrying the sharp line of his father's jaw, but hi
Benjamin's POV The morning light did not break through a steel hatch or reflect off the emerald glare of an auxiliary monitor. It filtered softly through the unwashed glass pane of the window, cutting a clean, pale path across the exposed red brick of the bedroom wall. The silence down here was different now. It carried no count-downs. It tasted of nothing but cool river air and the faint, sweet scent of jasmine rising from the bedsheets. I stood motionless at the foot of the mattress, my charcoal overcoat cast aside onto a wooden chair, my shirt sleeves unrolled and loose around my wrists. My eyes, no longer clouded by the wild, desperate haze of sleep deprivation, tracked the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of the blanket. Jane lay on her side, her face resting against the white linen pillow. Her skin was still pale, but the ghostly, translucent look of her exhaustion was gone. And curled tightly into the small curve of her torso was our son. He no longer needed the oxygen ma
Benjamin's POV The federal receiver’s digital vault did not yield to force; it dissolved under the weight of an unredacted truth. I sat at the secondary safehouse console, the soft green glow of the unlinked monitors illuminating the deep, hollow lines of my face. Upstairs, the house was silent. Leo had just checked the telemetry loops on the master bedroom—Jane’s vitals were stabilizing, and our son’s blood-oxygen levels had finally reached an unbroken ninety-eight percent. They were sleeping, their heartbeats anchoring the space above me while I prepared to expose the last layer of the Vance network. "The orbital handshake is locked in, Ben," Leo muttered, his gravelly voice dropping into a flat, exhausted register as he leaned over my shoulder. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in a week, his knuckles resting flat against the edge of the metal casing. "The feds just initiated their morning diagnostic sweep of Victoria’s encrypted server lines. If we're going to dump the B
Benjamin's POV As I laid Jane gently onto the bed, my personal phone vibrated inside my coat pocket. The screen displayed an unknown number. I answered. It was a cold, aristocratic purr that I recognized in the very marrow of my bones. "Enjoy your small rescue, Benjamin," Victoria’s voice filtered through the speaker from her federal holding cell. "But you forgot one basic rule of the ledger. You think Eleanor taking my empire means you won? She took the Vance crown, Benjamin, but she didn't erase the bloodline agreements my father buried decades ago. The Syndicate doesn't need my boardroom anymore. They only need the old Vance doors that your precious Williams-Vance was built through." I stood at the foot of the bedroom, my boots anchored to the concrete floor, my body positioned as a solid structural shield over Jane and our son. Upstairs, the faint, rhythmic hum of the medical trust’s secondary oxygen concentrator proved Leo was already locking down the bedroom's paramete
Benjamin's POV The West Side of Manhattan did not just go dark; it ceased to exist. From the open bay of the old ambulance dock, I watched the concrete spine of the medical district vanish into the black sheets of falling ice. Leo had done his job with a terrifying, institutional efficiency. The regional high-voltage substations—the ones hooked into the unlisted corporate lines we had coded for Williams-Vance a decade ago—tripped their safety relays simultaneously. The streetlights along Eleventh Avenue flickered once and died. The tactical flashlights of the three mercenaries approaching the vehicle wavered, their night-vision scopes flickered as the sudden collapse of the district's power grid disrupted their visual reference. They were blind. I was not. I dropped into the driver’s seat, slammed the armored door shut, and threw the interceptor into reverse before the lead mercenary could even recalibrate his laser sight. The heavy tires clawed at the frozen asphalt, throwing
Benjamin's POV In my arms, Jane’s body was a frail, trembling weight, her fingers digging frantically through my shirt sleeves until her nails bit into the flesh of my forearms. She didn't look at the mercenaries. Her eyes were fixed on the small, gray-tinted face of our son, whose chest was still hitching in those rapid, silent tremors against my collarbone. He was running out of time. Every scream of the broken valve beside us was a second of oxygen being drained from his fading lungs. "I'm going to say it exactly once, Williams," the lead mercenary commanded flatly, his voice carrying the synthesized distortion of his tactical throat mic. "Set the child on the iron grate and step back into the corridor. The Vance executive ledger has already cleared the extraction protocol. You're fighting a closed account." "The Vance ledger doesn't govern this sector," I said, my baritone dropping into a freezing register that carried zero warmth, zero panic, and zero compromise. "This is a
(Jane’s POV) The heavy bass of the club thudded right through the soles of my heels, but the only sound I could actually hear was the frantic, erratic rushing of my own blood. Benjamin didn't just walk into the VIP lounge; he took it over. The flashing red neon lights caught the sharp, dangerou
JANE'S POV We both froze at the sound of the doorbell. Benjamin's eyes, still burning with passion, snapped toward the door. A flicker of panic, then pure frustration crossed his face. My heart, already pounding from the kiss, hammered with a new kind of fear. Who could it be? How long had the
PROLOGUE ~Jane’s POV~ The bedroom air was thick with the smell of rain, expensive cedarwood, and the heavy aftermath of what we had just done. My fingers shook as I touched the sharp line of his jaw. He was sleeping, or doing a very good job pretending. His breathing was slow and steady against
~Jane’s POV~ Even after he cleared his throat and went into his study, my heart was still running a marathon in my chest. Did I imagine it? Was it just the lighting in the room? Or was it real? I shook my head hard, trying to clear the fog. No. Relax, Jane. He was Leo’s best friend. He was







