LENA'S POV The gates to the hidden underground villa slid open with a metallic hush, revealing a polished concrete driveway that descended into darkness. The car’s headlights sliced through the dimness as I gripped the steering wheel tightly, the tension in my body refusing to fade even though we were finally away from danger—for now. The silence in the vehicle was thick. Mr. Alcante sat beside me, his shirt stained with streaks of dried blood—not his own, thankfully—but the remnants of the chaos we’d just escaped. Behind us, his trusted acquaintances sat, breathing heavily, some of them injured, yet holding their heads high. Brave, stubborn, and loyal. They didn’t owe me anything, but they did it—for him. For Kian. The moment we stopped in the brightly lit underground garage, no one waited for instructions. Doors flung open. They spilled out of the van like shadows scattering into light. I barely managed to hit the brake before flinging my own door open. “Lena—” Mr. Alcante cal
LENA'S POV The cell was colder than usual that night. The metal bedframe beneath me groaned every time I shifted, and the thin blanket they gave us barely covered my knees. The fluorescent light above buzzed—faintly, steadily—like it was mocking my restlessness. I hadn't slept. Not since Kian was taken. The guards at the station were bored and cruel, whispering theories about my so-called breakdown, laughing about my fall from grace. The whispers stung, but I stayed composed. My time would come. Still, I hadn't expected it to come that night. It started with a distant sound—like a dull thump. I thought I imagined it until it happened again. Then a murmur of voices. Not the guards'. Different. Urgent. The hallway outside my cell lit up with shadows. Then—crack. The sound of a baton hitting the floor. A grunt. Then another. I stood quickly, heart racing. My eyes darted to the metal bars. Then a familiar face appeared. Mr. Alcante. "What—" I whispered. He raised a hand, eyes
The salt-heavy air of the beach drifted over the row of old wooden huts lining the shore. Mr. Alcante stood at the center of a group of fishermen and former dockworkers, his face grim, voice low with urgency."She doesn't deserve to be locked up like that," he said, pacing slowly across the sand. "And you all know damn well that girl risked more than her reputation for this town. For us."The small crowd shifted uneasily.Lena's arrest had rattled everyone, but it wasn't their business. Not on the surface. Not when the threat came from high above—power, politics, and the kind of people who never got their hands dirty.One of the younger fishermen, Mateo, crossed his arms. "Why should we risk jail time? We aren't soldiers."Another older man nodded. "It doesn't benefit us. The police are looking for scapegoats. If we interfere..."Mr. Alcante's eyes flashed with fire."Then you let a woman suffer who stood by Kian when no one else did. The same man who paid for your son's school fees,
KIAN'S POV My body throbbed like a beaten drum. Each breath was fire. But I wasn’t thinking about the pain.I was thinking about Harlin.He stood in the doorway of the garage, haloed by the pale morning light like some vengeful god. Slick suit. Gold watch. That ever-present smugness coiled in the lines of his smirk.But there was something else in his eyes now.Fear."So," he drawled, stepping inside with that lazy arrogance I remembered all too well. "The ghost walks."I said nothing.We circled each other slowly, the room wrecked around us, his goons groaning in unconscious heaps."You weren't supposed to survive," he said, more to himself. "Not the first time. Definitely not the second."I clenched my fists. "You should've finished the job.""It wasn't personal, Kian," he replied. "It was business. You were in the way. And your empire... ripe for the taking."I stopped. "You tried to kill me. You stole my life. You made Lena believe I was dead."His lips twitched. "She always was
KIAN'S POV The cold chain around my wrist rattled as I shifted on the floor, my back pressed against the rusted frame of what used to be a mechanic's workbench. My breath came hard and shallow. The ache in my ribs had worsened, but it was nothing compared to what throbbed inside my head.Not pain.Memories.They came crashing back like a dam had split open. The ocean. The wind. The crash. The betrayal.Lena’s face at the gala. My office on the fiftieth floor. My last board meeting. The wedding ring.My name.Kian Davenport.I remembered it all.I remembered the night they came for me. The goons. The car. The injection. Being dragged through corridors like a ghost already dead.Now, I stared up at one of the men leaning against a metal pillar, bored and chewing gum."You boys do this for fun or just because you're too dumb to hold real jobs?"He didn’t respond.Another one, closer to me, glanced down. "Still got jokes, huh? After all that beating?""I'm not here for jokes," I said, fo
KIAN'S POV The groan that escaped my lips wasn’t entirely from pain—though pain was certainly the first thing I registered. My skull throbbed like I’d been hit with the business end of a brick, and the sting in my shoulder radiated down to my fingertips.I blinked once, twice. The darkness was heavy but not complete. Faint daylight streamed through fractured glass panels somewhere above, casting narrow stripes across the oil-stained floor beneath me. The air reeked of salt, rust, and stale gasoline.I shifted, wincing as my back scraped against the cold concrete. The dull throb in my head refused to fade, but I forced my eyes open wider and tried to assess my surroundings.A garage. A wide, high-ceilinged one by the looks of it. Bare, industrial, gutted. The metal frame of what had once been a vehicle lift stood crooked to my right. Burnt tire marks stained the floor. It was familiar. Unsettlingly so.Then I heard it—the whisper of waves.The sea.My breath hitched. My mind pulled me
LENA'S POV The rusted metal bars did nothing to mute the sounds of footsteps—heels clacking down the corridor, voices murmuring in passing. I leaned back against the concrete wall of the cell, eyes half-lidded, clutching the last bite of my now-cold shawarma. Clara had left, her scent still lingering faintly in the air like lavender and courage. Then I heard it. Two officers in the hallway. Talking low. But not low enough. "...confirmed it was Clementine. And Ryder too. Both of them. The GPS triangulated the van near the old docks. Davenport’s prints were on the inside." The second officer cursed under his breath. “You think she knows?” I was already on my feet before the thought registered. My fingers gripped the bars like iron could bleed. “What did you just say?” I hissed. The officers froze. “Miss Whitmore, you need to calm down—” “What did you say about my grandfather?” I barked. “And Harlin?” Their silence was answer enough. “Tell me he’s alive!” My voice cracked,
LENA'S POV The cold metallic click of handcuffs jolted me back to reality.One second I was shouting orders over the phone to a private investigator, the next I was being slammed against the hood of my own car by two uniformed officers.“You’re obstructing an active investigation,” one of them growled.“And you’re standing in the way of justice,” I shot back, eyes blazing.Another officer, younger, avoided my glare as he read me my rights. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t afford to look weak, but I also needed to live long enough to see this through.They threw me into the back of a patrol car like a common criminal. Clara shouted after them, running toward the car, her voice frantic. I shook my head, signaling her to stay back. There was no use in dragging her into this mess.At the station, they booked me like I was just another defiant daughter of power. Fingerprints, mugshot, questions. Endless questions.“Why are you interfering with police directives?”“Why are you making unauthoriz
LENA'S POV My fingers clutched the leather strap of my purse as I handed the cashier my card. Clara was behind me, still chatting about some outfit she found tucked away in a corner rack, her voice distant through the hum of my thoughts. I was still playing out the words I needed to say to Kian.“I’m sorry, Kian. I wasn’t trying to control you. I was just scared.”That would be my opening.I glanced at my phone, half expecting a message from him. Nothing. Just the usual notifications. Until I swiped down.And my heart stopped.BREAKING NEWS: BUSINESS ASSOCIATE KIAN DAVENPORT REPORTED MISSING AFTER NIGHTCLUB MEETING.The words screamed louder than any voice ever could.I screamed. Loud. Uncontrolled. It shattered the calm in the boutique like glass under pressure. My phone slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor, screen still glowing.Clara spun around, startled. “Lena? What the hell—?”But I was already moving.The cashier called after me, confused, and a few shoppers gasped