Christie’s POVThe morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, but it didn't feel warm. I sat at the breakfast table, staring at a cup of coffee I hadn't touched. Across from me, Lyon was already dressed, looking perfectly composed as if the chaos of the gala had never happened."Pack your things, Christie," he said. It wasn't a suggestion. "We’re leaving for the North this afternoon. I’ve already had Ren prepare the convoy."I looked up at him, my heart sinking. "I can't, Lyon. I can’t just run away.""It isn't running away," he countered, leaning forward. His eyes were serious. "It’s moving to safety. My men picked Julian up the second he stepped off that gala stage last night. He’s back in the facility, and he isn’t going anywhere this time. But the buyers are still crawling through this city, and your mother is desperate. This house, this city—it’s a target.""I have a life here," I whispered, though even as I said it, I knew how thin that life was.
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