All Chapters of OWNED IN THE DARK: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

CIARA"Ciara?"I disentangled myself and walked away."Ciara.""I'm fine."The fact that he immediately stood up told me he knew I was lying.I turned around."I'm tired, Mathew."His expression softened."I know.""No, you don't."The words came out sharper than I intended.I immediately regretted them.Mathew didn't react."I know you're trying," I said quietly."Then tell me what's wrong."I laughed.A small, broken sound."What's wrong?"I gestured helplessly."My uncle wants me ruined.""The syndicate wants our son.""The safehouse burned down.""People shot at us.""Maggie escaped."I swallowed hard."And tomorrow I'll probably have to attend a board meeting and pretend everything is perfectly normal."Silence.Heavy silence.Mathew looked like he wanted to fix everything.The problem was that some things couldn't be fixed."I'm exhausted" I admitted softly.His eyes closed briefly.The confession hurt him.I could see it."Come here."I shook my head."No.""Ciara.""No."I gra

MATTHEW“Are you sure the Intel was correct?” She asked for the millionth time.I practically forced her into the front seat of my vintage black coupe, driving aimlessly until the city blurred into the dense, isolated woods near the edge of the estate line.I pulled the car off the dirt road, cutting the engine. The silence of the forest enveloped us.Ciara leaned her head back against the leather seat, closing her eyes. "Why did we stop, Mathew?""Because you haven't taken a breath all day," I said, turning in my seat to look at her. "And because if I had to watch you stare at those files for one more minute, I was going to burn them."She let out a soft, breathless laugh, opening her eyes to look at me. "We don't have time to waste. If my father’s old inner circle is active—""We have right now," I interrupted gently, reaching over to cup her cheek. My thumb brushed over her cheekbone. "Just five minutes. Forget the syndicate. Forget everything. Look at me."Her dark eyes searched m

MATHEWThe crowd was roaring before the referee even raised my hand.I barely heard any of it.Blood dripped from a split above my eyebrow.My knuckles ached.My ribs were sore and somewhere in the front row, Louis was already looking at his watch because apparently near-death experiences had schedules."Winner!"The announcer practically screamed my name.The arena erupted as people screamed and phones came out.Someone threw a beer.Security immediately hooked him down as a normal evening ensued.I rolled my shoulders and stepped away from the center of the ring.The other fighter was still sitting on the canvas looking deeply offended by my person."You hit hard," he muttered."You should've moved.""That's rude.""You tried to break my jaw.""Fair point."The referee finally released my wrist.I headed toward my corner.Louis was waiting in his impeccable suit.The man looked like he had been born judging people."Took you long enough."I stared at him."Twelve minutes.""Exactly.

MATHEW"Dada! Look! Bi-i-ig truck!"Adam was practically vibrating in his car seat, his little sneakers drumming a frantic beat against the leather of the armored SUV. He was clutching a brand-new, bright blue toy excavator—his early choice from the toy store we’d just pillaged."I see it, buddy," I said, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. His dark, hyper-vigilant eyes blinked back at me. My eyes. Every single time I looked at him, it hit me like a physical blow to the chest. "That's a concrete mixer. Big boy wheels.""I have big boy wheels?""The biggest. You're turning three next week, remember? That means you're basically a man.""A man!" Adam cheered, waving the plastic excavator in the air. "Like Dada!""Exactly like Dada. Only you have better manners."Louis chuckled from the front passenger seat, adjusting the cuffs of his impeccable suit. "The boy has his mother's attitude, Mathew. Don't lie to him about having your manners. If he inherits your conversational skills, the

CIARAThe gardens of the mansion looked entirely transformed. Streamers in alternating shades of primary blue and green hung from the low branches of the old oaks, and a massive, brightly colored bouncy castle shaped like a stylized tractor stood directly on the manicured south lawn.It was Adam’s third birthday.For months, the sheer reality of organizing an event like this had given me migraines. How do you throw a party for a child whose very existence is a classified security variable? You don't invite the children of Mayfair executives, and you certainly don't post invitations on digital servers. Instead, the lawn was populated by the children of our high-tier perimeter personnel, the off-duty security team, and a few close, thoroughly vetted associates who knew exactly what kind of stakes we were playing for.I stood on the stone terrace, my reading glasses perched on the bridge of my nose as I scrolled through the active tactical overlay on my tablet. My grey blazer was buttone