"Harris will assume we're heading to one of my known properties," I added, expanding on Connor's plan. "All of which are under surveillance now, I'm certain."
"Exactly. Brad will report that I'm planning to run, to meet him at a specific location where he's promised to help me escape from you." Connor's eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. "And when Harris's men show up at that location..."
"They'll find my security team instead," I finished, admiration swelling in me at the elegant simplicity of the trap. "While we're safely away at an undisclosed location."
Connor nodded, his expression a mixture of determination and something else—pride, perhaps, at being taken seriously, at having his strategic thinking valued. How many times had his family dismissed his intelligence, his observations, his worth?
"It could work," I acknowledged, already refining the details in my mind. "But the risk to you—"
"Is calculated," Connor cut me off, kneeling beside my wheelchair to bring us eye to eye. "Brad won't hurt me in public. His ego won't allow it. He needs to be the savior, the better brother who rescues me from the clutches of the controlling billionaire."
The closeness of him—the earnest conviction in his eyes, the subtle scent of his cologne mingled with the smoke and debris of our ruined home—made it difficult to focus solely on strategy.
Something was shifting between us, had been shifting since that first night in the hotel. Something that transcended our hasty marriage of convenience and grew stronger with each challenge we faced together.
"We'll need to make it convincing," I said, forcing myself back to the plan at hand. "The meeting place, the timing, the bait we lay out for Harris. Everything needs to be credible enough that Brad believes you, but controlled enough that we maintain the upper hand."
Connor nodded, his focus matching mine as we began sketching out the details of our counter-strategy. It was a delicate balance—enough truth to be believable, enough fiction to lead Harris exactly where we wanted him.
As we plotted, I found myself increasingly impressed by Connor's strategic mind, the way he anticipated his brother's reactions, the psychological levers he identified.
This was a side of him I hadn't fully appreciated before—the quiet observer who had spent a lifetime studying those around him, learning their weaknesses, their predictable patterns.
"You're good at this," I remarked during a pause in our planning, genuine respect in my voice. "The strategic thinking, the psychological assessment."
A faint blush colored his cheeks, but his eyes remained steady on mine. "When you grow up as the least valuable person in the room, you learn to pay attention. To notice things others don't."
The simple statement, delivered without self-pity but as a matter of fact, made my chest ache. I reached for his hand, our fingers intertwining in what had become our silent language of support and connection.
"Their loss," I said softly. "My gain."
The intimacy of the moment hung between us, neither of us willing to break it despite the urgency of our situation. Connor leaned closer, our foreheads nearly touching as we bent over the tablet displaying the map of our extraction route.
"Partners?" he asked, the question loaded with meanings beyond our immediate strategy.
"Partners," I confirmed, squeezing his hand once before turning back to the plan.
Around us, the security team continued their preparations, unaware of the counter-strategy being formulated in hushed tones between us. Michael approached with an update on the vehicles, then retreated, recognizing the intensity of our discussion.
We had fifteen minutes until departure. Fifteen minutes to finalize a plan that would either lead Harris into a carefully laid trap or put us directly in his crosshairs.
But as I looked at Connor, at the determination in his eyes and the strategic mind he'd hidden behind years of enforced subservience to his family, I felt something I hadn't experienced in a long time. Confidence, not just in our plan, but in us, in what we could accomplish together.
Harris had no idea what was coming for him.
Chapter Thirteen
~ Connor ~
I stepped into the restaurant with my spine straighter than it had been in years. The old Connor would have hunched his shoulders, trying to disappear. The old Connor would have followed someone else's lead, waiting for permission to exist. But that Connor died the moment his family sold him like property.
This new Connor—Connor Montgomery—strode through the door with his billionaire husband beside him, ready to face the brother who had betrayed him twice.
The restaurant screamed money in that understated way only truly expensive places can pull off. No gaudy decorations or flashy signs—just soft, amber lighting that made everyone look their best, plush seating that probably cost more than my college tuition, and discreet security personnel stationed near exits, pretending to be part of the decor. The kind of place where the menu didn't list prices because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.
Julian's wheelchair moved silently beside me, the custom titanium frame gleaming under the soft lights. His presence was as commanding as ever, maybe even more so in this public setting where his reputation preceded him.
People pretended not to stare, but I caught the whispers, the sideways glances. Julian Montgomery didn't just enter a room—he claimed it.
