But if she wasn’t?—
If Sabine belonged to another life entirely?—
Then Rose hadn’t just lied.
She’d chosen.
And Randy could not survive that.
His hand tightened on Sabine’s arm.
She made a small sound—pain, surprise—and my vision went white-hot.
“Don’t,” I said sharply. “Don’t touch her like that.”
Randy’s mouth twisted. “Like what? Like she’s fragile?”
He yanked her up from the floor.
Sabine stumbled, little shoes slipping on the rug. Her eyes went wide, panic blooming.
“No—” I lunged forward without thinking.
Kane’s arm snapped out, catching me at the waist, holding me back with iron control.
“Ella,” he said low, warning, steadying. “Stay.”
Stay.
As if my body would listen.
Randy pulled Sabine against him, his arm clamped tight around her middle. She began to cry, sharp and frightened, reaching instinctively toward me.
“Tante—” she sobbed, the word broken, barely there.
My throat closed.
Randy shoved the gun up again.
This time it wasn’t vague.
This time he pressed it hard against the side of her head.
Sabine froze mid-cry, terror making her silent.
The room stopped breathing.
Randy’s eyes locked onto mine.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know,” he said, voice eerily calm now. “About her. About him. About why.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Kane—an acknowledgment of threat—then back to me, because he knew where the leverage was.
“You’re going to stop lying for her,” he whispered. “Or I swear to God?—”
Kane’s voice was almost gentle when it cut in, and that was what made it terrifying.
“Randy,” he said. “If you keep that gun on her, you won’t leave this room.”
