She leans her forehead to mine, whispering, “Let’s do it together, Mike. Please.”
I grin softly. “Always. We’ll face whatever comes together. No more surprises without us being ready.”
She rests her head on my chest again, sighing contentedly. “I just…I want some normal for a little while. Even a few hours where it’s just us.”
I kiss her temple, holding her tighter. “Then we take it. Just us, here, now. Everything else can wait a little longer.”
And for the first time in weeks, we let ourselves simply be—safe, together, planning quietly for the storm that’s still out there.
For a long moment, we just stay there until she falls asleep in my arms.
I’m about to take her to the bedroom when my phone buzzes. I reach for it.
It’s an encrypted text:
Surrender your wife. Or watch everything burn.
I freeze, the words cutting sharper than any blade. My grip on Ellie tightens instinctively, though she’s still asleep, soft and unaware against me. The glow of the phone illuminates the message, anonymous and deadly precise.
A storm of thoughts hits all at once. They know exactly what they want: me to give her up. To hand her over. And if I refuse…the threat is clear.
I press a kiss to her hair, careful not to wake her, murmuring softly, “Not a chance.” My voice is low, a vow more than words. I can feel the tension coiling in my chest, a mix of fury and protectiveness.
I don’t bother to respond because I know it’ll bounce, but whoever they are, they’re welcome to try. They’ll have to come through me first.
Chapter 21 – Ellie
The safe house is nothing like the estate.
There are no marble floors, no chandeliers, no staff orbiting silently. There is only concrete, reinforced steel, and the hum of hidden generators. For the first time since my forced marriage, I’m outside the gilded cage of the Rusnak empire.
And strangely, I feel more like myself here.
When I wake up that morning, I move through the living area, my fingers brushing along the cold metal railing, taking in the stark simplicity. No portraits of power, no trophies of influence—just raw, practical design. It’s unfamiliar, but freeing.
Mike’s presence is constant behind me. He’s pacing near the communications panel, phone pressed to his ear as he checks our networks and the status of the safe house. I watch him, marveling at the quiet intensity he carries even in these stripped-down surroundings. Even without the grandeur, he radiates control.
I settle on the edge of a reinforced couch, hands clasped tightly in my lap. The adrenaline from the night’s escape fades, replaced by a dizzying mix of relief and apprehension. I allow myself a small, shuddering exhale.
Mike hangs up and turns, his gaze immediately finding mine. “You okay?” he asks, stepping closer, his voice softer than usual.
I nod, though the tremor in my lips betrays me. “I…I think so. It’s just—this place…it’s real. Not perfect, not polished. But it’s ours for now.”
He crouches beside me, resting an arm on the back of the couch, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “For now,” he repeats, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And we’ll make it through the rest, just like we did before.”
I study his face, memorizing the lines of determination, the softness behind the steel. In this place, stripped of luxury and illusion, I finally see him as a man—and see myself too, not as a pawn or leverage, but as an equal standing in the shadow of danger.
“Let’s watch TV,” I say suddenly, trying to shake off the tight coil in my chest.
He laughs, the sound low and disbelieving. “What?”
I tug him up, guiding him to sit beside me on the couch. “That’s what normal couples do,” I say, trying to inject a little levity.
He groans but doesn’t resist as I reach for the remote and power on the television. The screen flickers to life, and my own face greets me in sharp, unforgiving clarity.
“Mike.” I turn to him with a sharp inhale.
He takes the remote from me and flicks the channel, but my face is everywhere. Different news channels are reporting the same story. My academic achievements are twisted into accusations. My research is framed as a criminal infrastructure tool, and Samantha’s name flashes briefly on one investigative report as a “confidential source.”
