The estate had changed to a safe haven, but the truth was… it was more than a car chase. Back in Alexia’s suite, she sat on the couch, a bottle of water in her hands. The cap was still on. Her fingers curled around it, unmoving. The chase was over, but the adrenaline still clung to her.

Ava sat across from her, one leg tucked under the other, at ease. She sipped her tea without rushing, her eyes on Alexia—not pressing, not pushing, just watching.

“Deep breaths,” Ava said, setting her cup down. “I don’t do nervous energy in my space.”

Alexia exhaled a laugh that barely carried. “I don’t do car chases in mine.”

“Point taken.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable but expectant. Alexia tapped her nail against the water bottle, then cracked the seal and took a sip.

“Let’s talk about Myra.”

Alexia hesitated. “What about her?”

“Your friendship. The real version.”

It wasn’t a question, not really. It was an opening.

Alexia leaned back, pressing into the cushions, her grip tightening around the bottle. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before answering.

“She used to be sharp,” Alexia said, voice quieter now. “Independent. She didn’t second-guess herself, but now she makes excuses. For Edward. For herself.”

Ava lifted her cup but didn’t drink. She let the words settle, watching Alexia absorb them.

“She doesn’t see it,” Alexia admitted. “Or maybe she does and just doesn’t want to.”

Ava’s expression barely shifted. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“You still see her the way she was. Not the way she is.”

The words landed, hitting somewhere deeper than Alexia expected.

“People change. Sometimes in ways we don’t want them to.”

Alexia nodded slowly, the words threading through her mind in ways she hadn’t yet unraveled.

For the first time since the chase, her thoughts felt clearer. The tension in her shoulders didn’t ease, but something inside her loosened.

Ava studied her a moment longer. “Good. Now you know where you stand.”

Alexia let out a slow breath, the weight of the day still there—but now, at least, she could hold it.

The silence in Elliot’s study was the silence that only came when the stakes were high, and no one wanted to be the first to say it out loud.

Harris stood near the desk with his tablet in his hand; he looked up, breaking the stillness.

“We ran facial recognition. No doubt about it. Mace and Artemas Masters.”

The names landed like a stone hitting deep water.

Ben leaned forward; his eyes locked on the images now displayed on the study’s large monitor. The faces staring back at them weren’t unknown—they were men who didn’t issue threats lightly.

“That means John Masters isn’t the only problem anymore,” said Ben.

Elliot exhaled. He already knew it. This only confirmed it.

“They didn’t just follow Alexia. That chase wasn’t about scaring her off the road. They were testing us,” said Sarah.

“Studying how we react,” said Ben.

“And now they know,” Harris added.

Steven agreed. “It wasn’t about taking her. Not yet.”

Elliot finally spoke, his voice calm, but with an edge that hadn’t been there before. “That was the warning shot.”

Anna’s eyes stayed on the screen as she spoke. “They’re professionals. No question. But that means they’re methodical.”

Ben nodded once. “Which buys us a small window—if we’re ready.”

Harris and Sarah exchanged a glance, an entire conversation passing between them without words. “We’re already working on adjustments. Perimeter sweeps, layered security, checking for blind spots. If they want another test, they won’t like the results,” said Harris.

Elliot let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting back to the screen where the Masters brothers’ faces remained frozen in time.

“We don’t wait for them to act first,” Elliot said.

Ben met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between them. “Agreed.”

There was no debate. This wasn’t a reaction—it was preparation.

The discussion shifted, tactical now. Harris and Sarah outlined new security measures, Steven ran logistical checks, and Anna continued refining the surveillance parameters. But beneath the words, something heavier lingered.

They all knew the truth. This wouldn’t be the last move. And the next time, the Masters brothers wouldn’t be testing them.

The art studio smelled of oil paint and turpentine, the air thick with the quiet creation.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Alexia stood before a massive canvas, barefoot on the cool floor, moving with purpose, her brush carving raw strokes into the canvas. Deep reds bled into muted grays, each pass of color a wordless release of everything she couldn’t say.

She wasn’t thinking about the shapes forming under her hand, wasn’t analyzing the colors bleeding into each other. This wasn’t a technique. It was something more primal. A purge.

Across the estate, in the security room, Ava studied the security feed streamed onto the screen in front of her. The cameras in the studio weren’t intrusive—nothing high-tech, just standard estate security. Enough to catch the broad strokes of movement. Enough for Ava to see what she needed to.

She wasn’t watching out of suspicion. She was watching because Alexia didn’t even realize how much she was saying without words.

Ava tilted her head, studying the screen as Alexia worked. There was no hesitation in the strokes. No careful planning. Just emotion bleeding through color.

A knowing look crossed Ava’s face. No wonder Elliot’s in trouble.

The painting was abstract, but Ava could read between the lines—between the jagged streaks of gray and the violent slashes of red. Frustration. Conflict. Fear, maybe. But there was something else layered beneath it all.

Determination.

Alexia wasn’t fragile.

She just hadn’t figured that out yet.

Ava sat back, tapping a fingernail against the desk. She let the scene play out for a few more moments before shutting the screen off.

Some things people needed to realize on their own.

The scent of fresh herbs and simmering garlic filled the estate’s kitchen. The space, reserved for staff, felt different tonight. More personal. The stainless-steel countertops gleamed under the warm lights, and the faint clatter of knives against cutting boards provided a steady rhythm.

Ava rolled up her sleeves and surveyed the organized chaos around her. Marcella, the estate’s chef and an agent like the others, was already prepping vegetables with the precision that spoke of both training and habit. She glanced at Ava, a moment of amusement in her dark eyes.

“You… cook?” Marcella asked, a hint of skepticism threading through her voice.

Ava picked up a chef’s knife, testing its weight. “Among my many talents.”

Alexia joined them, her sleeves pushed up, ready to work. “If I sit still, I’ll start thinking again. And that’s not an option tonight.”

Anna leaned against the fridge. “This is the strangest battle plan I’ve ever seen.”

Ava turned to Marcella. “What’s left?”

Marcella handed her a bunch of basil to chop. As they worked, the atmosphere lightened, tension melting into the simple act of preparing a meal. The soft hiss of sizzling onions filled the air, blending with the rhythmic chopping of vegetables.

It was only when the conversation drifted to the heightened security around the estate that Marcella spoke up again.

“Ricardo noticed the extra security,” she said, keeping her focus on slicing a bell pepper. “He asked if we should be adjusting anything—deliveries, perimeter checks.”

Ava didn’t look up from the sauce she was stirring. “Everything stays the same. Just stay alert.”

“Understood.”

The sound of knives tapping against cutting boards reclaimed the space, and the air filled with the scent of roasting tomatoes and fresh basil.

Alexia exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “This might be the first normal moment I’ve had all day.”

Ava passed her a wooden spoon to her. “Then stir the sauce. Don’t ruin it.”

Anna chuckled. “No pressure.”

The easy banter continued as they plated the meal, the kitchen warm with the simple comfort of shared effort.

The estate was quiet again. It was almost midnight.

Ava stood near the window in her suite, one hand resting on the cool glass. The chase earlier had left a ripple effect—everyone was on high alert.

Ben watched her from where he stood near the couch. He wasn’t in a rush to speak, but the way his gaze settled on her said enough.

“I hate that you were in that car,” he said, voice low.

Ava turned. “I know. You’ve mentioned it… five times now.”

Ben shook his head. “You were too calm.”

“And?”

“And that’s what worries me.”

“I knew I’d be fine.”

Ben took a step closer. “That’s not the point.”

Ava stayed where she was, but something in the room shifted. The air between them had always carried weight, something unspoken but undeniable.

Ben studied her, his gaze searching for something she wasn’t quite ready to give. “You don’t always have to be the one in control.”

Ava let out a slow breath, looking past him. “I trust myself. That’s enough.”

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch light but deliberate. “Someday, you’re going to let me carry some of that weight for you.”

“I’ll let you carry our two babies.”

“That’s why I’m even more on edge.”

“I understand. It’s new for me.”

“And for me.”

Ava’s lips parted slightly. She didn’t answer right away.

Ben’s voice lowered, his hand still lingering near her jaw. “I worry about you.”

She paused, then looked up and looked into his eyes. It softened into something else. Something real. Then, just barely, she giggled.

Ben didn’t hesitate. He kissed her, his grip sliding to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as she pressed against him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t uncertain.

It was inevitable.

Ava melted into him, the weight of the day slipping away, at least for tonight.

Inside Elliot’s suite, time felt slower, heavier. Alexia stood near the bookshelves, fingers brushing against the spine of a hardcover she wasn’t seeing. Her mind was still running, replaying the chase, the conversations, the shifting weight of everything she had stepped into. No matter how hard she tried to shake it, it clung to her.

Elliot watched from where he stood near the couch. “You don’t know how to sit still, do you?”

Alexia turned, meeting his eyes. “Not after today.”

Elliot crossed the room. “You handled yourself well.”

She let out a breath, almost a scoff. “I didn’t do anything.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough for his presence to steady the restless energy in her chest. “You didn’t break. That’s something.”

Alexia’s fingers curled against the book’s spine. “Maybe I already was.”

Elliot’s gaze didn’t waver. He had always read between the lines, to see things she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

After a moment, his voice lowered. “Stay.”

Alexia didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t sure why—not because she wanted to leave, but because staying meant something.

She swallowed, shifting her weight. “Is that an order?”

A faint smile ghosted across Elliot’s lips. “Would you follow it if it was?”

Alexia didn’t smile back. But she didn’t move toward the door either.

The air between them shifted, thick with something unspoken. Elliot was always composed, always in control, but right now, that control felt thinner, stretched.

The silence stretched, charged, before she stepped closer, closing the space between them.

Elliot didn’t hesitate. He kissed her, slow and passionate, his hand sliding down her side. He picked her up and carried her to bed.

Alexia relaxed all over, her mind quiet for the first time all day.

The truth is… damn you Elliot… hmm…