The car flew through darkness at a hundred miles per hour.
Behind us, three black SUVs gave chase—headlights blazing, engines roaring.
"Who are they?" I gasped, gripping the door handle.
"Paparazzi. Private investigators. Maybe worse." Alexander's arm stayed locked around me, holding me against him as the car swerved. "Marcus, lose them."
"Working on it, sir." The driver's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
We took a sharp turn. My body slammed against Alexander's chest.
He held me tighter. "I've got you."
Another turn. The SUVs stayed close.
Then Marcus did something insane—he killed the headlights and took a side road barely visible in the darkness.
The world went black.
I couldn't breathe.
"Trust me," Alexander murmured against my hair.
The car bounced over rough terrain. Trees whipped past, shadows on shadows.
Behind us, the SUVs hesitated at the turn.
Then their lights disappeared.
We'd lost them.
Marcus turned the headlights back on. We were on a narrow forest road, canopy thick overhead.
"How much further?" Alexander asked.
"Twenty minutes, sir."
I was still pressed against Alexander's chest. His heart hammered beneath my cheek—the only sign he'd been rattled.
"You can let go now," I whispered.
"Can I?"
Something in his voice made me look up.
His grey eyes were intense. Dark. His jaw tight.
"You were shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm fine now."
"You're still shaking."
He was right. My whole body trembled.
"They almost caught us," I said. "If they had—"
"They didn't." His hand moved to my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "And they won't. I won't let them."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me."
The car drove deeper into the forest. Away from the city. Away from everything.
Away from the people trying to destroy me.
The estate appeared like something from a gothic novel.
Stone walls. Ivy-covered towers. Windows that glowed warm against the night.
It was beautiful.
And isolated.
Perfect.
"Welcome to Blackwood Manor," Alexander said as we pulled up. "My family's ancestral home."
"You grew up here?"
"Unfortunately."
The bitterness in that one word spoke volumes.
Marcus opened the door. Alexander helped me out, his hand lingering on mine.
"Get some rest, Marcus. We won't need the car tonight."
"Yes, sir."
The front door opened before we reached it.
An older woman stood there—sixties, kind face, wearing an apron.
"Master Alexander." Her smile was genuine. Warm. "It's been too long."
"Mrs. Chen." He actually smiled. A real one. "Thank you for preparing everything on short notice."
"Of course." She turned to me, eyes crinkling. "And you must be the new Mrs. Knight. Come in, dear. You look half frozen."
She ushered us inside.
The interior was stunning. Wood-paneled walls. Antique furniture. A fireplace large enough to stand in, flames already crackling.
It felt like home.
Real home. Not the cold perfection of the penthouse.
"I've prepared the master suite," Mrs. Chen said. "Fresh sheets, towels, everything you need. And dinner is ready whenever you are."
"Thank you." Alexander handed her his coat. "We'll eat in an hour. And Mrs. Chen—no one knows we're here. It stays that way."
"Of course, Master Alexander. Your secrets are always safe with me." She winked at me. "Even the good ones."
She disappeared toward what I assumed was the kitchen.
Alexander turned to me. "You should rest. It's been a long day."
"I'm not tired."
"You're exhausted."
"I'm angry." The words burst out. "They're hunting me. Lying about me. Destroying everything. And I'm just... running."
"Strategic retreat," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." He moved closer. "Running is cowardice. Retreating is preparing for war. And Seraphina, we're about to go to war."
Something fierce sparked in my chest. "Good."
His smile was sharp. Dangerous. Proud.
"There she is."
"Who?"
"The woman who survived them." He touched my face again—he'd been doing that more, I noticed. "The one who's going to destroy them."
"I don't know how."
"Lucky for you," he murmured, "I do."
Dinner was quiet. Comfortable.
Mrs. Chen's cooking was incredible—roasted chicken, vegetables that actually tasted like something, bread that melted on the tongue.
Nothing like the fancy, tasteless meals at the penthouse.
"This is amazing," I said around a mouthful.
"Mrs. Chen raised me," Alexander said. "After my parents... She was the only real family I had."
The vulnerability in that statement made me pause.
"What happened to your parents?"
His expression shuttered. "They died when I was fifteen. Car accident. Drunk driver."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. They weren't good people." He sipped his wine. "My father was cruel. My mother was weak. Mrs. Chen showed me more love in a week than they did in fifteen years."
I understood that. Grandma had been my Mrs. Chen.
"Is that why you don't believe in love?" I asked quietly. "Because they never showed you any?"
He looked at me for a long moment.
"I don't believe in love because it's a weakness. A vulnerability. Something people use to hurt you."
"Or heal you."
"That's naive."
"Maybe." I met his eyes. "Or maybe you're just scared."
Something flashed in his expression. Anger? Recognition?
"I'm not scared of anything."
"Everyone's scared of something."
His jaw clenched. "What are you scared of, Seraphina?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Becoming nothing," I whispered. "Being erased. Forgotten. Worthless. Like they said I was."
"You're not worthless."
"How do you know?"
"Because worthless people don't fight back. They don't survive. They don't sign contracts with strangers and walk into galas with their heads high." He leaned forward. "You're many things, Seraphina. Worthless isn't one of them."
My throat tightened with emotion.
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
He glanced at it. "My lawyer. I need to take this."
"Of course."
He answered, walking toward the study. "Tell me you have good news."
I sat there, alone with Mrs. Chen's incredible food and the ghost of his words.
You're not worthless.
Why did that matter so much coming from him?
Twenty minutes later, Alexander returned.
His expression was predatory.
Victorious.
"What happened?" I stood quickly.
"My lawyers just filed a countersuit." He poured himself a drink—whiskey, celebration. "Against your father, Victoria, and every board member who signed off on the fraud allegations."
"For what?"
"Defamation. Slander. Harassment. Corporate fraud. We're going after everything."
My heart raced. "Can we win?"
"We already have." He showed me his phone. "Look."
A news alert:
BREAKING: Knight Enterprises Releases Evidence of Westwood Family Financial Crimes
Documents Show Years of Tax Evasion, Embezzlement, Fraud
SEC Launches Investigation
I scrolled through the article, hands shaking.
Bank statements. Forged documents. Offshore accounts.
Everything.
"How did you—"
"I've been investigating them since the day we married." His smile was cold. "I told you I protect what's mine. Part of that is destroying anyone who threatens you."
Another article popped up:
Westwood Industries Stock Plummets 40% Following Scandal
Emergency Board Meeting Called
Richard Westwood Resigns as CEO
Then another:
Victoria Westwood Facing Criminal Charges
Arrest Warrant Issued
Then:
Ethan Harrington's Family Distances Themselves — "We Do Not Support His Recent Actions"
I stared at the screen, unable to process.
They were falling.
All of them.
Because of us.
Because of him.
"You destroyed them," I whispered.
"No." He set down his drink. "They destroyed themselves. I just showed the world what they really were."
"My father—"
"Is a criminal who stole from his own company for twenty years. Your stepmother embezzled charity funds. Ethan's family was complicit in covering it all up." His eyes were steel. "They made you the villain. I made them face the truth."
I should have felt victorious.
Instead, I felt... numb.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Alexander asked quietly. "Revenge?"
"I don't know." My voice cracked. "I thought I did. But now..."
"Now?"
"Now I just feel empty."
He moved closer. "That's normal. Revenge doesn't heal you. It just levels the playing field."
"Then what does heal you?"
His eyes softened. Slightly. "I don't know yet."
We stood there in the firelight, the wreckage of my family's empire burning around us through digital screens.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"For what?"
"For fighting for me. Even when it's just a contract."
Something painful crossed his face. "Seraphina—"
His phone buzzed.
Then mine.
Simultaneously.
We looked at each other.
He checked his first. His expression went dark.
"What?" My stomach dropped.
He showed me.
An unknown number had sent us both the same message:
You shouldn't have done that.
My blood turned to ice. "Who—"
Another message:
You think you've won? You've just painted a target on both your backs.
Then:
Destroying the Westwoods was a mistake. Now you'll pay for it.
A photo attached.
I opened it with shaking hands.
It was us. Tonight. At the estate.
Through the window.
Someone had photographed us at dinner.
Someone was here.
"Alexander—"
He was already moving. "Mrs. Chen! Lock all the doors! Now!"
He pulled me away from the windows. "Stay behind me."
"What's happening?"
"Someone followed us." His voice was lethal calm. "Someone very good."
Another message:
Sleep well, Mrs. Knight. Tomorrow, everything changes.
The lights went out.
All of them.
The entire estate plunged into darkness except for the dying firelight.
I grabbed Alexander's arm. "Oh God—"
"Shh." His hand covered mine. "Don't make a sound."
We stood frozen in the darkness.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Outside.
Circling the house.
Alexander pulled out his phone. Called someone. "We have a breach at Blackwood. Send everyone. Now."
He hung up.
"Help is coming," he whispered. "Twenty minutes."
"That's too long—"
Glass shattered somewhere upstairs.
They were inside.
Alexander pushed me behind him, moving toward the hall. "Mrs. Chen!"
"I'm here!" Her voice, frightened, from the kitchen.
"Stay there. Lock the door."
"Yes, sir!"
More footsteps. Closer now.
Alexander grabbed something from a cabinet—a gun.
I'd never seen him hold a weapon before.
He looked comfortable with it.
Dangerous.
"Stay close," he breathed. "If I tell you to run, you run. Understood?"
"I'm not leaving you—"
"Understood?" His tone left no room for argument.
"Yes."
We moved through the dark house. Every shadow a threat. Every sound magnified.
Then a voice. Male. Calm. Coming from the study.
"Alexander Knight. Always so dramatic."
We froze.
Alexander's grip on the gun tightened. "Show yourself."
A figure stepped into the dying firelight.
Tall. Well-dressed. Fifties. Familiar somehow.
He smiled. Cold. Empty.
"Hello, nephew. It's been a long time."
Alexander went rigid. "Uncle James."
"Surprised?" The man—James—moved closer. "You shouldn't be. You always knew I'd come for what's mine."
"The company isn't yours."
"No. But the girl is." His eyes locked on me. "Hello, Seraphina. Your mother sends her regards."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" His smile widened. "Your mother didn't die in an accident. She was murdered. And I have proof your beloved grandmother was involved."
The world tilted.
"You're lying—"
"Am I?" He pulled out a folder. "These documents say otherwise. Eleanor Westwood paid me two million dollars to make your mother's death look like suicide. She wanted to protect her precious family name from scandal."
"No." Tears burned my eyes. "Grandma would never—"
"Wouldn't she?" James tossed the folder toward me. "See for yourself."
Alexander stepped between us. "Get out. Now."
"Or what? You'll shoot your own uncle?" James laughed. "You don't have the spine, boy. You never did."
"Try me."
The two men faced off. Tension crackling like lightning.
Then headlights flooded the driveway. Multiple cars.
James's expression flickered. "This isn't over."
"Yes," Alexander said coldly. "It is."
Security poured through the doors—six men in black, armed and efficient.
James raised his hands mockingly. "I was just leaving. But Seraphina—" He looked at me. "Ask yourself: if your grandmother loved you so much, why did she murder your mother?"
Then he was gone. Escorted out by security.
I stood there, folder in shaking hands.
Alexander turned to me. "Don't read it."
"I have to—"
"No. Not tonight. Not like this."
"He said Grandma killed my mother—"
"He's manipulating you." Alexander gripped my shoulders. "That's what he does. He plants doubt. Destroys from within. Don't let him."
"But what if it's true?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together. But not tonight."
I collapsed against him, legs giving out.
He caught me. Held me.
"I've got you," he murmured. "I've got you."
"This is too much," I sobbed into his chest. "It's all too much."
"I know."
"I don't know who to trust anymore."
"Trust me." He tilted my face up. "Trust me, Seraphina. That's all you need."
"Why should I?"
"Because I'm the only one who's never lied to you."
He was right.
Cold. Harsh. Brutal sometimes.
But never a liar.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
He held me while I broke apart.
While security swept the house.
While Mrs. Chen made tea with shaking hands.
While the night grew darker and colder and more dangerous.
And somewhere out there, James watched.
Waiting.
Planning.
My phone buzzed one last time.
A message from the same unknown number:
The game has just begun. And Seraphina? Everyone you love is a liar. Even your precious husband.
I showed Alexander.
His expression went deadly.
"He's trying to break us apart," I said.
"Let him try."
"What if he succeeds?"
Alexander pulled me closer. "He won't."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because," he said quietly, dangerously, "to break us apart, there has to be an 'us.' And right now, Mrs. Knight, I'm starting to think there might be."
My breath caught.
"Alexander—"
"Don't." He touched my lips. "Don't say anything. Not tonight. Not when everything's chaos."
"When?"
"When the dust settles. When we've destroyed everyone who hurt you. When you're safe." His grey eyes burned into mine. "Then we'll talk about what this really is."
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
Always another crisis.
Always another threat.
But for one moment, I let myself believe.
That maybe this wasn't just a contract.
That maybe he felt it too.
That maybe, just maybe, I wasn't alone anymore.
Even if everything else was a lie.
Even if the world was burning.
I had him.
And right now, that had to be enough.