We drove for almost an hour.
No music.
No sirens behind us.
Just the sound of the engine cutting through the night.
He didn't look at me again.
And I didn't know what to say.
My father owed him a debt.
Betrayal.
Leverage.
The words replayed in my head like a broken record.
Finally, the car slowed.
We weren't in the city anymore.
Tall trees surrounded us. A private road. Another secured gate.
It opened automatically.
Another property.
Smaller than the estate.
But just as controlled.
He parked in front of a modern, glass-fronted house tucked deep in the woods.
"Out," he said quietly.
I stepped out, wrapping my arms around myself as the cold air hit my skin.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
He removed his jacket and held it out.
"I don't need it."
"You're shivering."
"I'm fine."
He stepped closer without asking and draped it over my shoulders anyway.
The warmth surprised me.
So did the scent of him still clinging to it.
I hated that my body reacted.
Inside, the safehouse was dimly lit. Minimal furniture. Clean lines. A place built for hiding.
He locked the door behind us.
For a moment, we just stood there.
No guards.
No staff.
Just us.
Alone.
I turned slowly to face him.
"Start talking."
His eyes were tired now.
Still sharp.
But tired.
"You deserve answers," he said.
"Yes. I do."
He walked to the kitchen counter and poured himself a drink.
Didn't offer me one.
Good.
I didn't want comfort.
"Your father wasn't just a businessman," he began.
"I know what he was."
"Do you?" he asked calmly.
That made me pause.
"He handled money," I said. "Investments. Private clients."
"He handled laundering," he corrected quietly.
The word hit hard.
"No."
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"You're lying."
"If I wanted to lie, I would've told you he was innocent and died by accident."
Silence filled the room.
He wasn't yelling.
Wasn't pushing.
That made it worse.
"He partnered with men who move weapons," he continued. "Information. People."
My stomach turned.
"No."
"He borrowed money from the wrong syndicate. Promised access to something he didn't own."
My voice trembled despite myself.
"What?"
"You."
The world went still.
"What?"
"They wanted leverage over me," he said evenly. "Your father offered you."
The words didn't make sense.
"They wanted leverage over me."
My heart slammed painfully in my chest.
"You're lying."
He looked at me then.
Fully.
"No father should trade his daughter."
The room felt too small.
Too tight.
"You're twisting this," I whispered. "You just want me to hate him."
"If I wanted you to hate him," he said quietly, "I would've shown you the contract."
My breath hitched.
Contract.
"There's proof?"
"Yes."
Tears burned my eyes.
I refused to let them fall.
"So what happened?" I asked.
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then
"I intercepted the deal."
"And?"
"And it cost him."
The way he said it told me everything.
"You killed him."
"He pulled a gun first."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I didn't know what hurt more.
The betrayal.
Or the possibility that he might be telling the truth.
"You expect me to trust you?" I whispered.
"No," he said immediately.
That surprised me.
"I expect you to survive."
His phone buzzed suddenly.
He glanced at it.
His expression hardened.
"What?" I demanded.
"They tracked the car."
My pulse spiked again.
"So what does that mean?"
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
"It means," he said calmly, "they know exactly where we are."
A loud crack echoed outside.
Not an explosion.
A sniper shot.
The glass behind him shattered.
And he moved faster than I could think.
He grabbed me and pulled me to the floor just as another bullet tore through the wall.
They found us.
Again.