Savannah's phone buzzed at 2:13 a.m.
Unknown Number: Get out. Now.
She stared at the message, heart hammering. A second later, the fire alarm in her building shrieked to life. Smoke curled under her door.
She didn't pause to grab her laptop or notes—just yanked on boots, grabbed her phone, and ran.
The hallway was chaos. Neighbors coughing, stumbling, shouting. She took the stairs two at a time, flames licking the walls near the lower levels. By the time she reached the street, her lungs burned.
A black car skidded to a stop in front of her. The window rolled down.
Julian.
"Get in," he snapped.
She didn't ask how he knew. Didn't argue. She dove in just as a second explosion rocked the building, glass raining behind them.
He hit the gas.
She turned to him, chest heaving. "Was that for me?"
"Yes," he said, jaw clenched.
"Jesus, Julian."
He didn't answer, didn't slow. The city blurred past, neon and fear blending together. She realized he wasn't heading to Thorne Tower.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe."
The estate was outside the city—stone walls, wrought-iron gates, silence like a blanket. He led her into a guest suite without speaking, handed her a warm sweater, and left.
She stood in the middle of the room, shaking.
Her apartment was gone. Her life—all the pieces she'd glued back together—reduced to ash.
And Julian had known.
He came back fifteen minutes later with tea and a first aid kit.
"You're bleeding," he said, his voice low.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She didn't have the strength to argue. She sat on the edge of the bed as he knelt in front of her, gently dabbing at the cut above her knee.
"You should've called the police," she murmured.
He paused. "And told them what? That someone targeted you for digging into my company's secrets?"
Her gaze snapped to his. "You think Damien did this?"
"I know he did."
"Then stop him."
"I will. But not like this. Not without proof."
She stared at him—at the way his hands shook even though his voice didn't. "You're scared."
"I'm furious," he corrected. "But yes. I'm scared too."
Her walls cracked a little.
He looked up at her, eyes storm-dark. "When I saw the fire… I thought I was too late."
"You weren't," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He set the kit down. "You should sleep."
She caught his wrist before he pulled away. Her hand trembled against his.
"I don't want to be alone."
The air between them snapped tight.
His jaw flexed, fighting something. Then he stood, and without a word, sat beside her.
They lay back slowly, fully clothed, shoulder to shoulder. Not touching. Not speaking.
She felt the heat of him. The weight of the silence.
After a long moment, she whispered, "I keep thinking about the flames."
"So do I."
They didn't fall asleep for a long time.
But when she finally did, she dreamed of fire—and the man who pulled her from it.
In the morning, Julian was gone.
Savannah found a note on the nightstand.
Meet me at the stables. —J
Stables?
She threw on boots and the oversized sweater he'd given her and followed the trail down a narrow stone path. The estate looked like something out of a noir fantasy—ivy-draped stone, fog curling off the grass.
The stables were warm, golden-lit. Julian stood beside a black stallion, feeding it an apple slice.
"You have horses?" she asked.
He didn't look at her. "I used to race. It helped me stay sane after my father died."
"Did it work?"
"No."
She stepped closer. "Thank you… for last night."
He nodded, brushing the horse's mane. "I don't like feeling powerless."
"I don't like being burned out of my home."
His hand stilled.
"I'm sorry, Savannah."
She heard the weight in his voice—something raw and rarely seen.
And still, she pushed. "Why do you let Damien stay in your company if you know he's a threat?"
Julian turned to her, face unreadable.
"Because I promised our father I'd protect him."
Savannah's chest tightened. "That's not protection. That's enabling."
He stepped forward, lowering his voice.
"If I cut him out without proof, he'll destroy everything I've built. The board. The investors. The media. You think they won't turn on me the second they smell blood?"
She stared at him. "You're still letting fear control you."
"No," he said, sharp. "I'm letting strategy buy me time."
They stood there, heat rising like steam.
Then, as if the moment snapped, he exhaled. "But you're right. And I'm tired of waiting."
Her heartbeat tripped.
"I want you to keep digging," he said. "Go deeper. Follow the money. Find the proof I need."
"And when I do?"
"I'll end this."
She believed him.
She just didn't know what the cost would be.
Back in the city, Savannah returned to Ava's apartment—her temporary refuge. Ava wrapped her in a blanket, made tea, and didn't ask questions.
By nightfall, Savannah was working again—this time on a burner laptop Julian had left for her, wiped clean.
She traced wire transfers, off-shore accounts, shell companies. The deeper she went, the darker it got.
At 2:41 a.m., she found it.
A dummy corporation created six months ago under a string of names tied back to Damien. Its only listed activity? A payment to a "private services" contractor in connection with the building she'd just lost.
She stared at the screen.
This wasn't just sabotage. It was a hit.
She took screenshots, encrypted everything, and dialed Julian's private line.
He picked up on the second ring.
"I have something," she said. "It's bad."
"I'm listening."
She told him everything.
There was a pause. Then: "Come to the Tower."
The Thorne Enterprises executive floor was deserted when she arrived. Julian met her in his office, wearing midnight-black and anger like armor.
She handed him the file.
As he scanned it, his expression turned lethal.
"This is enough," he said.
"To take him down?"
Julian nodded. "He won't see it coming."
But Savannah wasn't sure about that. Damien was too smart. Too careful. And something about this felt… too easy.
She voiced that.
Julian frowned. "You think it's a trap?"
"I think he wanted me to find it."
Julian leaned against his desk, staring at the glass skyline. "Then let's spring it."
Her brows lifted. "How?"
He turned to her. "I'll leak the files anonymously to the board. And then I'll call an emergency meeting."
She stepped closer. "And you?"
"I'll confront him face to face."
"That's dangerous."
Julian smiled grimly. "So is he."
She touched his arm, impulse overriding logic.
"Be careful."
His gaze locked on hers.
"I've never had anyone worry about me before," he said softly.
She hesitated, then whispered, "Get used to it."
He stepped in, close enough to kiss.
But he didn't.
He looked at her mouth, then her eyes.
And walked away.
The next morning, Savannah watched the emergency meeting from a secure stream Julian had sent. Executives filled the boardroom like vultures scenting blood.
Julian entered calm, collected.
Damien arrived ten minutes later, eyes narrowed.
Julian played the files.
Silence fell.
Then the shouting started.
Savannah watched every second. The board fractured. Damien accused Julian of betrayal. Julian accused Damien of endangering lives and corporate integrity.
It was brutal. Precise.
By the end, Damien's position was suspended. An investigation launched. His face when he stormed out was a promise.
Julian had won the battle.
But Savannah knew the war was coming.
That night, she returned to the penthouse.
He opened the door, looking tired but alive.
"You did it," she said.
"No," Julian replied. "We did."
There was a beat of silence. Then he stepped toward her.
No more restraint.
He cupped her face, tilted her chin up, and kissed her.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative.
It was heat and desperation and the kind of hunger that came with nearly losing everything.
Savannah melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt.
When they broke apart, breathless, she whispered, "This changes things."
Julian's eyes burned. "It already has."
She didn't sleep in the guest room that night.