Julian didn't hesitate.
The moment he saw the photo of Helena on the jet, he activated every contact he had, threatened whoever he needed to, and within three hours, he was in the air.
But he didn't know where he was going.
The private jet Helena boarded wasn't registered with any airline. No commercial route. No public flight plan. Only one clue: the logo of a shell company tied to his father's consortium.
"She's hiding… Helena…" Julian muttered to himself. "But I won't let you leave without answers."
⸻
The search was dirty business.
Julian bribed an air traffic controller, cross-referenced data with a former lover who worked in customs intelligence, and eventually traced the jet to a private island in the Caribbean—owned by an offshore company under the Santamaría Group.
"She can't be there…" Julian said as he descended from the helicopter. "Not without protection."
But she was.
He saw her step out of a white house on the edge of a cliff, champagne glass in hand. She looked calm. As if all of this had been planned.
When she saw him, she wasn't surprised.
She simply looked at him.
And then said:
"You shouldn't have come."
"What are you doing, Helena?" he asked, walking toward her. "What's going on?"
"You're interfering in something bigger than you understand," she replied, lowering the glass. "Your father put a price on me, Julian. And I'm not here running. I'm playing."
"Playing?"
"Yes. Changing the rules."
Julian frowned. The island, the contract, the threat… none of it made sense.
"What did you do, Helena?"
She smiled.
"Sometimes, to destroy an empire, you have to sleep with the enemy… and then burn the bed."
Behind them, two armed men appeared silently. They didn't aim their weapons. They just stood there. Watching. As if waiting for a command.
"You're with my father?" Julian whispered, stunned.
Helena looked him straight in the eyes.
"I'm with you, Julian. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to betray you… if it's the only way to save us both."