Belinda's POV
The car smelled of expensive leather, cold glass, and the sharp, clean scent of Jackson I've grown obsessed with. The privacy partition was up, separating us from the driver and the retreating city. It was the deepest level of security we had. And he was about to detonate it.
I looked at his face. The soft, unguarded man who had kissed me beneath the Carina Nebula was gone. In his place was Jackson the Strategist, Jackson the Protector, and now, I realized, Jackson the Executioner. His eyes, normally a penetrating a golden brown, were dark with the immense weight of the secret he'd carried, a weight heavier than the armor surrounding the car.
He had just risked exposing himself to his father, the General to shield me. And in return, he was about to deliver a truth that would either bind us forever or tear us apart.
"Belinda," he repeated, his voice low, firm, leaving no room for argument or delay. "It's about your father."
My mind instantly cycled back to the cigar box on the General's desk, the Knight crest. My father had gone missing, his network scattered, his legacy a poisoned well of vengeance I'd been drinking from for months. The Knight crest was a direct link to the General's top spymaster. I had assumed my father was simply another casualty, another man swallowed by the ruthless machine.
But Jackson's hands were on mine, his grip non-negotiable, and his gaze was pleading for a trust I hadn't even fully given myself yet.
"I know," I said, my own voice flat, controlled. I wouldn't crumble here. "I saw the crest. I know my father was connected to his network, probably running a deep-cover operation with the General. I assumed... he was compromised. Intercepted. That he's gone somewhere . And you know where he is."
Jackson shook his head slowly, once, a terrible, final gesture.
"He wasn't compromised, Love. He wasn't intercepted by a rival. He wasn't swallowed by the network he served." He looked away, briefly, then forced his eyes back to mine, injecting every ounce of his powerful will into the contact. "I did it."
The three words hung in the air, a chemical agent.
"I killed your father."
The world didn't stop. The car continued to glide smoothly toward the airport. The noise of the engine remained constant. But inside me, the entire structure of my past, my present, and my carefully calculated future imploded.
I didn't scream. I didn't recoil. The conditioning was too deep for that. My entire body went cold and numb, achieving a terrifying equilibrium.
"You're lying," I stated, the words coming out as a detached observation, a technical analysis. "That's not possible. My father vanished because you kidnapped him. You would have had no reason to actually kill him..."
"I had every reason," he countered, his eyes burning with a desperate need for me to understand the necessity of his sin. "He wasn't just a General's operative, love. He was running a ghost faction…a rogue cell that was about to go operational. A move so catastrophic it would have detonated a global crisis. His partners couldn't touch him without creating a political earthquake. But I could. And I had to. I took him out moments after confronting him about our plan. What he said about you my love…I couldn't stomach it and let him live."
He paused, letting the cold, hard logic of the intelligence world settle over the shocking personal wound.
"That's why he vanished. That's why the network was suddenly destabilized and I hired extra security. I didn't want you to find out about the body, love. That's why I had Tyrone handle it You killing that guy the other night really sent shit downhill. I wanted you to find the vengeance. I needed you in the game, close to the network I was trying to dismantle. I needed you to lead me to the core."
The revelation was a double-edged sword: a confession of murder, but also a declaration that the man I'd been chasing for vengeance was already dead, and the man I'd fallen in love with was the executioner. My purpose…the driving force of my existence…was a ghost hunt orchestrated by the man holding my hands.
"You used me," I whispered, the words lacking emotion, because all my emotion had frozen. "My vengeance. My life. It was all a calculation."
"Yes," he admitted, his jaw clenching. He didn't flinch from the brutal accuracy of my accusation. "The initial introduction was a calculation and not just based on me seeing you on vacation. I knew exactly who your father was and I was already planning on getting rid of him before I fell too deep for you. I held off on my initial plan until I found out the gravity of how he saw you and hurt you. A strategic deployment. But the woman I fell in love with... the one who wrote HIM in the logbook... that was the real life that blindsided the strategy."
He released my hands, only to frame my face, forcing me to look at the sincerity in his eyes.
"I fell in love with you while I was executing the mission. And now the mission has changed. I am no longer fighting to dismantle your father's network. I am fighting to protect my asset…the woman I love…from the General now, and from the fallout of what I did."
He didn't apologize. Not for the act, only for the deception. That, I understood. Apologies were weak. But the truth... the cold, absolute truth was a weapon.
"You kept the lie to protect me," I stated, not as a question, but as a confirmation of his strategic motive.
"I kept the lie to keep you safe and focused until we were out of the blast radius. Now, we're out. The General is the next problem. He knows I killed your father by now because of how I protected you from his gaze. Or he knows enough. That's why he looked at you so long. He's betting I'll tell you, and the fallout will break you, sending you back into his arms for vengeance. I don't want you to be wreckless and just kill anyone who looks at you funny. You need strategy. I don't advise killing the general because it'll haunt you. You won't be able to touch me without having that regret at the back of your mind. Trust me."
He pressed his forehead against mine, exactly as he had in the observatory. But this time, it wasn't a silent promise—it was a confession of war.
"The war you were fighting is over. The man you wanted to punish is dead. You need a new purpose. And I am right here."
Does he fucking think this is a book or something? WTF?
I felt the first tremor of genuine emotion…a terrifying mix of betrayal, relief, and a savage, illogical surge of love for the man who was this ruthless, this protective.
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the car, the roar of the engine, and the terrifying truth of his confession anchor me.
Soon we made it into the jet.
The silence stretched, agonizing and complete.
"What do you do to the man who killed your father?" He finally asked after a while.
I looked at the window, not seeing the world outside, but the clean, wide view of the ocean I wanted to drown him in.
"I keep him alive," I said, my voice now steel. "Because he's the only asset I have left."