Jackson's POV
The night had been a blur of forced tactical adjustment. I hadn't slept. Instead, I stood over the main console, directing the immediate, frantic fortification of the compound. Phase Omega was fully engaged. Rosline was already in the South Wing, running initial, terrifyingly comprehensive diagnostics on Belinda. Ronda was on silent, rotating guard duty.
I was operating on pure, toxic adrenaline fueled by two things: the absolute terror of losing the woman I love and the betrayal of my best friend.
I found Tyrone in the armory, organising new gear. He looked drawn, his eyes weary from a sleepless night of tactical updates and relationship turbulence with Ronda.
"Jay, the new long-range acoustic sensors are online," Tyrone reported, his voice tight, refusing to meet my eyes. He knew what was coming.
I walked toward him, moving slowly, deliberately, until I was directly in his personal space.
"The green drink analysis, Tyrone," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You told me it was 'stress management.' You suppressed the clinical cross-reference. You prioritised her lie over her safety, over her life, and over our friendship."
"I protected the mission, Jay," Tyrone insisted, squaring his shoulders. "Belinda told me her secret was the key to preventing your paralysis. The moment you knew, you would have fractured. The General's men were still active. I bought you time. I bought the mission time."
"You don't get to make that call!" I exploded, rage finally snapping the last thread of my control. "She was suffering! She was crying alone on a shower floor! She was nauseous for weeks, and I thought she was going to die! You lied to me, Tyrone!"
I shoved him, hard, against the weapons rack. He didn't fall, but the metallic clang of rifles and gear was deafening.
"You think I don't know the difference between a subordinate's duty and a friend's honesty?" I advanced on him. "I would have traded the whole damned compound for a single word of truth, and you knew that! You watched me smoke cigarettes and spiral, drink more and you said nothing! I can understand her not noticing me spiralling because she was going through something on her own…but you saw it. You knew…"
Tyrone's own anger flared, born of his belief in his decision and the inherent risk he took. He shoved me back, equal force for equal force.
"I protected your greatest vulnerability, which is your heart, Jackson! You were making reckless moves! And if I hadn't lied, you would have never let her take out your father, and we'd still be stuck in a stalemate! I did what a shield does!"
I lunged forward, grabbing his tactical vest. The move was automatic, trained. He immediately countered, grabbing my wrist. We weren't punching, but we were locked in a desperate, violent embrace—a wrestling match between a betrayed boss and a defensive friend. The sheer effort of the struggle, the unspoken history between us, made the air thick.
"Never again," I panted, my face inches from his, adrenaline stinging my eyes. "If you ever withhold a piece of critical intelligence from me again—ever—I will lock you in a cell until the war is over. I don't care about the mission. I only care about her. Understand?"
Tyrone nodded, his breathing ragged, his own fear visible. "Understood, Boss. Safety over mission. Safety over truth."
I released him, staggering back. The physical fight was over, but the friendship was badly bruised.
The rage quickly cooled into cold, meticulous strategy. My father was gone, but the network he served was a vengeful machine. I had to guarantee the safety of my family immediately.
I retreated to a secure comms room and initiated contact with my mother and my brother, Lyle, in the US. I used the standard, heavily encrypted voice changer.
She can't know about the incident yet because she's at my aunt's place this week.
"Mom," I said, keeping my voice calm. "There was an accident. The house... it's gone. I need you and Lyle to pack two suitcases each. You are going on a short, pre-paid vacation."
My mother's voice was thin with shock. "Lyle just left for the firm, Jackson. What kind of accident?"
"A structural one, Mom. The gas line was old. I need you out of the city now. My people are already on the way."
I tracked down Lyle next. Lyle, the idealistic medical and law firm partner, had to be handled with extreme care. He genuinely believed I was just a highly successful, secretive tech CEO.
"Lyle," I stated, using a tone of strained, professional urgency. "I need you to take a two-day leave. I've sent a private jet. I'm having a massive audit and restructuring done at the main campus. I need you physically present to review the contract language on the new acquisitions."
"An audit? Now?" Lyle scoffed, clearly annoyed. "Jackson, I have operations and trials booked. Can't we just video conference?"
"No. This is sensitive, Lyle. It affects the entire company's liability. It's a short, mandatory trip to the Cape Town compound. Be ready in two hours. My people will handle the flight. It's mandatory."
I hung up before he could argue. Lyle would be on the compound in two days. Having him and my mother secured inside the fortress was the only way to guarantee they wouldn't become the next tactical casualty. It complicated everything, but it was essential.
Belinda's POV
The vault debrief had been brutal, but effective. Now, I was resting in the lounge of Rosline and Ronda's suite, wrapped in a thick blanket, sipping the green drink. Rosline had placed a fetal heart-rate monitor on my stomach, the faint, rapid thump-thump-thump of the baby a constant, terrifying soundtrack.
Ronda and Rosline were seated opposite me, both looking exhausted. The fear in the compound was palpable, thicker than the morning fog.
"He hasn't slept, B," Ronda murmured, gently stirring her coffee (a luxury I no longer dared to indulge in). "The fight with Tyrone was... visceral. He's not just angry about the assassination. He's furious that he couldn't protect you from the nausea and the exhaustion. His trauma is driving the lockdown."
"The moment he finds out I'm still doing crunches, I'm going to be locked in a lead box," I sighed, glancing down at the heart monitor. "He treats this pregnancy like a high-yield explosive."
Rosline nodded, her expression serious. "He's in a state of crisis, B. You breached two of his most fundamental rules: Absolute Honesty and His Mother's Safety Protocol. He thinks he's protecting you, but he's strangling the life out of us all. The Phase Omega lockdown is too aggressive… it draws attention. He needs a distraction, and he needs to feel like he's building something safe, not just hiding."
"We need to be his emotional support, not just his security team," Ronda added. "He's terrified he's going to lose you the way his mother almost died. We have to make him feel like he's making the right moves."
I nodded, the plan forming in my mind. He needed control. He needed a symbol. He needed to be reminded of the love that justified this chaos.
Jackson's POV
Later that afternoon, after reviewing two dozen security feeds and re-calibrating the main sensor grid, I retreated to my private office. I pulled up the most private file on my server, secured by a retinal scan and voice print: Project B.K.
This file contained everything I knew about Belinda Knight that wasn't tactical: her favorite color, her irrational fear of moths, her addiction to apple juice, and a small, detailed sketch of a ring she had idly drawn on a napkin a while ago, during a conversation about art deco jewelry with her ex fiancé. I had filed it away, waiting for the right moment because I knew he wouldn't get her the ring she wanted, and I knew she'd kill him when she found out he was cheating on her with his childhood best friend every weekend.
The time for waiting was over.
I zoomed in on the sketch. It wasn't a standard solitaire. It was architectural, aggressive, and elegant. I pulled up my secure line to the most exclusive jeweler in the country.
"I need an immediate commission," I dictated, my voice low and rushed. "A Marquise-cut diamond, as close to five carats as possible. I want the setting done in brushed platinum. The design must incorporate two knife-edge accent bands—one set with black diamonds and one with white diamonds—that wrap around the center stone like opposing blades."
I didn't want a traditional ring. I wanted a ring that said: You are the fierce, beautiful woman who blew up my father's house and is carrying my child. You are my queen. I wanted a ring that honored her as a partner, not a mistake. I refused to let her feel like a "baby mama with no ring." I respected her too much for that.
I walked down to the armory and found Tyrone still working, his expression strained.
"I need you to personally handle a high-value delivery," I stated, handing him a one-time encrypted access code. "Platinum, tonight. You'll bring back a package. No questions. No surveillance."
Tyrone nodded, instantly professional. "Understood."
I paused, looking at my friend. "It's a ring, Tyrone. An engagement ring. I'm going to ask her to marry me."
The shock wiped the lingering anger from Tyrone's face. He let out a long, slow breath, a faint smile touching his lips.
"It's about time, Jay," he said softly. "The safest place in the world is the one you built for her."
"I know," I admitted, my own heart settling slightly at the decision. "And I have to give her that Marquise piece with now. I have to rebuild the trust, and I have to give this child a name and a future I'm willing to fight for."
"I'll have it back by midnight," Tyrone promised, turning to secure his travel case. "And Jay? Congratulations."
I nodded, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope ignite in the dark chaos. I had 48 hours until Lyle arrived and 12 hours until the ring was in the compound. The next move was mine.