Jackson's POV
I dragged her into the Axe Throwing Room…the only place in the compound where a fight could be loud and contained. Lyle's confession at breakfast had been a grenade, and I needed to release the pressure before I broke something structural.
"You killed them!" I roared, slamming the heavy steel door shut. "You killed Sarah and the baby! You killed my brother's future because you couldn't stand the idea of waiting for two weeks and letting me in on your damn plan!"
Belinda stood in the center of the room, rigid and pale, her eyes wide with shock and guilt. "I trusted the asset, Jackson! Lola confirmed zero collateral! I had a single requirement! I executed a strategy that you were too afraid to execute! You were paralysed!"
"I was paralysed because my mother almost died twice!" I shouted, the memory of Lyle's tears making my vision swim with rage. "I told you that! I gave you the one piece of information that dictated my fear, and you dismissed it! You knew the trauma, and you still made a unilateral decision that risked the exact collateral damage I was afraid of!"
I grabbed the handle of an axe, not to throw it, but to focus my shaking hands. "You think you're the hero? You think you're protecting me? Your reckless decision-making has just guaranteed that Lyle, who is sitting twenty feet away, has a blood debt to settle! You have stained your hands with innocent blood, not just my father's!"
My chest heaved. The fear for her life, the trauma of my past, and the horrifying truth of Sarah's death boiled over, and I lost control.
"Fuck Belinda, when you told me you were pregnant... when I realised you had been lying to me for weeks, suffering alone..." I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could retract the next words even as they left my mouth. "I wished you had terminated it! I wished you had terminated the pregnancy when you first found out, so we could just fight the war and not risk your life over this stupid, reckless action!"
The room went silent. I opened my eyes. Belinda stood there, her face shattered, the last remnants of her defiance draining away. I didn't mean it as a decree, but as a pure, agonising cry of a man who wished the danger didn't exist. I would never forgive myself for that slip up. Being the reason behind this broken version of her I'm seeing. Seeing the result of my words in her eyes.
Belinda's POV
The weight of my own actions was crushing me, but Jackson's accidental confession was a deeper, colder wound. I found Rosline and Ronda in the secure gym immediately, trying to burn off the compound's suffocating energy.
"He said it," I whispered, collapsing onto a weight bench. "Jackson... he said he wished I had terminated the pregnancy."
Rosline immediately stopped her workout. Ronda paused her stretching, her expression instantly protective.
"He didn't mean it, B," Rosline said, though her voice lacked conviction. "He's terrified. He saw his mother nearly die. Lyle's confession this morning pushed him over the edge."
"He meant it," I insisted, the tears finally starting to fall. "He meant it as a desperate escape from the fear. He wants the child, but he's so consumed by the thought of losing me…of causing me pain…that he wishes the risk didn't exist. He doesn't see a baby…he sees a high-explosive target and a medical nightmare."
Ronda walked over, her expression hard. "That's trauma talking, not love, B. He needs to realise that his fear is no longer his sole strategy. We need to focus on stability. His mother and Lyle are a huge distraction. They are the weakness now."
"They're the weakness I created," I said, burying my face in my hands. "I killed Sarah and her baby. I didn't just break Jackson's heart…I made him a murderer of his own family, and now his brother has a right to hate me."
Rosline sat beside me, placing a comforting hand on my knee. "We are the safety net, B. We get him through the trauma, and we keep you safe from the consequences. But now that we know about Sarah, Lyle is our biggest variable. His grief is pure, uncontrolled chaos."
Lyle's POV
The raw, agonising pain of losing Sarah and the baby had calcified into a single, cold directive: retaliation. Belinda…the false, affectionate "partner" who had killed my future while protecting her own…had to pay.
I waited until the early evening, when the dinner commotion was over and Jackson was locked away in the command center. I had spent two days memorizing the domestic layout. I knew the master suite had a small, private mini-fridge where Ronda placed Belinda's green drink every night.
I slipped out of my room, moving silently through the South Wing corridor. My grief was my cover…no one questioned the quiet movements of the mourning brother. I reached the master suite, using the old, subtle hacking technique Dad had taught me years ago on the electronic lock.
Inside, the suite was dark and sterile. I went directly to the fridge. The tall, glass bottle of the green smoothie sat there, labeled "B."
I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket, retrieving a small, crystalline powder…a chemical I had smuggled in a hollowed-out cufflink. It was designed to mimic the early stages of severe systemic distress: acute gastrointestinal failure, rapid iron depletion, and uterine cramping. It wouldn't kill the baby outright, but it would cause a trauma severe enough to be categorized as a spontaneous, catastrophic miscarriage—a believable event given the "stress" they were all operating under.
She deserves to feel the loss that she inflicted on me.
I unscrewed the cap, my hand steady despite the burning hatred in my chest. I poured the powder into the thick green liquid, stirring until it completely dissolved. It was a perfect, silent execution.
I replaced the bottle and closed the fridge. I knew the window for detection was short. She would drink it right before bed.
I returned to my room, feeling a grim satisfaction. I hadn't made a mistake. I had removed a threat, and soon, I would remove her accidental consequence. The war for the future was still on, and Jackson was about to learn the true cost of trusting the wrong people over his own family.
Jackson's POV
I was in the command center when the bio-sensor alarm blared—a terrifying, high-pitched shriek. It wasn't the perimeter; it was internal. The source was the master suite.
My heart seized in my chest. I didn't wait for Rosline. I launched myself out of the command center, sprinting down the corridor to the South Wing.
I slammed the door to the master suite open. The lights were on. Rosline, alerted by the internal medical alarm, was already there, kneeling beside the bed.
Belinda was on the floor beside the bed, unconscious, her skin deathly pale. A dark, terrifying trail was spreading across the white sheets.
"No!" I roared, the trauma of my past exploding into raw, defensive agro mode. The image of my mother, the blood, the fear—it all slammed into me.
I scooped Belinda up, my arms trembling, and rushed back toward the elevator.
"Rosline! Vitals! Get them up!" I barked, my voice stripped of all reason except command. I punched the comms button, overriding the entire network.
"Tyrone! Immediate Medical Evacuation! Get the helicopter prepped and on the landing pad now! We're moving to the main emergency hospital! Lethal response on the perimeter! MOVE!"
I didn't wait for the elevator. I carried her through the corridors, Rosline running beside me, attempting to keep a cold compress on Belinda's head.
"We need a medical intervention, Jackson!" Rosline yelled over the sirens. "She's bleeding! Her pressure is dropping!"
I reached the landing pad, the wind whipping my hair. Tyrone was already there, the massive Black Hawk spinning its rotors, ready to lift. I shoved Belinda and Rosline into the cabin, jumping in after them.
"Fly! Now!" I screamed at the pilot, pulling Belinda onto my lap, holding her tight, pressing the wound with the frantic, useless desperation of a man who had already failed his mother once and would not fail his girl again.
Someone did this. The realisation hit me with cold certainty. Someone got to her. And I would find them, and I would make them regret the day they learned my name.