Damien's POV
I'm breaking into a police station.
Well, not breaking exactly. More like using every connection, favor, and barely-legal loophole I have to get my pregnant wife out of jail before morning.
"This is insane," Marcus hisses as we walk through the precinct's back entrance. "If they catch us—"
"They won't catch us. You hacked the security cameras, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then we're fine." I'm not fine. I'm the opposite of fine. Elara has been in custody for six hours, and every minute feels like a knife in my chest. "Where is she?"
"Holding cell, basement level. But Damien, even if we get her out, she'll be a fugitive. They'll hunt her down."
"Not if we have evidence proving the assault video is fake." I show him my phone. "Our tech team found the editing markers. They also traced the IP address of whoever uploaded it—want to guess whose computer it came from?"
Marcus's eyes widen. "Trevor Ashford."
"Bingo. He's not just framing her. He's personally orchestrating it. Which means we can prove malicious prosecution." I pocket my phone. "Get me to my wife. Now."
We take a service stairwell down to the basement. It's quieter here, just one bored officer at a desk playing on his phone. Marcus distracts him with a fake fire alarm on the upper floors while I slip past.
The holding cells are barely lit. I count down until I find her—cell number seven.
Elara is sitting on a metal bench, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing. She looks so small. So broken.
"Elara," I whisper.
Her head snaps up. "Damien? What are you—you can't be here!"
"Watch me." I pull out a key card—courtesy of a very expensive bribe to a sympathetic guard. The cell door clicks open. "Come on. We're leaving."
"Are you crazy? I'll be a fugitive!"
"Not if we prove your innocence first. And I have proof." I step into the cell and pull her to her feet. "Trevor uploaded that fake video from his own computer. He's been sloppy. Arrogant. He thinks he's untouchable."
"He IS untouchable. His family owns half of New York!"
"And I own the other half." I cup her face. "You trusted me before. Trust me now. Let me get you out of here."
She searches my eyes. Then nods. "Okay. But Damien, there's something I need to tell you. About my father—"
"Later. Right now, we run."
We slip out of the cell and back toward the stairwell. We almost make it.
Then I hear: "Well, well. Breaking and entering. That's a new low, even for you, Cross."
I turn slowly. Trevor Ashford is standing at the top of the stairs, smirking, with two uniformed officers behind him.
"Trevor," I say calmly. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I'm just here to visit my dear ex-fiancée. Make sure she's comfortable in her new accommodations." His eyes slide to Elara, cold and cruel. "Hello, darling. Prison orange would look terrible on you. Good thing you won't be wearing it long—they transfer pregnant inmates to medical facilities. Very secure ones. With no visitors allowed."
Elara's hand moves protectively to her stomach. I step in front of her instinctively.
"You're not touching her," I say quietly. "Or the baby."
"I don't need to touch her. The law will do it for me." Trevor descends the stairs slowly, like a predator circling prey. "You know what's funny? I actually didn't hate Elara when we were engaged. She was boring, yes. Frigid, definitely. But harmless. I would have married her, suffered through the obligatory sex to produce an heir, and kept Celeste as my mistress. Everyone wins."
"You're disgusting," Elara says, her voice shaking with rage.
"I'm practical," Trevor corrects. "But then you had to go and ruin everything by running to my enemy. By carrying his bastard. By thinking you could embarrass me publicly and get away with it." He stops three stairs above us. "So now? Now I'm going to destroy you both. Slowly. Painfully. I'm going to take everything you love and burn it in front of you."
"Big words from a man whose own father is a murderer," I say coldly.
Trevor's smile falters. "What?"
"I know about seventeen years ago. About the Cross hotel. About the fake documents and the payoffs. About how your father ordered my father's death."
"You can't prove that."
"Actually, I can. Because someone very close to your family kept records. Insurance, I suppose. In case your father ever turned on them." I pull out my phone, show him a photo. "Recognize this signature? It's your father's. On a payment order to Richard Sinclair for 'services rendered' the day after my father died."
Trevor's face goes white. Then red. "Where did you get that?"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is I have enough evidence to put your father in prison for murder, fraud, and about fifteen other felonies. Want to guess what happens to the Ashford empire when its CEO is arrested?"
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" I step closer, letting him see the cold fury in my eyes. "You threatened my wife. You threatened my unborn child. Did you really think I wouldn't burn your entire family to the ground?"
For the first time since I've known him, Trevor looks scared.
"Officers," he says to the men behind him, his voice tight. "Arrest them both. Breaking and entering. Aiding a fugitive."
But the officers don't move.
One of them—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—says quietly, "We saw your video, Mr. Ashford. The one you uploaded from your personal computer. Our tech division analyzed it. It's fake."
Trevor's face crumbles. "What? No, I didn't—"
"We also found the original footage," the other officer adds. "Mrs. Cross never touched your girlfriend. You fabricated evidence to frame her." He pulls out handcuffs. "Trevor Ashford, you're under arrest for filing a false police report, evidence tampering, and criminal harassment."
"This is insane!" Trevor backs up the stairs. "You can't arrest me! Do you know who my father is?"
"A murderer, apparently," the female officer says dryly. She nods at me. "Mr. Cross, get your wife out of here. We'll handle this."
I don't need to be told twice. I grab Elara's hand and pull her past Trevor, who's screaming threats and obscenities as the officers cuff him.
We burst out of the police station into the cold night air. Marcus is waiting with the car, engine running.
"Go, go, go!" I shout, shoving Elara into the backseat and diving in after her.
Marcus peels out as reporters—who somehow already know about Trevor's arrest—swarm toward the building.
In the backseat, Elara is shaking. I pull her into my arms.
"It's over," I murmur into her hair. "He can't hurt you anymore."
"Damien." Her voice is muffled against my chest. "There's something I need to tell you. About my father. About what happened to your parents."
Something in her tone makes my blood run cold. "What about them?"
She pulls back, and her eyes are full of tears. "My father was the lawyer. The one who filed the fake documents against your family. The Ashfords paid him half a million dollars to destroy you. And when your father had a heart attack in that courtroom—" Her voice breaks. "My father just watched him die. He didn't help. He didn't call for medical assistance. He just... let it happen."
The world stops.
"What?" I whisper.
"My grandmother told me while I was in jail. She's known for seventeen years. She kept it secret because she was ashamed. Because Dad threatened to put her in a nursing home if she ever told anyone." Tears stream down Elara's face. "Damien, my father murdered your parents. Not directly, but he might as well have. And I'm his daughter. His blood. I'm—"
"Stop." I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. "You're not your father. You're not responsible for his sins."
"But I'm a Sinclair. The daughter of the man who destroyed your family. How can you even look at me?"
"Because you're nothing like him," I say fiercely. "You're kind where he's cruel. You're honest where he's corrupt. You're everything good that he failed to be. The sins of the father don't transfer to the child, Elara. I learned that a long time ago."
"But—"
"No buts. I love you. I married you. I'm having a baby with you. Your father's crimes don't change any of that."
She collapses against me, sobbing. I hold her and stare out the window at the passing city lights, my mind racing.
Richard Sinclair. The man who destroyed my family is Elara's father.
I should hate her. Should want revenge on her too.
But all I feel is love. And a fierce, protective rage toward anyone who would hurt her—including her own father.
"Marcus," I say quietly. "Find Richard Sinclair. I want to know where he is, who he's with, and every dirty secret he's ever kept."
"Already on it," Marcus says. "But Damien? He's not going to go down easy. He has powerful friends."
"Then we'll burn them all." I look down at Elara, who's finally stopped crying. "Your father took everything from me once. I'm not letting him take you too."
She looks up at me with those beautiful, sad eyes. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to make him pay for every life he's destroyed. Starting with mine. Ending with his own daughter's." I kiss her forehead. "And then I'm going to make sure he never touches you or our baby again."
"He's still my father," she whispers.
"He stopped being your father the moment he chose money over you. Now he's just another enemy we need to eliminate."
The car pulls up to a safe house Marcus arranged—a penthouse in Brooklyn, far from reporters and Trevor's reach.
We take the private elevator up. Inside, the apartment is modern and cold, nothing like home.
But Elara is here. My wife. Carrying my child. And somehow, that's enough to make anywhere feel safe.
"You should rest," I tell her. "It's been a long day."
"I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see my father watching your father die." She sits on the couch, looking small and lost. "How do you live with that? With knowing someone you love committed murder?"
I sit beside her. "You learn to separate the person you loved from the person they really are. My mother killed herself, Elara. She chose to leave me. For years, I was angry at her. Then I realized—her pain was bigger than her love for me. It wasn't personal. It was survival."
"That's different. Your mother was sick. My father was just evil."
"Maybe. Or maybe he was weak and greedy and made terrible choices. Either way, you're not him. You're better. And our baby will be better too."
She puts her hand on her stomach. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me you won't let revenge consume you. That you won't become the thing you hate while trying to destroy it."
I want to promise. But I'm not sure I can.
Before I can answer, my phone rings. Unknown number.
I answer. "Who is this?"
"Hello, Damien." Richard Sinclair's voice is smooth and cold. "I believe you've been looking for me."
Every muscle in my body tenses. "Where are you?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere you'll never find me. But I'm calling to make you an offer."
"I'm not interested in anything you—"
"I have evidence that clears Elara of all charges. Video. Documents. Everything. I'll give it to you in exchange for one thing."
"What?"
"My daughter. You give me Elara, and I'll make all of this disappear. The charges. The media. Everything. She comes back to me, and we forget this whole unpleasant mess ever happened."
Rage burns through me. "You want me to hand over your pregnant daughter so you can what? Lock her up? Control her? She's not property!"
"She's MY property," Richard snaps. "I raised her. Educated her. She owes me her loyalty. And you—" His voice turns vicious. "You're the son of the man I destroyed. You think I don't know why you married her? You want revenge on me through my daughter. Well, congratulations. You've had your fun. Now give her back before someone gets hurt."
"The only person getting hurt is you," I snarl. "Come near Elara or our baby, and I'll—"
"You'll what? Kill me? You're not a murderer, Damien. You're a businessman playing at revenge. I, on the other hand, have actually destroyed families. Ask yourself: who's really more dangerous here?"
The line goes dead.
Elara is staring at me, her face pale. "That was my father, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"What did he want?"
I look at my wife—this brave, beautiful woman who deserves so much better than the family she was born into—and I make a decision.
"He wants to negotiate," I lie. "But I'm not interested."
She nods, believing me. Trusting me.
And I hate myself for lying to her.
But some truths are too dangerous to speak out loud.
Especially the truth that Richard Sinclair just declared war.
And I'm going to win.
No matter what it cost.