Elara's POV
I wake up screaming.
The nightmare is always the same: my father standing over Damien's father in that courtroom, watching him die, counting money while a fifteen-year-old boy becomes an orphan.
"Elara! Hey, I've got you." Damien's arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. "You're safe. It was just a dream."
But it wasn't just a dream. It was a memory—someone else's memory that I've inherited like a curse.
"I can still see it," I sob into his shirt. "Your father on the floor. My father just standing there. Doing nothing."
"Shh. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault."
"How can you say that? My blood is his blood. What if I'm like him? What if I—"
"Stop." Damien tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "You are nothing like Richard Sinclair. You're the woman who risks everything to protect the people she loves. You're the mother already fighting for our baby before it's even born. You're the person who makes me believe in goodness again." He kisses my forehead. "Your father's sins don't define you. Your choices do."
I want to believe him. But guilt is heavy, and it sits on my chest like a stone.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Four in the morning. You've been asleep for two hours."
"You should sleep too."
"Can't. Too much to do." He shows me his laptop, open to dozens of files and emails. "I'm building a case against your father. Evidence of fraud, bribery, conspiracy to commit murder. When I'm done, he'll spend the rest of his life in prison."
Something cold settles in my stomach. "Damien, he's still my father."
"He stopped being your father when he chose money over you." His voice is hard. Final. "He's a monster who destroys families for profit. And monsters don't get to walk free."
"What if destroying him destroys me too?"
He pauses, his fingers frozen on the keyboard. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" I take a shaky breath. "What if, when this is all over, you look at me and all you see is Richard Sinclair's daughter? The child of the man who murdered your parents? What if the revenge you've wanted for seventeen years ends up including me?"
"Elara, no—"
"It's a valid question!" I pull away from him, standing up. "You married me in the middle of a crisis. We barely know each other. We have a baby coming and enemies everywhere and a relationship built on lies and revenge. What happens when the war is over and we're just two people who rushed into marriage? What if you realize you made a mistake?"
Damien stands too, his eyes blazing. "You think I made a mistake?"
"I think we both did! We should have waited. Should have been smart. Should have—"
"Should have what? Let Trevor destroy you? Let your father get away with murder? Let our baby be born into a war zone?" He crosses the room in two strides. "I married you because I love you. Because even knowing who your father is, I'd rather spend one day married to you than a lifetime without you. That's not a mistake. That's the only right thing I've done in seventeen years."
"You're saying that now. But what about when—"
My phone rings, cutting me off. Unknown number. Again.
Damien and I stare at each other. Then I answer, putting it on speaker.
"Hello?"
"Elara, sweetheart. It's Celeste."
My stepsister's voice makes my skin crawl. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to congratulate you! On the marriage. The baby. The whole mess you've made of your life." She giggles—that same mean giggle from my engagement party. "Trevor told me everything before they arrested him. About Damien's revenge plan. About your father's involvement in the Cross family tragedy. It's all so deliciously twisted."
"Get to the point, Celeste."
"The point is, I'm calling to warn you. Out of sisterly love, of course."
"We're not sisters."
"Details." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Your father is planning something big. Something that will end your little love story permanently. He called me an hour ago asking questions about you—where you are, who you're with, what you care about most."
Fear shoots through me. "What did you tell him?"
"The truth. That you're holed up somewhere with your billionaire husband, pregnant and desperate, thinking love can save you from reality." Her voice turns sharp. "But here's what you don't know: Daddy has friends in very dark places. And he's decided that if he can't have you back, nobody can."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he hired someone. To take care of the problem permanently. To make it look like an accident." She lets that sink in. "Tick tock, big sister. Better watch your back."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, my hands shaking. "She's lying. She has to be lying."
But Damien's face is pale. "She's not. Your father already threatened us. This is him making good on that threat."
"He hired someone to kill us?" I can barely say the words.
"Not us. You." Damien's jaw tightens. "He said you were his property. If he can't control you, he'll eliminate you. It's what narcissists do when they lose power."
"But I'm his daughter!"
"You're also a witness who could testify against him. You know about the payoffs. The murder. Everything. Alive, you're a threat. Dead—" He stops, unable to finish.
Marcus bursts through the door, laptop in hand. "We have a problem. Someone just hacked into the building's security system. They disabled the cameras on this floor."
Damien moves instantly, grabbing my arm. "How many entrances to this apartment?"
"Three. Front door, service entrance, and the balcony."
"Can we get out?"
"Not without being seen. Whoever's coming is already in the building."
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it. "What do we do?"
Damien pulls a gun from a drawer I didn't know existed. "We fight."
"You have a GUN?"
"I have several. Perks of having enemies who want you dead." He checks the clip, his movements efficient and terrifying. "Marcus, take Elara to the panic room."
"There's a panic room?" I'm practically screaming now.
"Rich people problems," Marcus mutters, grabbing my hand. "Come on."
But before we can move, the lights go out.
The entire apartment plunges into darkness. Emergency lights flicker on—dim red glows that make everything look like a horror movie.
"They cut the power," Damien says, his voice deadly calm. "Marcus, panic room. Now."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to have a conversation with whoever Richard sent." He looks at me, and even in the red emergency lights, I can see the love and fear in his eyes. "Elara, I need you to trust me one more time. Take our baby somewhere safe. Don't come out no matter what you hear. Understand?"
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You are. Because if something happens to me, you and that baby are the only revenge that matters. You live. You raise our child. You make sure Richard Sinclair pays for everything he's done." He kisses me—hard and desperate. "Promise me."
Tears stream down my face. "I promise."
Marcus pulls me toward a bookshelf that swings open—because of course it does—revealing a small reinforced room behind it.
"Get in," he says. "Don't open this door for anyone but me or Damien."
I step inside. The door starts to close.
"Marcus—" I grab his arm. "Keep him alive."
"Always do." He smiles sadly. "That's what family does."
The door closes. I hear the lock engage. I'm alone in a dark, soundproof box while my husband fights for our lives.
I sink to the floor, hands on my stomach, and pray.
Time moves weird in the dark. Could be minutes. Could be hours. I hear nothing. See nothing. Just wait.
Then the door handle jiggles.
Someone's trying to get in.
"Damien?" I call out. "Marcus?"
No answer. Just the sound of someone working on the lock. Metal scraping metal.
They're breaking in.
I look around the panic room desperately. There's a phone on the wall—old-fashioned, hard-wired. I grab it and dial 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Someone's breaking into my apartment. I'm pregnant. I'm hiding. Please send help—"
The call cuts off. Dead line. They cut the phone system too.
The lock clicks. The door starts to open.
I press myself against the far wall, looking for anything I can use as a weapon. There's nothing. Just me and my unborn baby and whoever's on the other side of that door.
The door swings open slowly. A figure steps in, backlit by the red emergency lights.
"Well, well. There's my little girl."
My father's voice. Cold. Cruel. Triumphant.
Richard Sinclair steps into the panic room, and he's holding a gun.
"Did you really think I'd send someone else to do this?" he asks, almost conversationally. "You're my daughter. My responsibility. My mess to clean up."
"Dad, please—"
"Don't call me that. You lost the right to call me that when you married that boy." He says 'that boy' like it's poison. "Damien Cross. The son of the man I helped destroy. Did you know that when you spread your legs for him? Did you care?"
"It wasn't like that!"
"Of course it was. You always were desperate for male attention. Your mother was the same way. Pathetic. Weak." He raises the gun, pointing it at my stomach. "I should have ended this pregnancy the moment I found out about it. My grandchild, carrying Cross blood? It's an abomination."
Terror floods through me. "You're going to kill your own grandchild?"
"I'm going to erase a mistake." His finger moves to the trigger. "I gave you everything, Elara. Education. Opportunities. A future. And you threw it away for revenge sex with my enemy. Well, congratulations. You chose him over me. Now you lose everything."
"Wait!" I'm crying, begging, desperate. "Dad, please. I'm sorry. I'll do anything. Just don't hurt my baby. Please."
"It's too late for sorry."
He pulls the trigger.
The sound is deafening in the small space.
But I don't feel pain.
I open my eyes.
My father is on the ground, blood spreading across his chest. Behind him, in the doorway, Damien stands with his own gun still raised.
"Nobody touches my wife," Damien says coldly. "Nobody."
Richard coughs, blood bubbling on his lips. "You... shot me..."
"You pointed a gun at my pregnant wife. I responded accordingly." Damien steps over him and pulls me into his arms. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
I can't speak. Can't process. My father is dying on the floor and my husband just killed him and I should feel something but I'm just... numb.
"Elara, talk to me." Damien's hands frame my face. "Are you hurt?"
"The baby," I manage to whisper. "Is the baby okay?"
He presses his hand gently against my stomach. "Still moving. Still fighting. Just like their mother."
On the floor, Richard makes a horrible gurgling sound. Damien doesn't even look at him.
"Marcus called an ambulance," he says quietly. "And the police. They'll be here in five minutes. When they arrive, you tell them exactly what happened—he broke in, pointed a gun at you, threatened to kill you and the baby. I defended my family. Self-defense. Clean and legal."
"You planned this," I realize. "You knew he'd come."
"I suspected. Your father was always predictable. Narcissists can't stand losing control." He pulls me closer. "I'm sorry you had to see this. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from it."
"You saved me. You saved our baby."
"I did what any husband would do." He looks down at Richard, who's barely breathing now. "The man who destroyed my family is dying at my feet. I should feel victorious. Satisfied. But all I feel is empty."
I follow his gaze to my father—this man who raised me, who destroyed Damien's family, who just tried to murder his own grandchild. And I feel the same emptiness.
"Is this what revenge feels like?" I ask quietly.
"Yes. And it's not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be."
Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.
Richard's hand moves weakly, reaching for me. "Elara..."
I kneel beside him, even though every instinct says to run. "What?"
"Your... mother..." He coughs, blood spraying. "She knew... about the Cross family... tried to stop me... that's why I..."
His eyes go blank.
My father dies without finishing his sentence.
And I'll never know what he was about to confess about my mother.