Vincent's POV
The private jet's engines roar to life as Elena and I buckle into our seats. Through the window, I can see three black cars racing across the tarmac toward us, red and blue lights flashing.
"They're not going to make it," my pilot says calmly through the intercom. "We have clearance for immediate takeoff. Buckle up."
The jet accelerates down the runway. Elena grips the armrest so hard her knuckles turn white. I cover her hand with mine.
"We're going to be fine," I tell her, hoping it's true.
The cars are closer now, close enough that I can see men in suits jumping out, waving their arms, trying to stop us. But we're already lifting off, wheels leaving the ground, New York City falling away beneath us.
Elena lets out a breath she's been holding. "We actually made it."
"For now," I say, watching the city disappear into clouds. "But they'll be waiting when we land. We need a plan."
Elena turns to look at me, really look at me, and I see the question in her eyes. The same question everyone asks eventually: Why are you really helping me?
"You want to know my real reason," I say. It's not a question.
"Yes." Elena's voice is steady despite everything. "You said you know what it's like to be betrayed. But there's more to it than that, isn't there? You could have helped me anonymously. Instead, you revealed yourself, risked everything. Why?"
I lean back in my seat, studying this woman I've known for less than a day but feel like I've known forever. She deserves the truth.
"Five years ago, when my family tried to kill me, I survived because a stranger helped me," I begin. "A nurse at the hospital where they took me after the accident. She realized someone had tampered with my medication—my uncle had bribed a doctor to slowly poison me while I recovered from the crash. This nurse, Maria, she switched my IV bags and saved my life."
Elena listens intently.
"I asked her why she risked her career, maybe even her life, to help me. She said she'd once been in trouble and a stranger had helped her when no one else would. She was paying it forward." I look out the window at the darkening sky. "Maria died three months later. My uncle had her killed to cover his tracks. She saved my life and paid for it with hers."
"Vincent, I'm so sorry," Elena whispers.
"I swore that if I ever got the chance, I'd pay forward what Maria did for me. When I saw your situation—a woman being destroyed by people who should have protected her—I couldn't look away. Not after Maria died trying to save me."
Elena's eyes shine with unshed tears. "So I remind you of her?"
"No." I shake my head. "You remind me of me. That lost, broken kid who thought he deserved what happened to him because everyone said he did. It took me years to realize I was a victim, not a villain. I don't want you to waste years learning what I already know."
Elena squeezes my hand. "Thank you. For seeing me."
"Thank you for trusting me," I reply.
We sit in comfortable silence as the jet cuts through clouds. My phone buzzes with messages I ignore. Elena's phone is off. For this moment, suspended between countries, we're safe.
"Vincent?" Elena's voice is small. "That text Vivian sent about Paris. About the 'real reason' I can't go back there."
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask carefully.
Elena closes her eyes. "I was seven years old. My mother took me to Paris for the summer. It was just the two of us—my father stayed in New York for work. We stayed at the property, this beautiful old house with a garden." Her voice wavers. "Something happened that summer. Something bad. I remember screaming. Blood. My mother's face, terrified. Then nothing. Like my memory just stops."
"Trauma can do that," I say gently. "Block out what's too painful to remember."
"My mother sent me back to New York the next day with a nanny. She stayed in Paris for two more weeks. When she came home, she was different. Distant. Scared. She made me promise never to talk about that summer, to forget it ever happened." Elena opens her eyes, and they're haunted. "Six months later, she was dead. Car accident, they said. But I always wondered..."
"If it was really an accident," I finish.
Elena nods. "And now we're going back to the place where it all started. Where my mother's secret is buried. Where Vivian somehow knows something I don't remember."
Before I can respond, my phone rings. Not a normal call—this is my emergency line, the number only three people in the world have. One of them is dead. One is Marcus.
The third is my father.
I stare at the screen, my blood running cold. My father hasn't called me in five years. I thought he was dead or missing or had abandoned me after my mother's death. But his name flashes on my phone like a ghost coming back to haunt me.
"Who is it?" Elena asks, noticing my face.
"My father," I whisper.
I answer. "Hello?"
"Vincent." His voice is exactly as I remember—deep, rough, weighted with things unsaid. "I know you're on a plane to Paris right now. I know you have Catherine Hart's daughter with you. And I know you're both in more danger than you realize."
My heart pounds. "How did you—"
"I've been watching you for five years, son. Protecting you from the shadows while you played dead. But now your cover's blown and you're walking straight into a trap." My father's voice is urgent. "That Paris property—it's not safe. Catherine Hart died protecting secrets buried there. Secrets my brother would kill to keep hidden. Secrets your mother died for too."
Elena goes pale. She can hear every word.
"What secrets?" I demand.
"I can't tell you over the phone. It's not secure. But listen carefully—when you land in Paris, don't go directly to the property. Go to the Café Laurent on Rue de la Paix. Someone will meet you there at noon tomorrow. Someone who knew your mother and Catherine Hart. Someone who can tell you the truth about what happened twenty years ago."
"Who are you sending?" I ask.
"Someone you'll recognize when you see her." My father's voice softens. "Vincent, I'm sorry I stayed away. I thought keeping my distance would keep you safe. I was wrong. But I'm here now. And I won't let them hurt you or Elena. Trust me one more time."
"How do I know this isn't a trap?" I ask, even though part of me desperately wants to believe him.
"Because I'm your father, and despite everything, I still love you. Café Laurent. Noon. Don't be late. And Vincent? Watch your back. My brother's people are already in Paris, waiting."
The call ends.
Elena and I stare at each other in the sudden silence.
"Your father's alive," she says.
"And apparently has been watching me for five years," I reply, my mind spinning. "Elena, what if our mothers' deaths weren't separate incidents? What if they're connected?"
"Connected how?" Elena asks, but I can see she's already thinking the same thing.
"Your mother died six months after that summer in Paris. My mother died that same year, murdered by her lover who was working with my uncle. What if—" I stop, the pieces clicking into place. "What if they were both killed to protect the same secret? Something at that Paris property?"
Elena's face drains of color. "The property my mother left me. The property Margaret tried to steal. The property worth thirty million dollars. Vincent, what if it's not valuable because of the real estate? What if there's something else there? Something people would kill for?"
The pilot's voice crackles over the intercom. "Mr. Rothwell, I'm getting an urgent message from Paris air traffic control. They're requesting we divert to London immediately. They're saying there's a security threat."
My blood runs cold. "What kind of security threat?"
"They won't say. But sir, the request came with an official government code. If we don't comply, they'll scramble fighter jets to escort us down."
Elena grabs my arm. "It's them. Your uncle, my family—they're trying to stop us from reaching Paris."
"Can we make it if we ignore them?" I ask the pilot.
"Maybe. But we'd be breaking international law. They could arrest us the second we land."
I look at Elena. Her face is determined despite her fear. We've come this far. We can't turn back now.
"Ignore the order," I tell the pilot. "Get us to Paris. Whatever it takes."
"Sir, that's—"
"An order," I say firmly. "I'll deal with the consequences. Just fly."
The pilot hesitates, then: "Copy that. Maintaining course for Paris."
Elena exhales shakily. "We're really doing this. Breaking the law, defying governments, running toward secrets that got our mothers killed."
"We can still turn around," I offer, even though I know what her answer will be.
"No." Elena's voice is steel. "I've been running from my past for twenty years. It's time I stopped running and started fighting."
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:
Turn the plane around or you'll both be dead before midnight. This is your only warning. -R
My uncle Reginald. The man who murdered my mother and tried to kill me.
I show the text to Elena.
"Let him try," she says, her eyes blazing. "I'm done being afraid of people who think they're untouchable."
I've never found anyone more beautiful than Elena in this moment—scared but fierce, broken but unbeatable.
"Then let's go find out what they're so desperate to hide," I say.
The jet flies on through the night, carrying us toward answers we're not sure we want and danger we can't avoid.
My phone buzzes one more time. A photo from Marcus: the Café Laurent in Paris, with a woman standing outside. Even in the grainy image, I recognize her.
It's Maria. The nurse who saved my life five years ago.
The nurse who's supposed to be dead.
I show Elena the photo with trembling hands.
"That's impossible," I whisper. "She died. I went to her funeral. I—"
"Vincent." Elena's voice is strange. "I know that woman. That's not Maria. That's Sophie. My mother's best friend. The woman who was with us in Paris the summer everything happened. The woman who disappeared the day after my mother died."
We stare at each other as the truth crashes over us like a wave.
Maria and Sophie. The same person. Playing dead. Hiding. Waiting.
"What if," Elena says slowly, "our mothers didn't die? What if they're hiding too?"
Before I can answer, the plane shakes violently. Alarms blare.
"Mayday, mayday!" the pilot shouts. "We've been hit! Something hit the plane! We're going down!"