Adrian's POV
The bomb squad has eight minutes to disarm the device on Sophia's jacket.
Eight minutes before Damian's remote detonator turns my safe house into a crematorium.
I watch the live feed on Marcus's tablet—specialists in blast suits working with steady hands while Sophia stands frozen, tears streaming down her face. One wrong move and twelve people die.
"We should evacuate," Marcus says.
"They won't make it out in time. The device is motion-activated." I keep my voice steady even though rage burns through my veins. "Damian planned this perfectly. Moving triggers it. Disarming might trigger it. We're trapped."
Elena paces behind me, her hands shaking. "This is my fault. I brought her into this—"
"Damian did this," I correct. "Not you."
My phone rings. The lobby security.
"Mr. Cross, your brother is here. He's asking to come up."
Of course he is. Damian wouldn't miss this performance.
"Tell him I'll meet him in the lobby." I stand, ignoring the pain in my side. The bullet graze burns, but I've had worse. "Marcus, stay with Elena. Don't let her do anything stupid."
"Like what?" Elena demands.
"Like offering to trade herself for the deactivation code." I meet her eyes. "That's what he wants. Don't give it to him."
I take the elevator down, each floor a countdown. Thirty, twenty-five, twenty. The lobby appears through the opening doors.
Damian stands by the entrance, holding white roses. My mother's favorite flowers. Even his props are calculated.
He looks perfect—expensive suit, concerned expression, the image of a worried boyfriend. To anyone watching, he's the victim here.
"Brother." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "We need to talk."
"We have nothing to discuss."
"Really?" He glances at the flowers. "Not even about Elena? About how you stole her from me?"
"She's not yours anymore."
"Is she yours now?" Damian's voice drops, venomous. "That was fast. Always the hero, aren't you? Swooping in to save the damsel in distress."
"She needed saving. From you."
He laughs—the sound makes my skin crawl. "From me? I gave her everything. A beautiful home, designer clothes, a life most women dream about. And she repaid me by stealing from me. By running to you."
"You gave her bruises. Fear. A cage disguised as love."
"I gave her structure," Damian corrects. "She was wild, chaotic. I made her perfect. Broke off the rough edges, smoothed out the flaws. It takes work to create something beautiful from raw material."
My hands clench into fists. "She's a person, not a sculpture."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" He steps closer, and I smell expensive cologne mixed with something darker—obsession, maybe. Madness. "You think you're different from me? Better? We're the same, Adrian. We learned from the same father, survived the same childhood. The only difference is you hide what you are behind a nicer mask."
"We're nothing alike."
"Aren't we?" His smile sharpens. "You've killed more people than me. Run more illegal operations. Destroyed more lives. At least I'm honest about what I am. You pretend to be noble while wading through the same filth."
He's trying to get under my skin. It's working.
"The difference," I say quietly, "is I protect people. You destroy them."
"You protected our father right into his grave." Damian's eyes glitter. "One bullet. Clean shot. Self-defense, they said. But we both know you wanted him dead long before that night."
"He was beating our mother to death."
"And you loved it." His voice is a whisper now. "Finally having permission to do what you'd dreamed about for years. Don't lie to me, brother. I saw your face that night. You weren't horrified. You were relieved."
My jaw tightens. "Say what you came to say."
"Give her back." Simple. Direct. "Give me Elena and the evidence she stole, and I'll call off the bomb. Your precious safe house survives. Sophia lives. Everyone wins."
"Except Elena."
"Elena made her choice when she ran." Damian's mask slips, showing the monster underneath. "She humiliated me. Made me look weak in front of my associates. That has consequences."
"She escaped an abuser. That's not humiliation—it's survival."
"She's MINE!" The shout echoes through the lobby. Security guards shift nervously. Damian composes himself quickly, lowering his voice. "Three years I invested in her. Three years of teaching her, molding her, making her into exactly what I needed. And you think you can just take her? Steal my life's work?"
"Your life's work?" Disgust floods through me. "She's a human being, not a project."
"She's broken," Damian says flatly. "Damaged. I broke her down to rebuild her better, and you're going to realize she's not worth the effort. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the way she flinches at sudden movements—I created all of that. You think you can fix her? You can't even fix yourself."
I take a step forward. "Get. Out."
"Or what? You'll kill me like you killed Dad?" He grins. "Go ahead. Do it. Show Elena who you really are. Let her see that the man protecting her is just another monster with better PR."
My phone buzzes. Text from Marcus: Bomb disarmed. Sophia is safe.
Relief crashes through me, but I don't let it show on my face.
"Your leverage just disappeared," I tell Damian. "The bomb squad disarmed your device. Sophia's fine. You have nothing."
For one second, genuine surprise flickers across his face. Then it hardens into something cold and calculating.
"Impressive," he says. "But that was just round one. A test to see how fast your people are. How good." He heads toward the door, then turns back. "Give Elena my regards. Tell her I'll see her soon. At the charity gala next week—you remember, the one for Mom's foundation? The one you never miss?"
My blood runs cold. "You're using Mom's event?"
"It's perfect, isn't it?" His smile is poison. "Hundreds of witnesses, maximum security, our dear mother hosting. You can't not show up—it would break her heart. And you can't hide Elena forever." He leans close. "I'll be waiting. And this time, I won't use bombs or hired guns. I'll take back what's mine in front of everyone. Let's see you stop me then, brother."
He walks out, leaving the white roses on the lobby desk like a threat.
I take the elevator back up, mind racing. The charity gala is in six days. Six days to prepare Elena for her first public appearance as my girlfriend. Six days before Damian makes his move in the one place I can't fully control.
The elevator opens. Marcus meets me at the door, relief on his face. "Sophia's okay. The device is disabled. We got lucky."
"It wasn't luck. It was a test." I walk past him. "Where's Elena?"
"Bathroom. She's been in there ten minutes."
Too long.
I knock on the door. "Elena?"
No answer.
"Elena, open the door."
Still nothing.
I try the handle—locked from inside.
Marcus and I exchange a look. He pulls out his lock-pick set.
The door swings open to reveal an empty bathroom. The window is open, cold air rushing in.
No.
I lean out the window. Thirty floors up. No way down except—
The fire escape. The old one from when this building was first constructed, barely visible against the wall.
She climbed down the fire escape. Alone. Injured. In the middle of the night.
On the bathroom counter, a note written on the back of Damian's text message:
I won't let anyone else die because of me. I'm ending this my way. Don't follow me. Please. —E
Marcus reads over my shoulder. "She's going after him."
"Alone. Unarmed. Against a sociopath who's been planning her destruction for months." I'm already moving, grabbing weapons, phone, keys. "She'll be dead in an hour."
"Where would she go?"
I close my eyes, thinking like Elena. Where would someone desperate and brave and foolish go to confront the monster who terrorized them?
Then I know.
"CrossMed headquarters," I say. "His office. She's going to the place where he feels most powerful and trying to negotiate."
"That's suicide."
"I know." I'm in the elevator, Marcus right behind me. "Which is why we need to get there first."
My phone buzzes with a new message. Unknown number. But I recognize the photo immediately.
It's Elena, taken from a security camera. She's in the CrossMed lobby. Time stamp: three minutes ago.
Below the photo, a message from Damian:
She came to me on her own. Just like I knew she would. Come if you want, brother. But you'll be too late. She's mine again. She always was.
The photo updates with a new image.
Damian's arm around Elena's shoulders. Her face is pale but determined.
And in his other hand, pressed against her spine where cameras can't see—
A gun.