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A beat of silence stretches between us.

“Saturday dinner,” I say, setting down my glass. “At our home.”

Kira’sfingers fidget with her sleeve. “Are you angry?”

I cross the space between us, cupping her face in my hands. Her pulse quickens beneath my thumbs. “No.”

Relief floods her features. She has no idea how carefully I’m controlling myself right now. The thought ofJennain our space, looking for evidence, judging what we’ve built, makes my skin crawl. ButKiraneeds this bridge to her old life, and I needKira.

“What did you tell her about us?” I keep my voice neutral, fingers gentle in her hair.

“We met at the convention, and things happened fast.” Her eyes drop to my chest. “I didn’t tell her about... You know. The beginning.”

“Good,” I murmur against her temple. “That’s good.”

I feelKiramelt into my arms, her body yielding against mine in that perfect way that tells me she’s mine. I tighten my grip around her, inhaling the scent of her hair, cataloging every sensation like I always do. The slight tremor in her shoulders. The way her breath catches when I press my lips to her temple.

“I can’t lose you,” I whisper against her skin, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said. “If someone likeJennaknew—really knew—about how we started, she’d try to stop us from being together.”

Kirastiffens slightly in my arms. I feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips.

“I can’t have that,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “We’ve come too far. What we have is too important.”

I stroke her hair, soothing her like a frightened animal. She doesn’t understand that everything I do is for us, for her.

“There’s something you need to see,” I say, reluctantly releasing her with one arm to reach for my iPad on the counter. I unlock it with my thumbprint and pull up the feed I’ve been monitoring for three days.

Kira’sstill pressed against my chest as I position the screen so she can see it. I feel the exact moment she processes the image—her body tensing, her breath stopping for 2.4 seconds.

The live feed shows a man sitting on the edge of a prison cot, his head in his hands. The cell is sparse: a steel toilet, a small sink, and a thin mattress. The man’s shoulders are hunched, and he seems defeated.

“Is that—”Kirapulls back slightly, blinking rapidly as she tries to understand what she’s seeing. Her voice cracks. “My uncle?”

Her eyes dart between the screen and my face, confusion and fear battling across her features.

“What is this?” she whispers, the question hanging between us like a blade.

I watch the recognition bloom acrossKira’sface as she stares at the screen. My arm tightens around her waist, steadying her as the shock settles.

“Yes,” I confirm, my voice low and controlled. “That’s your uncle. The man who hurt you.”

Her fingers tremble against the iPad screen. I take it from her before she can drop it, setting it face-up on the counter where the feed continues to play. The man who violated her childhood sits in his makeshift cell, unaware he’s being watched by the woman he damaged.

“How did you?—”

“I have resources,” I say simply. “Connections. People who owe me favors.”

Her pulse thunders beneath my fingertips. The beautiful chaos of her emotions plays across her face—fear, confusion, terror, relief.

“I can’t bear the thought of him out there,” I explain, stroking her cheek with my thumb. “Living his life. Attending your family dinners. Pretending he never touched you.”

I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in. “The thought of him existing in the same world as you, breathing the same air—” My voice hardens. “It’s unacceptable.”

Kirapulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine. I see the question forming before she asks it, the way her brow furrows, the slight parting of her lips.

“What are you going to do to him?” she whispers.

The question hangs between us. I study her face, cataloging every microexpression. This moment matters. Her reaction will determine everything.