Page 1

In my dazed state, the burning hell around me intensifies, searing into my shoulder. Each breath feels like a struggle, the bullet lodged deep inside me making every inhale agonizing.

Thick black smoke swirls around, choking me further. I lie there, tearful eyes locked on the door that Wren was taken through by Jasper.

Just as my vision starts to darken, my life slipping away, rough hands grab my upper arms, lifting my body with a jolt before dragging me across the floor.

My head flops back weakly, my body fighting to stay conscious. Through the fog, I see armored men with masks hauling me toward the open back doors, their movements a blur until my vision finally fades.

Chapter One

As I ride slowly in the rear of a black private car, I absorb the chaotic beauty of New York City. The sky is dull and oppressive, with thick gray clouds concealing what could be a bright blue day. In the traffic, cars are so close that I can practically smell the greasy fast food the guy next to us is shovelling down his throat, making my pregnant stomach itch with the urge to hurl.

My gaze locks onto him, watching in disgust as chunks of food tumble onto his lap while he clumsily tries to drive at the same time. Urgh, he eats like an animal. I force myself to look away, turning my attention to the sidewalk. Some people dart through, weaving with frantic movements, desperate to reach where they are heading. Others drag their feet, trailing along at a snail's pace, while a few, like me, seem to be in a state of mindlessness, observing everything as if time itself has stood still.

When I see strangers in public, I can't help but wonder about their stories. Have their lives been filled with happiness? Are they content and healthy? Do they smile often, or are they, like me, damaged and dead on the inside? I know I should stop thinking this way. I need to quit drowning in self-pity. The therapist said just as much during our last session, telling me to welcome positivity with open arms and focus on the fresh beginnings in my life. It’s true, but far easier said than done.

I told him that the night I lost Arlo, my whole world went up in flames along with him. My entire being—my once pure soul—perished in the blaze, burning away everything I used to be, leaving nothing but a heap ashes. I’ve become the darkness, a shadow of the man I loved more than anyone, Arlo Hayes. And no matter how hard I try; I worry I’ll never claw my way back to the person I once was.

The therapist’s eyes softened when he mentioned maybe I have PTSD, the concern in his voice was clear. He’d based it on everything I described—the nightmares that have tormented me for months, the drastic shift in my demeanor, my depressed way of thinking. He might be right, but what he doesn’t understand is that I have to be this way. It’s the only way to survive, to finish what lies ahead. I’m fully aware that I’ll need help with things once the baby arrives and that’s the only reason I reached out for help in the first place—because I know I can't afford to fall apart completely, not now.

I want to be able to do what Arlo did: fight through the grief while still being a decent parent and running the business like a well-oiled machine. Sure, I’m managing for now, but I know everything will become without a doubt more difficult once I give birth. I’ll be trapped within the four walls of the mansion, unable to escape the haunting memories. I’ll be doing everything alone as a new parent—celebrating milestones with just Cree by my side and even though this is supposed to be an unforgettable time for our family, I know it will rip my heart to shreds knowing Arlo isn’t here to share any of it with us.

Sometimes, the fury is unbearable, a white-hot anger that simmers beneath the surface. I’m furious that this happened to him, to us. I’m angry at him for diving headfirst into this dangerous line of work, fully aware of the threats yet choosing to take it on alone, without a speck of security. He could have done things differently. He should have handled it better. But now, all that’s left is regret and the unbearable weight of moving forward without him.

I'm trying to focus my rage on finding out who was involved in all of this since it's clear that it wasn't only a single cop. According to what I know, many people wanted Arlo dead for many reasons, and I'd like to know how much he knew and withheld from me, but obsessing over that will do nothing to change anything or bring him back.

We finally drive through the towering iron gates that surround my home after what feels like hours trapped in the stifling grasp of traffic. I reach over to the seat beside me and grab my bag. As the car rolls to a complete stop, I unclip my seatbelt, my hand resting on the door handle.

“Thanks, Joe,” I say, and our eyes meet in the rear-view mirror. He responds with a silent nod, his expression unreadable, before I push open the door and step out into the chilly evening air.

It clicks shut behind me, and I lift my gaze to the massive, dark mansion looming before me. We moved in just weeks ago, and I’d had it decorated, to create a space that felt like my own—yet in all honesty, the emptiness still remains for now.

As I stride forward in my heels, my muscles stiff and aching, but I push through the discomfort. Reaching the door, I pause, rummaging through my bag for the keys, when suddenly, an icy chill slithers up my spine. I freeze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. My brows knit together as instinct kicks in, my fingers wrapping tightly around my small pistol buried in my bag. Slowly, I cast a glance over my shoulder, my senses now on high alert.

My gaze sweeps over the surroundings, searching the dimly lit landscape, but all I see is Joe's car driving through the gates. No one else is visible. Breathing out slowly, I force my eyes back to my bag. It’s probably just one of those days, I tell myself, a trick of the mind after hours of feeling on edge.

Finally, my fingers grab my keys, and I pull them from the bag, inserting them into the lock. Once I’m over the threshold, I close the door behind me, pressing my brow against the black wood for a moment before twisting the lock into place.

I stand there in silence, a wave of confusion washing over me. The house feels different tonight, almost suffocating in its stillness, but I try to shake off the anxiousness and kick off my heels, letting them clatter to the floor by the door. I glance around, my eyes tracing the grand elegance of the space.

My long black dress pools around my ankles as I stand at the foot of the curved staircase that spirals up to the second floor, listening for any sign of life. The chandelier hangs low in the centre, its crystal pendants catching the light. I lift the fabric of my dress into my hand once I am satisfied and turn around, the tiles cold against my bare feet as I glide through the echoing foyer.

As I step into the dark kitchen, I set my handbag on the marble countertop before striding to the refrigerator and pulling it open. Reaching for a cold bottle of water, I twist the cap off and take a sip. The baby kicks in response, and I groan softly, a smile tugging at my lips as I rub my aching back.

“I know just what we both need, baby girl,” I murmur as I set the half-empty bottle on the counter.

I glide through the mansion, my fingers reaching behind me to tug at the zipper of my dress. As it slides down, the fabric loosens and the dress slips from my shoulders and cascades to the floor. I step out of it, leaving the fabric behind like a discarded shadow as I move forward.

When I reach the modern, candle-lit, indoor pool area, I untie my bun, letting my dark hair cascade down my back in soft waves. Bending over to turn on the jacuzzi, I adjust the temperature to a soothing warmth. As the bubbles begin to form, I strip completely naked before carefully stepping down into the bubbles.

I sink onto the small seat beneath the water, resting my head back against the edge. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, enjoying the soothing sensation of the soft bubbles as they rise around me, gently massaging my aching back and legs.

But then, without warning, that same unsettling sensation from earlier crawls up my spine and my eyes snap open, the peacefulness broke. Slowly, I lift my head, my gaze sweeping around the pool area. The space is still empty, but my jaw tightens as unease coils in my chest. I force myself to take a calming breath, reminding myself that everything is fine.

After a moment, I close my eyes again, letting my head rest back, arms splayed along the edge. I try to think about Cree staying with Sara tonight. But then my mind drifts to the thought of being alone in this house, surrounded only by my thoughts. Maybe I'll watch a movie or reach out to Lil, anything to fill the silence.

Just as I start to feel the tension slip away, that unnerving sensation of being watched returns. My eyelids gradually open yet I stay perfectly still this time, keeping my head back, and peer around from the corners of my eyes. Then I see it—a shadowy figure in the far end of the room, partially hidden, peering around the doorway. My stomach knots, and my heart seems to stop entirely as fear grips me.

What the fuck?

I try to think sensibly about my next move, but I remain utterly frozen, almost paralysed, thinking about how heavily pregnant I am and being in this situation. Why didn’t the security alarm go off?

Damn it, my gun is in the kitchen. My mind races—whoever this is, maybe they’re just here for a disgusting peep show. Maybe if I act like I didn’t see them, they’ll leave.

I raise my head, keeping the figure in the corner of my eye, but before I can make a move, they disappear into the shadows. My heart pounds in my chest, and doubt creeps in. Is this all in my head? Could this be my trauma playing tricks on me? Am I losing my fucking mind?

I draw a deep breath, trying to steady myself, then rise from the whirlpool. I move calmly up the steps, and I grab a fluffy black towel from the rack, wrapping it tightly around my body. With my nerves on edge, I try to stride confidently toward the kitchen to get my gun.

As soon as I step inside, I stop at the doorway. My bag is gone, and irritation flares up, quickly morphing into anger.

This motherfucker has no idea who he’s messing with.

Without hesitation, I spin around, rushing into the foyer and the space is empty with no sign of anyone. My pulse quickens as I dash up the stairs, glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to be right behind me.

I burst into my bedroom and head straight for the armoury room. My fingers tremble as I punch in the code and yank the door open the second it clicks. Inside, I grab a pistol on the wall, swiftly checking the clip.

Full mag. Good.

I shove it back in, cock the gun, and let out a tense breath. I turn and walk out of the room, heading back downstairs to end this.

With my gun aimed forward, my steps are light as I descend the stairs barefoot. I try to hear anything—any clue as to where this intruder might be hiding, but when I reach the bottom step, there’s nothing. No movement, no sound. My frustration grows as I realize whoever it was might have fled, leaving me with nothing but the echoes of my own heavy breathing.

I continue into the living room, my gun still aimed, but as soon as I reach the doorway, I come to an quick stop and my breath hitches in my throat.

Standing in the middle of the huge space, with his back to me, facing the burning fireplace, is a man in a tailored, black suit. His hands rest casually in his pants pockets, but his presence feels suffocating causing my heart rate to skyrocket while my expanded eyes fixate on him.

For a split second, it looks like Arlo.

My heart clenches painfully when reality crashes back and I force myself to take a shaky inhale, lowering my gun just slightly.What that the hell is Jasper doing here, sneaking in to watch me naked?

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Jasper? And why are you staring at me naked? What if I told Lil...” I hiss with accusation.

But then he moves, turning his head just enough for me to see his side profile, and my heart stops dead in my chest, my words trailing off. My hands tremble uncontrollably as the gun lowers further, disbelief crashing over me, my vision blurring with tears and my lips part, but no sound escapes.

Then, he looks forward again, “As expected, you're still mine.” He says calmly, his deep New York accent sinking into me like daggers.

My heart crumbles, the world around me spinning as Arlo's words reverberate through me, the same voice I cannot get out of my mind daily. Tears start to spillover, rushing down my cheeks, and I’m left frozen.

I convince myself this must be another hallucination, another cruel nightmare and my senses scream for me to wake up, but my body refuses to move. The silence between us grows deafening, stretching on until he finally turns to face me fully.

The moment his black eyes lock onto mine, my stomach coils into knots. My mind fights to make sense of what the fuck I'm seeing. He’s dressed in a tailored suit that I’ve never seen before, but his dark hair is longer. I have to stop myself from pinching my skin or slapping my face.

His gaze gradually drifts from my face, shifting down the length of me, before settling on my bump. His stare is unbearable, and I just stand there, a sob swelling in my throat. My body shudders, stuck between wanting to rush into his arms and the overwhelming fear that this isn’t real. It can’t be.

After taking in the sight of me, his eyes swing back to mine, his jaw muscles tense, and he lifts his chin slightly.

“You’re still looking as beautiful as ever,” he compliments.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I start shaking my head frantically. My throat clenches as I take a careful step back, “You need to stay out of my nightmares, Arlo,” I croak, the desperation clear in my words. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s killing me.”

I watched this man be lowered into the fucking dirt, but the intensity in his eyes, the tone of in his voice—it’s all too much, too real, too achingly familiar.

For a moment, he seems to contemplate his next move, his next words, then stands taller, giving a slight head gesture as if beckoning me closer, “I'm still waiting for my fucking kiss, Wren.” He says with that unmistakable arrogance he always carried.

“Please let me be,” I murmur, desperation drenching my words.

He takes a small step forward, his hands sliding out of his pockets. Panic surges inside me, and on pure instinct, I move back, raising my gun to level it squarely at him. He halts, his eyes locking onto mine, frustration, and something deeper flickering within them.

One perfect brow arches as he studies me, “This isn't some fucking nightmare, Wren. Lower the gun.” he warns.

Tears blur my vision, cascading as I stare down the barrel, “I have to let you go, baby!” I scream, my voice cracking.

In a flash, I pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes violently, the bullet whizzing past his head, grazing his ear before slamming into the wall behind him. His eyes expand, and he instinctively lifts his hand to his ear. I watch in horror as he pulls his fingers away, blood staining the tips. His sharp eyes snap back to mine, narrowing with fury and it scares the hell out of me.

“What the fuck!”

Without hesitation, he charges toward me, his expression darkening with every step. Fear surges through me, and I turn on my heel, bolting the other way. His footsteps pound against the floor, closing in as I race up the stairs.

“Wren!” He yells.But I keep running until I reach the top of the stairs and continue down the long corridor toward my bedroom. Suddenly, a sharp pain slashes through my belly, and I cry out, stumbling against the wall. The gun slips from my grasp, banging to the floor as I clutch my stomach, groaning in agony.

My breaths come out unevenly, trying to compose myself until the pain slowly subsides. I hear the sound of his shoes approaching cautiously behind me and I push myself away from the wall, turning to face him with all the strength I have. He is still a distance away, his gaze fixed on my hand cradling my bump.

“Please, just leave me alone.” I beg with narrowed eyes.

His eyes swing to mine, and he lets out a heavy sigh, “Baby, it’s me, and I’m back.”

My bottom lip trembles while I shake my head slightly, “You’ll never come back. I lost you forever,” I sob, the words creeping out like a confession of all the pain I’ve tried to bury.

“Come the fuck here, and I’ll show you that it’s really me.”

He extends his tattooed hand toward me, and I freeze, staring at it. The room shrinks around me as my wet eyes meet his and he makes a slight nod, gesturing me closer. Panic claws at my insides as my chest rises and falls rapidly, but when I’m finally ready, I use my palms to wipe away the tear-streaked before moving forward.

Once I stop in front of him, he lets his hand drop to his side, clearly realizing that I’ve chosen to ignore it. His strong, intoxicating scent engulfs me, sending shivers through my senses. I lift my hand, my fingers hovering over his lips but the moment they connect, we both draw a sharp breath, our electric connection coursing through me like a drug.

My gaze widens as I lightly brush them over his lower lip, realization crashing down on me. My eyes locks onto his, but they're are already on mine.

“You’re alive?” I whisper through fresh tears.

He stays silent and my doubt quickly morphs into fury, “YOU’RE ALIVE!?” I shout at him, my anger echoing through the vast mansion with raw pain.

He closes his eyes, as if bracing himself for the wrath he is about to feel and when he opens them again, the calmness is gone, replaced by an almost acceptance of my rage. I shake my head, stepping back with trembling steps, trying to create distance before I lose my shit, but he reacts in an instant, grabbing my wrist with a firm grip, stopping me.

In my frenzied state of mind, I raise my other hand and slap him hard across the face. I lock onto his reddened cheek, his jaw clenched tight as his face is turned to the side.

“How fucking could you!”

My hand forms a fist beside me, my long nails digging into my palm. I raise it high and slam it against his chest with all the force I can muster, “You fucking bastard!”

I continue to pound my fist against him, each strike a violent outpour of all the sorrow and frustration that has consumed me since he’s been gone. And he lets me. He stands there, unreadable.

“You piece of shit, how could you? I fucking hate you!” I scream at him bitterly.

His dark gaze suddenly flash with an unsettling glare at my choice of words, and without warning, he snatches my throat before shoving me firmly against the wall.

As I struggle for breath, he dips his face close to mine, “Enough!” he bites out viciously.

I pinch my eyes tight, feeling so confused, “How could you do something like that to us?”

Feeling his grip on my throat loosen just enough to let me breathe again, I look at him. My chest heaves as I fight for control, the rage surging beneath my skin like wildfire.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his tone soft, “It’s not what you think. I—”

“I don’t care what your reasons are, Arlo! You were gone for six fucking months! You left me, you left Cree, and our baby—thinking you were dead! Do you have any idea what the fuck we’ve been through?” I cut him off before he can continue.

His silence only fuels my fury further. The tears burn hot on my cheeks as I feel the betrayal deep in my bones. Every night I spent mourning him, every moment I tried to hold myself together for our family, the business—it all comes flooding back in a brutal rush.

I lean in closer, my face inches from his. “I died along with you in that fire!”

His facial expression doesn’t give much away, but I can see the flicker of hurt deep in his eyes.

“But I’m fucking here now, Wren,” he says, lower and calmer, trying to reign me in. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

He slips his palm along the side of my neck, his fingers rough but warm, his thumb tracing a soft line along my jaw as if wanting to reach the part of me that once trusted him, that once melted under his touch. But nothing stirs inside me. I’m cold, empty—like a hollowed-out fucking shell. All I feel now is frustration and confusion, the remnants of the woman I used to be buried under layers of grief.

I pull away from him, shaking off his touch like a reflex, and face aside, my stare locked onto some distant point in the hallway.

“I'm not the person you once knew and loved, Arlo,” I declare. “You’re looking into the eyes of someone different. I died that fucking day. But on the inside.”

Silence stretches between us, but I can feel his gaze heavy on me, searching for a way back into my heart.

“I know,” he finally says. “And I understand this will take time, but you'll always be the person I fucking love. No matter who you have become in my absence. Nothing can change what the fuck you mean to me.”

He suddenly takes a step back, looking down at my bump before reaching out and slowly peeking through my towel, revealing my entire bump. He rests his warm palms against the tight skin, brushing them over the curve of my swollen belly and the sensation overwhelms me causing me to flinch slightly.

His warmth radiates through my skin, and for a second, I feel the bond we once shared. It feels too much all at once—his touch, his closeness, after so long thinking I’d never feel it again. I never thought I would feel his hands on our baby, yet here he is, standing before me. A-fucking-live.

“Can you tell me what it is?” he asks, his dark eyes flicking up to mine.

“A girl.” I whisper with a tremble on my lips, looking away.

He’s silent, taking in the gender of our baby for a moment before he crouches in front of me. His lips brush tenderly against it and a single tear escapes, sliding down my face. I peek down at him and there he is, his forehead resting gently against me as if grounding himself to this little life we created together.

I hesitate, my hand hovering just above his head, wanting so badly to run my fingers through his soft hair like I used to, but something inside holds me back—fear, maybe, or the anger that still lingers deep inside.

“Daddy’s home, baby girl,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin.

A sob breaks free from my chest, I can't hold it back and I move quickly, passing him without another glance, my feet carrying me down the corridor towards the bedroom.

“Wren!” he calls out, but I don’t stop.

I slam the door shut behind me when I enter, and head straight for my arms room. My hands shake as I press in the code, my breath coming in jagged bursts. I hear the door open behind me, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I pull the handle and step through, desperate to escape whatever this is—whatever he’s trying to make me feel.

As I try to close the door behind me, his foot wedges in, stopping the heavy metal from moving. I let go of the handle and step back, retreating into the small, dimly lit room. He pushes the door open wider and steps inside, his gaze sweeping over the area with a detached, almost clinical scrutiny.

His eyes finally settle on the wall of knives—gleaming, sharp, and carefully arranged. I watch as he approaches the wall. His fingertips graze down each knife, lingering for a moment on the cold steel. He selects one, its weight and design clearly pleasing him. He flicks the blade open, the sound slicing through the quiet and he examines the edge, running his finger along the sharp surface with admiration and fascination.

“They called you The Skinner,” I say, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

His eyes flick up to mine as he pauses, then when he stands tall, and he responds with an edge of calmness. “And now you’re apparently the Queen of Darkness.”

I narrow my gaze, taken aback by his response. “How in the hell do you know that?”

My body tenses as he closes the blade and slips it into his pocket before approaching me. When he's within reach, I raise my palm instinctively, trying to keep him away, but he continues until he's completely in my space, and my hand rests against his chest. My upper body rises and falls as I keep my gaze cast downward. Despite my attempt to stay composed, he firmly takes my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

Staring into his eyes—eyes that have haunted my nightmares for the past six months—feels surreal. I expected this reunion to heal me, to revive the light I once had, but instead, it has only deepened my confusion. In my darkness, I feel emptier and more lost than ever before.

I can feel his heart racing, mirroring my own, beneath my palm. He tilts his head down until his lips hover just above mine, the air between us charged with tension.

“I can see in your pretty eyes that you hate me right now,” he murmurs. “But I want nothing more than to feel your lips on mine again. I’m fucking desperate for it, Wren. Let me kiss you. Let me touch you.”

My eyes flutter shut as his whiskey-infused breath warms my breathless lips. And without realizing, he closes the distance, pressing his mouth forcefully against mine, igniting me. His movements are rough as he thrusts his pierced tongue between my lips, wasting no time at all, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Our tongues clash and move with an intense, almost primal rhythm. His hand tightens around my throat, his growl echoing through me, and I can feel him teetering on the edge of losing control.

With one hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to stay in place, his other grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it back just like he used to. His mouth dominates mine with an urgency that speaks volumes of his desperation. I can feel the heat and arousal pooling in my core with each flick of his tongue, making me instinctively press my thighs together. Yet, a wall of resistance rises inside me, and I push firmly against his chest.

His lips tear away from mine, his darkened, feral eyes locking onto me, but I shake my head, feeling the lingering tingle of his kiss and the roughness of his touch still burning on my skin.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say through shallow breaths. “I can’t go through all that pain again. I need to focus on the baby and Cree.”

His brows furrow as he gently brushes the back of his fingers against my cheek, but I turn away, stepping out of his reach.

“I’m not playing these games anymore, Arlo,” I state coldly. “I want you to leave.”

I pass him, making my way to the bedroom, but he follows me as I stride towards the en-suite, hoping to shut him out.

“You haven’t even asked where I’ve been or why the fuck I haven’t been here!” he shouts angrily from behind, making me halt in the middle of the room.

“I’m trying so fucking hard not to touch you, kiss you. I’m trying not to suffocate you with everything I’ve wanted so badly because I see how much this has hurt you. But you need to understand—I’m here to fucking stay! For you, Cree, and our baby.”

My teeth grind, and resentment surges through me.

“I will make up for all the lost time if I have to, and—” He tries to assure me, but his words only fuel my irritation.

I whip around sharply, brimming with tears as I glare at him. “You can’t!” I scream and he inhales deeply, facing aside, his frustration clearly mounting, but I’m not finished. “Why the hell do you think I haven’t asked you where you’ve been? It’s because it won’t change a damn thing or bring back any of the time we’ve lost. Nothing you can say or do can make up for the misery that me and Cree have suffered!”

When his gaze returns to mine, I grit my teeth and raise my finger to point at him, “You don’t get to just walk back into my fucking life and act like nothing happened. You don’t get to make this right with just a few words and kisses.” I declare, my tone filled with anger. “You may still be alive, Arlo, but you are still fucking dead to me.”

Flames ignite in his dark pupils and his nostrils flare as he storms furiously toward me. Instinctively, I back up until my back hits the door behind me. He continues, closing the space between us until his palms slam aggressively beside my head, trapping me between the door and him. Fear surges through me, but I lift my chin defiantly, staring back into his enraged eyes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps through clenched teeth close to my face almost making me flinch before he dips down, his mouth moving to the side of my neck. “You’re going to listen to everything I have to say, and you’re going to keep that big fucking mouth of yours shut before I show you exactly who you’ve missed.”

I stay completely still, my jaw set tight with annoyance. All I want is to escape, to process what the fuck is happening right now. I need some space to breathe.

I sense he wants to kiss my throat, to assert his dominance over every aspect of this situation, just as he used to, but if he tried, I’d be ready to beat his ass, even if I know I’d fail miserably. I understand I might be acting selfishly, but I can’t simply switch off my emotions or pretend they don’t exist. I don’t know why he left or what his reasons are, but the hurt, rage, and betrayal I feel right now seem so overwhelming.

“And what if I don’t want to hear it?” I say icily. “What if I’m just done with it all, Arlo?”

He stays motionless for a moment, absorbing my words. “We’re fucking done? Is that what you’re telling me?” he finally asks.

The heartbreak in his voice is clear, and it strikes me deep, making me squeeze my eyes shut and rest my head back on the door. I can’t bring myself to answer. I can’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that I still love him with every inch of me, that my heart never stopped aching for him and probably never will, or that I still want him. My cold ass won’t allow me too.

He draws back just enough to meet my gaze, but I turn my head, purposely avoiding it to hide my vulnerability.

He presses his forehead against the side of my head, his eyes tightly shut, “Don’t say that, baby,” he whispers. Tears well up, but I stay still and expressionless as he continues. “I tried so fucking hard to get back to you. I promise you I did.”

My brows crease with confusion, and a tear drips when I eventually blink. He lifts his head, and I look at him, searching for any hint of a lie, desperately trying to make sense of the storm raging in front of me. He cups my face, his hands warm, wiping my tears away with his thumbs.

“Not even death has the power to keep me from you, Wren” He murmurs over my lips, his tone a solemn vow. “Hell could chain me for my sins, but I would shatter those binds. Nothing in this world or the next could stop me from being by your side,” I stay silent, so he continues. “You saw what state I was in. I didn’t just walk out of that fucking mansion,” he repeats, and I glance down at his lips as the words leave them, my mind racing.

“Where were you taken?” I ask quietly.

He releases my face, standing taller and shoves his hands into his pockets, his expression hardening. “Mexico at first,” he begins. “Until someone found me, took me to some makeshift fucking hospital in the middle of nowhere until I healed, and then I found myself in Brazil.”

My heart races, but my mind spins with a million thoughts, unable to make sense of what to feel or believe and I jerk my head back with my nose scrunched up, “Brazil?”

He gives a small nod. “A young Brazilian guy who found me at the side of a deserted road in Mexico said he could get better treatment back home, so I laid in the back of his truck for four fucking days until we got there. I was in a bad way for a couple of months with no passport, no money, and no way of contacting anyone,” he explains.

I shake my head, placing my thumbs on my temples. “But why the hell would someone take you from the fire, start to treat you, and then leave you for dead in Mexico?”

He just stares at me blankly and I narrow my eyes, pushing for more. “Do you know who it was?” I ask.

He gives a small shake of his head and glances aside, his gaze shifty, causing my suspicion to rise.

My jaw clamps tight, anger bubbling under the surface. “You’re fucking lying to me, Arlo,” I grit out.

His eyes snap back to mine, and there's a flash of something in them—defiance, maybe even regret. “I have an inkling who was involved,” he admits. “But I could be wrong, so you don’t need to know until I fucking confirm it.”

His words hit me like a wave, the secrecy, the hidden truths. I scoff, feeling annoyance wrap itself around me.

“Baby, you’re going to have to fucking trust me on this one.”

My eyes flash to his, narrowing. “Fucking trust you?” I hiss. “The audacity that you would even say that is shocking. That’s the thing; I don’t fucking trust you, not anymore.”

His expression tightens, irritation flashing briefly across his face before he inhales deeply, dropping his head in defeat as if trying to calm himself.

“How can I trust someone who makes up some bullshit excuse or far-fetched story about why he faked his own death for six fucking months?”

His dark, stormy eyes snap back to mine with a force that almost startles me. His jaw clenches hard, muscles tensing beneath his skin.

“Is that what you think?” he growls, his teeth gritted as he leans in, his face dangerously close to mine. I feel the heat of his fury like a hovering storm. “That I’d leave everyone I fucking love to fake my own fucking death?”

I stare at him with coldness, shrugging my shoulders casually as if none of this affects me, as if my heart isn’t tearing apart inside.

“Who knows?” I reply, raising an eyebrow.

I know I’ve struck a nerve, but I don’t back down—I'm done with being the one who fucking bends. His teeth grind audibly, and he pulls his hands from his pockets, laying them carefully on the door beside my head once more. The deliberate, almost chilling movement makes my entire body stiffen. I avert my gaze, feeling his eyes trying to pin mine down, following them, but they don’t connect.

“Remember who the fuck I am, Wren,” he says darkly. “I've never been a little fucking pussy, and there's no way in hell I would fake my own death.”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “I feel like I’ve completely forgotten who you are. But let’s be honest,” I pause, “I didn’t really know you anyway.”

“Oh, you knew me,” he breathes. “You knew me in the best and worst ways imaginable, and you still fucking remember. I can sense and see it all over your little body every time I’m close to you.”

My wet eyes flash to his, glaring, but his gaze stays steady, burning through me. “Your stubborn ass just doesn’t want to remember who the fuck we are together.”

I feel my chin lift in defiance, “Stubborn ass?” I ask.

He dips his head, his nose slowly grazing up my jawline in a way that makes my eyes flutter shut despite the anger burning in my chest. A familiar tingle shoots up my spine, awakening something buried deep inside me.

“In time, beautiful,” he whispers in a taunting manner. “When all of this is said and done, I’m going to remind you exactly who the fuck I am,” his lips hover close, a growl rumbling from deep within his chest. “We have a lot of catching up to do and I can’t wait to be balls deep inside that tight pussy again, showing you just how much I’ve fucking missed you.”

I can feel the heat of his words seep into my skin, threatening to dissolve the walls I've built around myself. I try to shake the overpowering effect he still has over my body as greedy desire pours into every inch of it.

“Is that all I am to you? A fuck?” I say coldly.

He pauses before lifting his head and brings his hand to my jaw, dragging my bottom lip down with his thumb, his eyes scanning my features.

“The day I told you I loved you,” he begins, “was the day I realized you are so much more than just your body I used to block out what I had been through.” He shakes his head, as though he's trying to shake away the torment of his own past.

Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing the air near mine.

“You’re so much more than that, Wren. So much more than just a body, more than a fuck. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you. I love everything about you,” he whispers fiercely, as if the truth burns him from the inside out. “Your body, yeah—God, fucking yeah—but also your mind and soul.”

He pauses, his thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. “You’ve consumed me in ways I can’t even begin to explain, and you know it.”

His eyes darken with the desire I know all too well, dropping to my mouth, and his lips twitch into a dangerous smile. “But do I want to fuck the brat attitude out of that slut mouth of yours? Yeah, I do. It’s in my nature to control the fuck out of you and make you do as you’re told.”

His expression falls flat, his hand moving down the side of my neck, his gaze gliding down to my heaving breasts, “But I’m trying. Shit, I’m trying so fucking hard for your sake, not mine.”

I stare at him blankly, warring within myself. Part of me wants to demand that he get on his knees and devour my pussy like he’s starving for it; the other part, the one that has felt nothing but abandonment, wants to tell him to leave and never come back. Which is a strange feeling considering I wanted nothing more than to see him again.

Taking a shaky breath, I lay my head back against the door, changing the subject again so I don’t do anything stupid because after all, sex is the last thing we both need to be doing right now.

“So tell me, Arlo, how the hell did you get back all the way from Brazil with no passport or a way to contact anyone?”

He pushes himself away from the door with a growl, turning his back to me as his fingers rub roughly against the stubble on his chin.

“My mom,” he admits. “I was able to contact her. She arranged for my return.”

My mouth drops open as I push myself away from the door. I purse my lips tightly, trying to keep myself in check, but the anger demands release.

“And she didn’t even have the decency to tell me?”

He pauses and side-eyes me, his jaw flexing. “I told her not to,” he says, his tone steady, unapologetic.

“And why the fuck not?” I yell. “Don’t you think I should have been one of the first people to know?”

He turns his face slightly to the side, dropping his hand away, and studies my demeanor. “I wanted to be the one to fucking tell you, Wren.”

I close my eyes, trying to shield myself from the emotions swarming inside me, before laying my palms over my face. Everything feels so out of control.

“I’m so fucking confused,” I mutter, my words muffled behind my hands.

Silence stretches between us, thick and unsettling. My mind begins to wander, pulling me back to Cree—the innocent heart caught in all of this and eyes water as the reality of the situation hits me all over again.

I drop my hands and look at Arlo. “How do we tell Cree that his dad is somehow alive?” I ask, unable to hide my concern. “We both watched you be lowered into the ground, Arlo. I worry about him.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and after a heavy sigh, he meets my gaze. “Leave it to me.”

I give a sharp nod and turn around, my hand closing around the handle of the bathroom door.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he demands as I pull it open.

“I need some space and a shower,” I respond, not looking back as I step through the door and close it behind me.

He doesn't say anything more or follow me as I stride toward the shower, letting the towel fall away from me. Once inside, I turn on the water, and the warm cascade envelops me, almost soothing against my skin. I press my forehead against the cool tiles, allowing the water to mingle with my tears. Each droplet feels like a reminder of not knowing what the truth is, or what is real anymore, and that is the most devastating part in all of this.

He’s already keeping secrets from me, offering only small pieces of the truth. If there’s any chance for us to make this work, I need complete honesty. We can’t rebuild something if we’re not fully committed, if we’re not both all in. There’s no point in trying if there’s a lack of trust.

The thought of possibly losing him again—this time without understanding the full picture, without knowing who or what was behind it all—is unbearable. If I had known how serious the situation was, if I had been made aware of the dangers, maybe I could have done something, at least begged him to have extra security.

Once I’ve finished in the shower and managed to compose myself, I dry off and make my way to the counter to blow-dry my hair. I gaze at my reflection with a detached look as my brown hair whirls in the blast of air, scattering in every direction.

When I’m finished, I wrap the towel more securely around myself and head out of the bathroom. The bedroom is empty, and Arlo is nowhere to be seen, clearly now giving me some space. I notice a text on my phone,which rests on the bedside table. I walk over, pick it up, and read the message from Dominic, who is asking about how we’re going to handle Izzy, given the time and resources she’s wasting.

Raising an eyebrow, I type a brief response.

[Meet me at the spot.]

I text Joe to come and collect me, then toss my phone onto the bed. The fact that Izzy still hasn’t given a location, or any other useful information for weeks is irritating. The longer I let this drag on, the more I’m seen as weak, and in the Elite World, weakness is unacceptable. It’s time to confront this issue head-on and deal with it once and for all.

I head to my walk-in wardrobe and select some lacy underwear, black tights, and a sleek black dress that will discreetly cover my bump before sliding on a long, black coat. Once dressed, I slip into a pair of black heels and make my way to the arms room. Entering the code, I step inside and retrieve a pistol from its place before exiting the bedroom.

As I stroll down the long, shadowy hallway, I shove my phone into a small bag along with the pistol and my thoughts drift to Arlo. I wonder where he is and what he’s doing, but I push the thoughts aside, knowing I need to focus now more than ever.