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“Lucille wants Gio to move into our house when he gets discharged. She says it’s too dangerous for him to go back to his apartment, that he needs somewhere safe to recover.” Audrey’s voice breaks slightly. “She’s already having the guest room prepared.”

Rage burns through my chest like acid. The image of Vega in Audrey’s house, sleeping under the same roof, eating at the same table, being there every fucking morning when she wakes up. The thought makes my vision blur red around the edges.

“Like hell he is.”

“Reign, I can’t stop her. It’s Lucille’s house, and she’s convinced this is the right thing to do. She says it will show everyone that the Worthingtons stand by their family.”

“He’s not your family. He’s a fucking parasite.”

“I know that. But try telling Lucille that.” Audrey’s voice drops to a whisper. “I’m scared, Reign. Having him that close, every day, pretending to be concerned about his recovery when all I can think about is you.”

The fear in her voice cuts through my rage like cold water. She’s trapped, more trapped now than before, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it from here.

“Where will you be sleeping?”

“My room is on the second floor. The guest room is on the first floor, but still.” She pauses. “He’ll be right there. All the time.”

I want to tell her to pack a bag and drive straight to my cabin. I want to tell her to walk out of that hospital and never look back. But I know she won’t. Not with her father’s company hanging in the balance.

“Listen to me, Princess.” I keep my voice low and steady. “This changes nothing between us. You hear me? Nothing.”

“But how can you say that? He’ll be living in my house.”

“Because you’re mine, Audrey. That doesn’t change because some bastard is sleeping in your guest room.” My voice hardens with certainty. “He can live in your house, eat at your table, recover from his injuries, but he will never have you. That belongs to me.”

“Reign...”

“I’m going to fix this,” I tell her, cutting off whatever protest she was about to make.

“How? How can you possibly fix this mess?”

“Because that’s what I do. I solve problems that other people can’t solve.” I turn away from Marcus and lower my voice even more. “You’re mine, Audrey. That means your problems are my problems. And I don’t leave my problems unsolved.”

“I want to believe you. But I’m so tired of hoping for things that can’t happen.”

Her words hit deeper than I want to admit.

Because she’s not wrong to be tired. She’s been carrying the weight of her father’s debts for two years, sacrificing her own happiness to save a company that might not even be worth saving.

And now I’m asking her to believe that I can somehow make it all better.

“How long will Gio be in the hospital?” I ask.

“Three or four days, maybe. Depends on how the ribs heal.”

Three or four days to come up with a plan. Three or four days to figure out how to eliminate Vega without destroying Audrey in the process. It’s not much time, but it’s what I have.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I need you to act normal. Don’t let him see that you’re scared. Don’t let him think anything has changed between you two.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can. You’ve been doing it for months.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “And I need you to pay attention. If he says anything about the bombing, anything about who might have done it or what he plans to do about it, I need to know.”

“You want me to spy on him?”

“I want you to survive this. And that means being smart about what information you have access to.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can almost hear her thinking. Finally, she speaks.

“Okay. I can do that.”

“Good girl.” The pride in my voice is genuine. “This isn’t over, Princess. Not by a long shot.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am right. I’m going to get you out of this mess, and then I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure no one ever traps you again.”

“Promise me.”

The vulnerability in her voice makes something fierce and protective surge through my chest. “I promise you, Audrey. You’re going to be free, and you’re going to be mine. Both of those things are going to happen.”

“I do trust you. It’s everything else I don’t trust.”

I understand what she means. It’s not about trust between us. It’s about trust in the world to let us have what we want. It’s about trust that there’s a way out of this mess that doesn’t end with one of us destroyed.

“I’ll call you tonight,” I tell her. “After visiting hours are over and you’re home.”

“Okay.”

“And Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I told you this morning. Be ready.”

“I will.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone for a moment before shoving it back into my pocket.

Marcus is watching me with the expression of a man who just watched his partner’s carefully laid plans explode in real time.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Vega’s not dead.”

“Nope. Vega’s not dead.”

“Fuck.” Marcus runs a hand through his hair. “What happened?”

“Food poisoning. He was puking on the side of the road when the car went up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.” I grab another beer from the cooler and crack it open, draining half of it in one pull. “The bastard survives a professional hit because he couldn’t handle airplane food.”

Marcus shakes his head slowly. “That’s some Grade A bullshit luck right there.”

“It gets worse. Audrey’s stepmother wants him to move into their house while he recovers.”

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus leans against the truck, processing this new complication. “How long?”

“Three, maybe four days in the hospital. After that, however long it takes his ribs to heal.” I finish the beer and crush the can harder than necessary. “He’ll be sleeping under the same roof as her.”

“That’s a problem.”

“That’s a fucking disaster.” The rage I’ve been keeping in check threatens to boil over. “I should drive down there right now and finish what the Torrinos started.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Marcus’s voice is sharp, cutting through my anger. “You do that now, and you might as well paint a target on both your backs. The cops will be all over this bombing. They’ll be looking at everyone who had contact with Vega, everyone who benefits from him being dead.”

I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it easier to swallow. “So, what, I just sit here and let him move in with her?”

“You sit here, and you think. You plan. You wait for the right moment.” Marcus moves closer, his voice dropping. “This isn’t over, Reign. It’s just more complicated now.”

“Complicated is an understatement.”

“Maybe. But complicated doesn’t mean impossible.” He nods toward the truck bed where Audrey’s painting sits under its protective cover. “You still submitting that?”

For a moment, I’d forgotten about the art competition entirely. The painting that started this whole conversation, the reason we’re out here in the first place. Now it seems like a small gesture in the face of everything else that’s happened.

But maybe that’s exactly why I need to do it.

“Yeah,” I say, walking over to check the protective covering one more time. “I’m still submitting it.”

“Good. She needs something to look forward to. Something that’s hers.”

I study Marcus’s face, reading the understanding there. He gets it. The painting isn’t just about winning a competition or getting Audrey recognized for her talent. It’s about giving her hope.

“She deserves better than this,” I say.

“Then make sure she gets it.” Marcus straightens up, his expression hardening with resolve. “But do it smart. Do it clean. And do it in a way that doesn’t get either of you killed in the process.”

I nod, feeling some of the rage settle into something colder and more focused. Marcus is right. This isn’t the time for rash moves or emotional decisions. This is the time for planning.

“We better get this to the airstrip,” I say, patting the side of the truck bed.

“You sure you want to make that drive today? After everything that just happened?”

I consider it for a moment. Part of me wants to stay here, to be close in case Audrey needs me. But the other part knows that sitting around doing nothing will drive me insane.

“I need to do something,” I tell him. “And this is something I can actually control.”

Marcus nods, understanding. “Alright, then. Let’s go submit a painting.”

We climb into the truck, and I start the engine, the rumble filling the silence between us.

As I back out of the driveway, I catch sight of the cabin in my rearview mirror.

The place where Audrey and I spent the weekend, where she painted the canvas now riding in my truck bed, where for a few days we pretended the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Now, that world is crashing back in harder than ever.

The drive to the airstrip to drop off Audrey’s painting will take thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to think, to plan, to figure out how to get Audrey away from a man who should be dead but isn’t.

Marcus has a pilot buddy who owes him a favor, someone who can get the painting to San Diego and submitted before the deadline tomorrow.

I pull onto the main road and press the accelerator harder than necessary. The speedometer climbs as we head toward the small regional airport, toward whatever comes next.

Marcus is quiet beside me, letting me drive in silence. He knows I need time to think, time to process what just happened and what it means for everything I want.

One thing is certain: Vega surviving changes the game, but it doesn’t change the outcome. Audrey is mine. She was mine before the bomb failed, and she’ll be mine after. The only question is how much blood I’ll have to spill to make it happen.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes with a text. I pull it out at the next red light.

It’s from Audrey.

Thank you for listening. I know this is bad, but having you makes it bearable.

I type back quickly:

Princess, this is just a setback. I meant what I said. You’re going to be free.