Page 92 of Royal Bargain

The words land like a blow, the kind meant to protect but edged in the kind of finality I can’t bear to hear. My chest aches, heavy with fear and something worse—helplessness. I want to protect him just as badly as he wants to protect me. But we’re not fighting the same war.

“You can’t solve this with bullets,” I whisper. “That’s what my father would do. I thought you were different.”

His expression flickers for the briefest second, but then the wall slams back into place. “I am different. That’s why I’m going to do it smart. Clean. No loose ends.”

And just like that, he turns away, crossing the room to pick up his phone—already looking for names. For leads. For blood.

I hold Lily tighter and sink back onto the couch, heart pounding. Liam thinks he’s doing this for me.

He doesn’t realize he might be tearing everything apart.

Nothing I can do will change his mind. He’s like a man possessed as he makes phone calls and paces around the space, muttering about sending a message.

As soon as Liam walks out the door, I hear the low murmur of voices outside—two men posted, just like he promised. Not Shane this time. New faces. Muscle I don’t know, and don’t trust.

The sound of the locks engaging feels louder than usual. Final.

Lily stirs in my arms, her cheek resting against my chest. I stroke her hair with a trembling hand, trying to calm her. Trying to calm myself.

I should feel safe.

But all I feel is caged.

Two hours.

That’s all I have until the meeting. I’ve already lied to Liam once. Now I have to disappear from right under his nose.

I shift Lily, press a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Mama’s got to do something stupid.”

She doesn’t answer—just breathes in that soft, rhythmic way that babies do when the world hasn’t taught them fear yet.

I lay her gently in her bassinet, tucking her blanket around her small body. My hands linger on her for a moment, as if I could will myself to stay here.

But I can’t.

I cross the apartment and test the living room window again. Locked. I already knew it was, but I test it anyway. Denial is comforting, sometimes.

The bathroom window? Still sealed, just like before. No wiggle room. No chance.

I move on, testing each latch again, one by one—searching for a miracle that hasn’t arrived.

Then I notice something.

Movement through the peephole.

I wait, listening, straining.

Footsteps retreating.

One voice mutters to the other, and then there’s a chuckle. The faint click of the stairwell door.

I rush to the peephole.

The hallway’s empty.

I press my ear to the door and wait—counting seconds. Thirty. Sixty. Ninety.

Finally, I risk cracking the door open, just an inch.