Page 67 of The Marriage Compromise

I reached for my secure phone—the one not connected to any carrier, used only for the most sensitive communications. A few quick commands and the preparations would begin—supplies delivered, security protocols activated, transportation arranged.

"Pack whatever you can salvage," I told Connor, already mentally cataloguing what we'd need. "Essentials only. We leave in thirty minutes."

The destruction around us faded into background noise as my mind worked through the complex chess game we'd been thrust into. Harris had made his move, taking pieces from the board that I'd thought were protected. But he'd overlooked something critical—I'd been playing chess since I was five, and I never, ever lost.

Not when it mattered. Not when it was someone I cared about.

And as I watched Connor move purposefully through the wreckage of my penthouse, gathering what we'd need for our escape, I admitted to myself what I'd been denying since he'd first crashed into my life—he mattered. More than my company, more than my research, more than my own hopes of walking again.

Project Phoenix might be lost, but I had found something more valuable in its place, something worth protecting at any cost.

I barked out orders as my security team moved with practiced efficiency around us, packing essentials and preparing the vehicles. Three SUVs with bulletproof glass and reinforced chassis waited in the private garage below—one for us, one for security, and one as a decoy.

The evacuation protocol I'd developed after my accident was being executed flawlessly, each team member knowing their role without needing micromanagement.

Connor stood near the window, watching the controlled chaos with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Diversion team, departure in fifteen minutes," I instructed, checking the secure tablet that showed our extraction route. "Primary vehicle, twenty minutes after. Standard communication blackout protocol until we reach the rendezvous point."

Michael nodded sharply, relaying the instructions through his earpiece to teams positioned throughout the building. Years of contingency planning were finally being put to use—though I'd never anticipated the circumstances would involve a husband I barely knew and a pharmaceutical magnate with a sideline in human trafficking.

"Julian, I need to talk to Brad first."

Connor's words were so unexpected, so contrary to everything we were planning, that for a moment I thought I'd misheard him. I wheeled around to face him, certain my expression reflected my disbelief.

"Absolutely not," I shot back, the words emerging harsher than I'd intended. "He just helped Harris's men break in here. He was stealing our data, Connor. Your brother is working with the man who tried to buy you like property."

Instead of backing down, Connor stepped closer to my wheelchair, his jaw set in a determination I was coming to recognize. This wasn't the uncertain young man who had stumbled into my hotel room days ago. This was someone discovering his own strength, his own value.

"He's the weak link," Connor insisted, his voice low but firm. "And he's always been jealous of me."

I stared at him, trying to follow his logic. "Jealous? He's been the golden child his entire life, from what you've told me."

"Exactly." Connor began pacing, his movements quick and agitated. "Brad's entire identity is built on being better than me—more successful, more favored, more valuable, but now I'm married to you." He gestured around the penthouse. "I have all this, while he's still scrambling to please our mother and Harris."

Understanding began to dawn. "You want to exploit his jealousy."

Connor nodded, his eyes bright with a strategic fire I'd never seen in them before. "Brad has always wanted what he can't have. It's not enough for him to succeed; he needs to take what's mine. That's why he suggested selling me to Harris in the first place."

"And you think you can use that against him?" I asked, my mind already calculating possibilities, risks, potential outcomes.

"I know I can," Connor replied with a certainty that made something warm unfurl in my chest. "Let me talk to him—somewhere public, somewhere safe. Let me feed him false information."

I studied his face, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. There was none. Instead, I saw determination and a clear-eyed assessment of his brother's psychology that spoke of years of careful observation.

Connor might have been treated as the less valuable son, but he'd used that position to become an expert on the family dynamics that had shaped him.

"You want to feed him false information," I repeated slowly, a plan beginning to form in my mind. "Make Harris believe he knows our next move."

Connor smiled, a sharp expression that held none of his usual warmth. "Exactly. Harris thinks he's won—he has yourresearch, he's forced us out of our home, he thinks he knows our next move. Let's prove him wrong."

He resumed pacing, the ideas flowing faster now that I was engaging with his plan. "Brad will expect me to be angry, to confront him about the break-in. He'll be prepared for that. What he won't expect is for me to be afraid, to beg for his help."

I wheeled closer, already calculating contingencies. "What kind of help?"

"I'll tell him I made a terrible mistake marrying you. That I'm afraid of you, that you're controlling and dangerous." Connor's expression was grim but determined. "I'll tell him I want out, but I don't know how to leave safely."

The strategy was elegant in its simplicity. Brad, with his pathological need to possess what Connor had, would be unable to resist the opportunity to "rescue" his brother from me—especially if that rescue came with the added bonus of taking something away from the man who now had what Harris wanted.