Haven

I woke up with a massive grin on my face because, honestly, why wouldn't I? The sun was streaming through my window like a personal spotlight, and if the day was going to be this gorgeous, I had to make sure I looked even better. Being pretty is a full-time job, and I never take a day off.

I hopped out of bed, feeling the hum of the house. Downstairs, the smell of coffee and fried rice was already drifting up. It was one of those rare mornings where we could all actually sit down together before my dad headed out to the shops. He runs two small automotive supply stores—greasy, metallic places full of spare parts and engine oil. It’s honest work, even if some months are a total struggle.

I know how lucky I am to be at the university. My parents worked their fingers to the bone, secretly hoarding every cent for my tuition while I thought we were just barely scraping by. Between the business fluctuations and my little brother Xenon’s asthma, money is always tight. We keep Xenon inside most of the time—the city air is just too thick with exhaust for his lungs to handle.

I’ve offered to get a part-time job a dozen times, but Dad just gives me that look. He wants me focused. He wants that degree in my hand. So, for now, I carry the weight of their sacrifices with a smile and a lot of determination.

"Ate! Mom says breakfast is ready!"

Xenon’s voice through the door startled a laugh out of me. "Okay, okay! I’m coming down!"

I grabbed my bag, checked my lip gloss one last time, and headed for the kitchen. My mom was already fluttering around the table, and my dad, Oliver, was buried behind a newspaper, his coffee steaming beside him.

"Eat up, sweetheart," Mom said, sliding a plate in front of me.

"Morning, Dad," I chirped, kissing his cheek. He offered a warm, tired smile before turning back to the news.

"By the way, Oliver," Mom said, leaning against the counter. "I’m going to help Marie with her laundry today. She’s so far along in her pregnancy, and it’s just her and her husband in that house. She needs the hand."

Dad looked up, brow furrowed. "Are you sure? You’ve already got enough on your plate here."

Mom waved him off with a smirk. "Oh, please. It’s her first baby. Besides, I like the gossip."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them.

"I’ll get it!" I jumped up and stood by the door, leaning my weight against it. "Password first!" I teased.

A muffled, playful voice came from the other side. "Estelle is the most beautiful girl in the world."

I laughed and swung the door open. "Close enough. Get in here, you brat."

Estelle slid inside, adjusting her glasses and grinning through her braces. We’ve been inseparable since kindergarten—literally. Teachers tried to split us up once by putting us in different sections, but we made such a fuss they gave up. People call her a nerd, but she’s the smartest person I know. And if anyone talks trash about her, they have to go through me. I’m nice until I’m not, and I’ve got a mean streak that keeps the bullies at bay.

"Good morning, Auntie! Morning, Uncle!" Estelle greeted my parents, settling into the chair next to mine.

"You're just in time," Mom said, but then her eyes widened as she looked at Xenon’s plate. "Oh! Xenon, wait! There’s shrimp in that. I forgot your allergy! That was supposed to be for Haven. Swap plates, you two."

I quickly traded my plate for my brother's. My mom always calls me "Ate," the older sister, even when she’s talking to me like a child. It’s sweet, in a chaotic sort of way.

Estelle didn't even wait for an invite. She reached over and snatched a shrimp right off my new plate.

"Hey! You have your own food!" I complained, swiping at her hand.

"What’s yours is mine, babe," she whispered, leaning in closer so my parents couldn't hear. Her tone shifted, becoming sharp and low. "So, are you going to tell them what happened yesterday? Or are we keeping that little disaster a secret?"

My heart stuttered for a second. I glanced at my dad, who was still hovering over his paper. "No way," I hissed back. "They’ll freak out. I can handle it myself."

"Handle what?"

We both froze. My dad had dropped the newspaper and was staring directly at us, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

I forced a bright, totally fake smile. Estelle beat me to the punch, her voice a little too loud.

"Oh, you know... just talking about Haven’s secret admirer! He sent her some... uh... very intense gifts yesterday. We were just Gossiping!"

I pinched Estelle’s arm under the table, hard enough to leave a mark. She let out a muffled squeak, her mouth full of rice.

"Is he still hiding in the shadows?" Mom asked, leaning in with a playful glint in her eyes. "I’m dying to meet this guy. He’s been sending you things for years, Haven. It’s clear he’s head over heels for you."

My heart did a little somersault. I tried to play it cool, but the heat was climbing up my neck. "Oh, stop it, Mom! You’re being ridiculous."

"Haven, watch your tone," Dad cautioned, though his eyes were kind.

"She’s been even more colorful lately, Uncle," Estelle chimed in, finally swallowing. "Yesterday she actually said—"

I didn't let her finish. I grabbed a large, peeled shrimp and shoved it straight into her mouth. "Eat your breakfast, Estelle."

Dad sighed, setting his coffee down. "A lady shouldn't have such a sharp tongue, Haven."

"She didn't get that from us, Oliver," Mom said softly, her voice losing its playfulness. "You can’t blame the girl for the habits she picked up from... before."

The air in the room shifted instantly. The mention of my biological father was like a cold draft under the door. We never talked about him—not at breakfast, not ever. He was the one who taught me my first curses. I remember being a little girl, accidentally letting a word slip during a game, and feeling the sting of Mom’s hand across my mouth.

I’ve tried to stop. Truly. But when I’m startled or angry, the words just slide out like they’re hardwired into my brain. He was a bad influence in every sense of the word. I still have flashes of memory—vivid, ugly scenes of him hurting Mom. The bruises he left on her skin were nothing compared to the ones he left on her spirit. Even without a drop of alcohol in him, he was a monster.

I hate him. I don’t care if we share the same blood; he isn't my father. My real dad is sitting right across from me, the man who took me in, spoiled me when he had an extra dollar, and told me I could be whoever I wanted to be.

...

The drive to campus was tense. I didn't want to commute today. My mind was stuck on the incident from yesterday—those men, the way they watched me. I didn't say a word to my parents because they already have enough to worry about. I can handle myself. I have to.

"Are you still thinking about that guy who wants to talk to you?" Estelle asked, breaking the silence. "The one you have no clue about?"

"I'm just curious," I lied, looking out the window. "And honestly? A little annoyed. This secret admirer thing has been going on for years. Is he ever going to show his face, or is he just going to keep playing mystery man until we’re eighty?"

I’ve never had a real crush. Not in elementary, not in high school. Estelle knows everything about me—we’ve shared secrets, clothes, and practically our entire lives. Even she’s stumped. Most guys stay away because I’m "difficult" or "moody." Mom says I got my attitude from my first father, but I like to think I just got her beauty and a spine made of steel.

When we pulled into the university lot, I didn't move.

"Why are you still in the car?" Estelle teased. "I thought you weren't afraid of anything."

I waited a few beats, scanning the crowd of students. "Are they out there?" I whispered.

"Wait, my shoe is untied," Estelle said, hopping out and kneeling by the door.

I took a deep breath and stepped out, walking toward the main building. I was so busy looking over my shoulder for thugs that I didn't see the person right in front of me.

Thump.

I slammed into a broad chest.

"Miss Haven Cross?"

The voice was smooth, like expensive bourbon. I didn't look up at first, my breath hitching in my throat.

"Yes...?" I managed to choke out.

"Can I have a minute of your time?"

I slowly lifted my gaze, and my heart stopped. He wasn't a student. He was older, wearing a sharp, tailored office suit that cost more than my tuition. He was breathtakingly handsome, but as my eyes moved past him, I saw the men standing behind him.

The same men from yesterday.

My blood turned to ice. "About what?" I asked, my voice trembling.

The man stepped closer, his scent—sandalwood and power—filling my senses.

"Wait! Please, just wait!"

The man took a step forward, his palms open in a gesture of peace. Up close, his skin was flawless, and he smelled like expensive laundry soap and power. "Don’t be scared. We aren't here to hurt you. I just need you to come with me. My boss is very insistent on meeting you. If you have classes now, we can wait. We’ll pick you up the moment you’re finished."

He was calm, almost soothing, but my heart was drumming a frantic beat against my ribs. I looked past his tailored shoulder at the two men standing behind him. They were built like brick walls, faces set in stone, looming like shadows in the morning sun.

"Look," I said, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound tough. "You’re handsome, and you seem polite, but no. Absolutely not. If your boss wants to talk to me so badly, he can show his face here. I’m not just getting into a car with strangers."

The man’s expression didn't flicker. "I understand your concern, Miss Cross, but my boss cannot meet you in public. I can’t explain why, but I give you my word that you will be safe."

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is he some kind of VIP? Too good to step onto a college campus? My gut is telling me this is a bad idea. I don't care how nice your suit is, the answer is no."

Estelle nudged me hard, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Haven, look at him," she whispered, leaning into my ear. "He’s gorgeous. He’s professional. He smells like a literal angel. Maybe it’s fine?"

I pinched her arm, making her hiss. "Are you crazy? I don't care if he’s a supermodel. I don't know him. There are plenty of good-looking guys in the world who are still dangerous."

The man in the suit sighed, his gaze softening into something like a plea. He actually had puppy-dog eyes. It was devastating. "Miss Haven Cross, I am begging you. This is a matter of extreme importance. He needs you. We won't leave until you agree to come, and I’m afraid we won't stop following this lead until you do."

The persistence was starting to freak me out. "No! No, no, no! I said no! Do whatever you want, stay here all day if you like, but I'm not going anywhere with you!"

I grabbed Estelle’s hand and bolted toward the campus gates, my heels clicking rapidly on the pavement. I didn't dare look back.

"You almost folded back there," Estelle teased, breathless as we reached the safety of the main hall. "I saw your face. You were totally checking him out."

"Okay, fine, he was hot," I admitted, trying to shake off the chill running down my spine. "But something feels wrong. If this were just about a conversation, why the bodyguards? Why the secret location? It’s not exactly a great start to a friendship."

My mind was spinning at a hundred miles an hour. Who the hell is this boss? I’m a college student. I spend my time studying, hanging out with Estelle, and dodging my past. I haven't done anything illegal lately. Well, nothing serious enough to warrant a private security detail and a personal invitation from a mystery man.

I started to spiral. What if he’s part of a syndicate? What if my biological father owes someone money? Or worse, what if they’re going to kidnap me and my family will be left wondering where I went?

I’m smart, but I’m also an overthinker. The more I thought about that man’s calm, steady gaze, the more I felt like I was being hunted. If they think they can just show up with a pretty face and some muscle to buy my time, they have another thing coming.

I’m Haven Cross. If this "boss" wants me, he’s going to have to do a lot better than sending a messenger. He wants a piece of me? He better be ready for the fire that comes with it.

Jace

The leather of my executive chair groaned as I leaned back, my eyes burning from the fine print of a dozen legal contracts. Across the room, Killian was lounging on the velvet sofa like he owned the place, tossing a gold lighter idly in the air. He was a distraction I didn't need, but his silence was the only thing keeping me from snapping.

I had a lunch meeting within the hour, a necessary pivot since I’d already bailed on my grandfather. The old man understood—business was the Blackwood bloodline—but the weight of the crown was feeling exceptionally heavy today.

I pulled another folder toward me, my fountain pen hovering over the signature line. I didn't just sign things anymore. Not since the "Accident."

A few months ago, a document had landed on my desk—a demolition order for my own flagship building, tucked neatly between harmless invoices. If I hadn’t caught the discrepancy, the heart of my empire would be rubble by now. I’d run the name on the notary, the witness, the clerk. Nothing. A ghost had tried to bury me.

Now, I was hunting a rat. Someone inside these walls was feeding me poison, and they were getting bolder. They didn't just want my money; they wanted my pulse to stop.

I didn't ask for the billionaire title. I earned it through blood and sleepless nights, but now that I had it, I was a target. And while I could handle a bullet for myself, the thought of someone touching my grandfather or my siblings made the darkness in my chest stir. If I found the person responsible, I wouldn’t call the police. I’d make them pray for hell instead.

Then there was the other problem. The woman.

I’d sent Winston back to that university for the third time this week. My instructions were clear: do not leave until Haven Cross agrees to the meeting.

She was stubborn, prickly, and entirely unimpressed by the Blackwood name. It was infuriating. I didn’t have time to audition another fake wife; Haven was the only one who fit the profile, even if her attitude was a constant thorn in my side. What was she so afraid of? I’d give her anything—money, status, protection—if she’d just play the part.

A crumpled ball of paper hit my forehead and bounced onto the mahogany desk. I looked up, my jaw tight. Killian was grinning.

"What?" I snapped.

"You're in 'Serious CEO' mode again, Jace. It’s depressing."

"Should I be dancing while I look for the person trying to assassinate my career?" I shot back, my voice low and dangerous.

A sharp knock saved Killian from a more creative insult.

"Come in," I commanded.

Winston stepped inside, his shoulders slumped in a way that told me everything I needed to know. He stopped in front of my desk, looking like a man facing a firing squad.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwood," Winston murmured. "I’m sorry, sir. We failed again. Ms. Cross refused to even listen to the proposal."

I closed my eyes, a slow, hot tension coiling in my gut. "She’s really testing me."

"Sir?"

"Prepare the car for tomorrow morning," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "We’re going to her house. If she won't come to the king, the king goes to her. I’m done playing games."

Winston nodded quickly and retreated. Killian sat bolt upright, his playfulness vanishing.

"You’re going to her house? Personally?" Killian asked, eyebrows climbing. "You’re moving fast."

"I have to. I need her signed and ready by the end of the week. She’s coming with me to Rafa’s birthday gala."

Killian’s jaw dropped. "What? Are you insane?"

"I didn't have a choice," I growled, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Jasper, Rafa, and Grandpa practically cornered me. They’ve heard rumors about her, and they’re demanding to see the woman who finally caught my eye."

Killian stood up, walking over to lean against my desk. The humor was gone from his eyes. "I have a bad feeling about this, Jace. You know what Grandpa Benedict is going to do the moment he sees you two together."

"Marriage," I whispered. The word felt like a trap.

Killian snapped his fingers. "Bingo. You’re walking into a cage, my friend. If you bring her to that party, the old man will have a ring on her finger before the cake is cut."

"I'll handle it," I said, though the conviction in my voice wavered.

My phone buzzed, vibrating against the wood. The caller ID made my stomach tighten. Grandpa.

"Yes, Lo?" I answered.

"Jace, are you busy?" His voice sounded strained.

"Why? Is everything okay?"

"It’s your mother. She’s sick, but she’s being stubborn again. She’s trying to leave the house to run errands and won't listen to a word I say. She only listens to you."

I let out a long, heavy exhale. My mother was the only person who could break my schedule without a fight. "Fine. I’m coming home now."

"Good. Drive safely, grandson."

I hung up and stood, grabbing my blazer. "Winston!" I called out.

The door flew open instantly. "Yes, sir?"

I shoved the final stack of documents across the mahogany desk. "Hand these to Sharlene. I’m heading out. If anyone calls, tell them I’m dead to the world unless the building is literally on fire."

Winston nodded, his movements efficient and silent. I stood up, sliding into my tailored suit jacket. The silk lining felt cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat simmering under my collar. I looked at Killian, who was still lounging with that infuriatingly relaxed posture.

"Move. You’re coming with me."

He didn't ask questions. He knew the tone. We moved through the lobby, my two shadows in black suits flanking us with military precision. The moment we hit the curb, the door to the black SUV swung open. I didn't have to say a word. My driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror, saw the tension in the set of my jaw, and pulled away from the curb. He knew the destination.

The estate.

My mother was spiraling again. The alcohol had become her only language lately, a slow-motion car crash I was forced to watch every single day. I’d warned her. I’d pleaded. But Gwyneth Blackwood only listened when I bared my teeth. It wasn't a side of myself I liked showing her, but it was the only thing that kept her from drowning.

She wasn't insane. She was just broken, a hollowed-out version of the woman who used to tuck me in. She wasn't violent, but her grief was a weapon that drew blood from everyone who loved her.

The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was out the door. I strode through the foyer, my boots echoing against the marble like distant thunder.

"Grandpa," I called out, my voice tight.

I found him outside her bedroom. The sound of muffled sobbing vibrated through the wood. Two maids stood there, looking helpless and terrified.

"Talk to her, Jace," my grandfather said, his face etched with a weariness that made him look a decade older. "She won't stop. She’s demanding to leave, and she can barely stand."

I flicked my hand, a silent command for the maids to vanish. They scrambled away instantly. I pushed the door open. The room smelled of expensive perfume and the sharp, sour tang of gin.

"Mom," I said.

She didn't look up from the edge of the bed. Her shoulders shook with jagged, ugly breaths.

"Mom."

Nothing. Just the sound of her falling apart.

"Mother!"

The roar of my voice finally cracked the air. She flinched, her head snapping up, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

"Jace..." she whispered, her voice a ghost of itself.

Before I could speak, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my stomach. She was trembling so hard I could feel it through my ribs. "I need to get out, Jace. Please. I can't stay in this house anymore. It’s too quiet. It’s too loud. I just need to leave."

I sighed, the anger draining out of me and leaving only a hollow ache. I ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the stray strands back. "You're sick, Mom. You aren't going anywhere until you can walk a straight line. Rest. Get your strength back. Do you think Dad would want to see you like this?"

The mention of my father acted like a physical blow. She went still, her grip loosening. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay."

I reached for the sedative on the nightstand and handed it to her. Her hands shook as she took the pill, the water glass clicking against her teeth as she drank. I waited until she slid under the covers, her eyes fluttering shut as the medication took hold.

I backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. Killian was leaning against the opposite wall, watching me.

"She only listens to you," he murmured.

We headed downstairs in silence, the atmosphere in the house thick and suffocating. We reached the kitchen, and I poured myself a glass of water, downing it in one go.

"Jace," Grandpa said, leaning against the kitchen island. "Are you still refusing to consider the clinic? She needs professional help, hijo."

I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. "I’m not ready for that. We talked about this."

"I'm not trying to push you," Grandpa replied softly, reaching for a piece of fruit. "But look at her. Look at Gwyneth. She isn't the woman your father loved anymore. If she gets worse, we might lose her entirely."

Killian stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically grave. "I hate to agree with the old man, Jace, but he’s right. You’re keeping her in a gilded cage, thinking you can protect her. You’ve got guards on her twenty-four-seven, but you’re just watching her rot. You need to do the right thing and get her back to—"

"Are you calling my mother a lost cause, Killian?" I turned on him, my eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light.

"That’s not what I meant, and you know it," Killian snapped, holding his ground.

"Shut the hell up. Both of you," I hissed. "If you don't have anything useful to say, get out of my house. I’m done listening to your opinions on my family."

I didn't wait for a reply. I stormed up the stairs, my blood boiling. I needed air. I needed silence. But as I reached my bedroom door, a small figure was waiting.

"Jace..."

Jasper. My little sister looked small, her eyes wide with the same fear I saw in my mother’s.

"Come in," I said, my voice softening just a fraction.

She followed me inside and sat on the edge of my bed. I sat beside her, pulling her into a half-hug, my arm heavy over her shoulders.

"Are you really going to send her away?" she whispered. "I thought we had more time."

I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. "She’s getting worse, Jasper. I don't want to, but the people at the facility... they know how to fix a heart that’s broken like hers. They can bring her back to us."

Jasper leaned her head on my shoulder, her voice trembling. "When?"

"I don't know," I admitted, the truth tasting like ash. "I'm not ready. You aren't ready. We'll wait."

"I wish Dad was here," she choked out.

I squeezed her hand, my heart feeling like it was being crushed in a vice. "I know. God, I know."

We sat there in the dim light, two orphans in a massive house, mourning a woman who was still breathing in the room down the hall.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence. Killian’s voice drifted through the wood, cautious this time. "Am I interrupting?"

I looked at Jasper and gave her a small nudge. "Go check on Mom for me. Make sure she’s still sleeping."

Jasper slipped out of the room without another word. The door had barely clicked shut before Killian was in my space, his hands raised in a peace offering.

"Look, Jace, I didn't mean to—"

"I know," I cut him off, the fire in my blood cooling into a dull, heavy ache. "I know what you meant. I just lost my grip. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, realizing I might have to be the one to lock my own mother away."

Killian stepped forward, clapping a firm hand on my shoulder. His gaze was steady, grounding me. "Don't bury yourself in the pressure. If you aren't ready, you aren't ready. Just don't let the idea die. This isn't about punishment; it’s about getting Gwyneth back."

He squeezed my shoulder once more before turning for the door. When it closed, the silence that rushed back into the room was deafening.

I dropped onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands. I wanted her in a facility—I knew she needed the structure and the medical eyes on her twenty-four-seven. She was doing things that bordered on insanity lately, but every time I reached for the phone to make the call, my heart failed me. Seeing her behind those clinical white walls, confined like a prisoner... it felt like a betrayal.

But then again, we’d been living in the shadow of my father’s death for years. We had tried everything to pull her out of the wreckage of that day, but she refused to be saved.

I remembered the last time she truly lost it. She had gone on a rampage, shattering every piece of crystal and porcelain in the east wing. We had stood there, frozen, watching her destroy her own life in slow motion. I was the only one she’d eventually listen to, but even my influence was beginning to wear thin.

Haver patience with her, Jace, my father’s voice echoed in the back of my mind. She’s always been a storm of moods. You have to be the anchor.

He wasn't lying. She was the most temperamental woman I’d ever known. Her drinking had accelerated the decay, bringing on fevers and tremors that left her bedridden for days. She drank like a man drowning his demons, four nights a week, until she simply couldn't pour another glass.

I had to decide, and I had to do it soon, before she slipped too far. But there was another fire I had to put out first: Haven Cross.

I needed that girl. My deadline was bleeding out, and Sebastian’s birthday gala was looming like a threat. I couldn't afford for this week to end without her signature on a contract and her body on my arm.

The thought of the party sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. My mother had a history of ruining celebrations. She’d decimated Jasper’s debut, turned Grandpa’s birthday into a scene of grief, and made my own birthday a memory I’d rather burn. It was why I’d banned parties in this house.

I looked at the closed door, thinking of her sleeping down the hall. I could never tie her down or lock her in her room like some Victorian tragedy. I wasn't that kind of son. I wasn't a monster.

If I was going to lose her, I’d do it the right way. I’d put her in the hands of the best doctors money could buy.