I could still hear the gunshot echoes as the man collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, blood blooming across the marble floor. My stomach churned at the sight, bile rushing up my throat.

Veron lowered his weapon with terrifying calm. No remorse. No hesitation. Just execution.

“Dispose of it,” he told the guards, his voice cold like frost.

Two suited men dragged the corpse away like it was trash. No one even flinched when he pulled the trigger. I couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick with iron and smoke. My legs threatened to give way, so I found a wall and leaned on it.

I stared at Veron—at the stranger wearing my brother’s face.

“This… this isn’t you,” I whispered.

He turned, his expression unreadable. “No. It’s not the version you remember.”

My hands curled into fists. “You just shot someone. In front of me.”

“He tried to kill you, Liana,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t allow second chances when it comes to you.”

But it wasn’t comforting. It was terrifying.

The brother I left six years ago was gone. Replaced by something colder, harder.

He signaled two women to enter—maids dressed in muted tones. “Take her to the east wing. Give her everything she needs.”

“I don’t need—”

“You need rest,” Veron said, cutting me off. “We’ll talk later.”

I wanted to argue, to scream—but my voice failed me. I let the maids guide me away, my mind spinning and aching from everything. It had been a rollercoaster with no pause in between.

The suite they led me to was luxurious—fireplace lit, velvet curtains swaying, food waiting on polished trays—but I felt like I was drowning in silk.

Once alone, I finally grabbed my phone. It lit up with tension, a stark contrast to the darkness brewing in my heart.

Seven missed calls. All from Josie.

One unread message:

Where the hell did you go? Come back this second. Don’t be stupid.

My heart slammed against my ribs. How dare he still talk to me like this?

Josie. My husband. My betrayer.

The image of him with Becca flashed like a blade. The softness in his voice when he lied. The nights he came home late, reeking of perfume I didn’t own.

He was worried I left—not because he loved me—but because he lost control.

I nearly threw the phone across the room.

---

The sunlight streaming through the heavy curtains poured its rays on my face, waking me from a deep slumber. How did I even fall asleep last night?

I woke to the relentless buzzing of my phone on the nightstand.

Nine missed calls.

More than a dozen unread messages.

All from Josie.

My fingers trembled as I stared at the screen. Every ring, every beep, was a reminder—he was still trying to pull me back, but I wasn’t the same woman who once waited by the phone.

A soft knock broke the silence.

Dylan stepped in, calm as ever, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “How was your night?”

I swallowed hard. “Long,” I responded, flipping away the strand of hair that had fallen over my face.

He nodded, checking the time. “Veron wants you downstairs. Breakfast is ready.”

I took a deep breath and followed him down, taking in every corner of the house as I walked.

The dining room was quiet as I settled in, the air thick with unspoken questions. Veron sat at the head of the table, watching me like I was a fragile glass ready to shatter.

He gestured to a seat. “Sit.”

I did, my eyes locked on the untouched food served on golden plates.

“Why did you leave Josie?” Veron asked, his voice steady but low.

I looked up, barely meeting his gaze. “Because he cheated. Lied. Made me believe I was nothing.”

His gaze sharpened. “So do you still plan on going back to him?”

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated—Josie was calling again.

Veron nodded toward it. “Pick it up.”

My hand hesitated, trembling. Then I slid the green button.

“Liana…” His voice was soft, but I heard the cold beneath it. “Where are you? Come back.”

“I’m not coming back,” I said firmly.

“Think about it,” Josie pleaded. “You have nowhere else. No one else. Where did you go? Okay, I’m sorry about whatever Becca said or did to you. Come home, we can sort it out.”

I kept mute as he talked, listening to the lies pour from him like oil over fire.

“I still have my family, Josie,” I whispered.

The line went quiet.

“Who?” Josie’s voice cracked.

I met Veron’s eyes, then cut the call.

Veron’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

I stood up from the breakfast table, my appetite gone. The tension between Veron and me was palpable, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking on thin ice.

As I retired to my room, I couldn’t stop thinking about Josie’s call. His voice had been smooth, but I could hear the desperation beneath. He thought he could manipulate me, control me, but I was no longer that woman.

Later, Dylan appeared at the door with a black card in his hand.

“Veron wants you to have this,” he said, his voice softer now. “Go clear your head. Come shopping with me.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the flutter in my chest. “Sounds dangerous,” I joked.

Dylan’s lips curled into a ghost of a smile. “Only if you get carried away.”

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should trust Dylan. But something about him put me at ease. Maybe it was the way he looked at me—like I was a person, not just a possession.

“Okay,” I said finally, taking the card from him. “Let’s go.”

As we left the mansion, I felt a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time. The wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and Dylan’s easy smile beside me made me feel alive.

For the first time in forever, I felt like I was taking control of my life. And I had Dylan to thank for it.

---

The mall's vibrant atmosphere blurred around me as I walked beside Dylan, senses on high alert. Every step felt like a countdown to disaster, my heart racing with dread. Dylan’s soothing voice barely registered as I scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of danger.

Then a sharp whizz cut through the air, followed by a metallic ping. My heart skipped a beat—a bullet had skimmed past my ear.

Dylan’s hand clamped over mine, pulling me into a nearby store.

Panic set in.

This was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to escape Josie’s toxic grip. But now, it felt like I was being dragged into a world even darker than before—where bullets and threats were routine.

Then came the message from Josie:

You think you can run? You belong to me. No one will protect you. Not even Veron.

The words sliced deeper than any bullet.

How did he know Veron was with me?

Who the hell was Josie?

(Liana’s POV)

I never imagined my return home would feel like walking into a war zone.

One second, I was standing beside Dylan, trying to make sense of the cold silence around us—the next, chaos exploded around me.

Gunshots tore through the night like thunderclaps.

“Get down!” Dylan shouted.

I didn’t even have time to scream before he tackled me to the ground, shielding my body with his. My back slammed into the cold concrete, knocking the breath right out of me. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might tear through my chest.

“What the hell is happening?!” I cried.

But Dylan didn’t answer. His focus was razor-sharp, eyes scanning the shadows, gun already drawn as he fired back in quick, precise bursts. The sharp scent of gunpowder clung to the air, burning my nose.

I pressed my hands against my ears, trying to drown out the relentless crack of bullets, but it was useless. I couldn’t hear anything but the frantic thudding of my pulse and Dylan’s body pressed against mine like a living shield.

I screamed again, “Who are they?! Why are they shooting at us?”

“Keep your head down, Liana!” he barked. “Let me handle it.”

I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself to stay still even though every instinct inside me screamed to run. I clung to the fabric of his shirt, trembling.

Dylan fired again, cursing under his breath as he checked the corners, moving like a trained soldier—which only terrified me more.

Why was he trained like that?

Why were we even being shot at?

When the gunfire stopped, silence fell so suddenly it felt unnatural. My ears rang. Dylan didn’t relax for even a second. He grabbed my wrist, pulled me up, and half-dragged me behind a stack of crates, never taking his eyes off the darkened alley.

“We need to move. Now.”

“Dylan—”

“No time,” he snapped. “Just trust me.”

And I did.

Because even with my legs shaking and my thoughts spinning like a carousel gone rogue, I knew one thing: Dylan wasn’t going to let me die tonight.

We slipped through the narrow path behind the warehouse, his grip tight around my hand, his body blocking mine every time we turned a corner. I stumbled over rocks and trash, nearly twisting my ankle more than once, but Dylan never stopped moving until we reached the car.

He yanked the door open and practically shoved me inside.

As he got behind the wheel and the engine roared to life, I finally found my voice again.

“Who were they? Dylan, who the hell were they?!”

His jaw clenched as he sped through the city like a man possessed. “They weren’t after you,” he muttered. “They were after me… or your brother.”

“What? Why?” I turned toward him, grabbing his arm. “Why would someone be trying to kill you? What is Veron involved in?!”

Dylan didn’t answer. His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel.

I stared at his profile, trying to read between the lines—the tight set of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes.

Something was very, very wrong.

By the time we pulled up to Veron’s compound, my body was numb. My thoughts were tangled in panic, questions clawing at me from the inside.

Veron was already waiting when we arrived.

He stood at the entrance, flanked by his guards, his expression dark and unreadable. As soon as Dylan opened the door, Veron walked toward us with long, purposeful strides.

I stepped out of the car, still shaken. My knees nearly buckled. Dylan caught me before I could fall and held me upright.

“What happened?” Veron asked, his voice low and controlled—but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes. Fury. Or was it fear?

“Ambush,” Dylan said, grim. “Warehouse district. Two masked gunmen. Trained. They weren’t amateurs.”

Veron swore under his breath. He motioned for Dylan to come inside. His gaze briefly met mine—searching, assessing.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” I replied shakily. “Just… shaken.”

He nodded, then turned back to Dylan. “Get her inside. I’ll handle this.”

“Handle what?” I demanded, my voice rising. “What the hell is going on, Veron? Why were men with guns chasing us?! What are you into?!”

Veron looked at me, his expression suddenly cold. “Liana, now isn’t the time.”

“Not the time?” I snapped. “Men tried to kill us, Veron! I had to lie on the ground while Dylan shot back at them like this was some goddamn movie! I deserve answers!”

“I said we’ll talk later,” he said more firmly, nodding to a guard. “Take her to her room. Make sure she’s safe.”

“Don’t you dare shut me out again,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m not a child anymore, Veron.”

But he’d already turned away.

Dylan gave me a sympathetic look, but even he said nothing. He just touched my shoulder lightly and walked off after Veron.

And so, once again, I was alone with a thousand questions and not a single answer.

---

My room was as silent as a tomb. I stood at the window, staring out into the dark courtyard below, watching as guards moved like shadows across the compound. More of them than usual. All armed. All tense.

Veron had doubled security.

Something big was happening.

Something dangerous.

And I was right in the middle of it.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.

How had things gone so wrong, so fast?

I came here to reconnect with the only family I had left. To find closure. Peace.

Instead, I was dodging bullets in the dark and being told to “stay in my room” like I was ten.

The silence stretched. Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Eventually, I heard a knock.

I didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway.

Dylan stepped inside.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

I looked up at him. “Do I look okay to you?”

He sighed, coming to sit beside me. “You’re safe now.”

I laughed bitterly. “That’s what scares me. Because I don’t feel safe. Not here. Not when everyone’s hiding things from me.”

He hesitated. “It’s not my place—”

“No,” I interrupted, standing. “It is your place. Because you were there. You were the one shielding me with your body while bullets flew over us. So don’t pretend you don’t know.”

He looked at me then, really looked—his eyes tired and a little sad. “What do you want to know?”

“What is Veron into? Why are people trying to kill him? Why are they following me and you now?”

Dylan ran a hand through his hair. “Veron… made enemies. Years ago. He’s been trying to keep you out of it, but—”

“But what?” I whispered.

“They found you. And they won’t stop now.”

I stared at him, the weight of his words settling like ice in my stomach.

“They’ll come again, won’t they?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.