The announcement broke at 9:02 a.m.

At 9:03, the internet exploded.

At 9:05, Eleanor Whitmore realized there was no turning back.

She stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in Sebastian Calloway's Manhattan headquarters, watching the city pulse below while her phone vibrated relentlessly in her hand.

Billionaire Tech Mogul Sebastian Calloway Announces Surprise Engagement. Investigative Journalist Eleanor Whitmore Identified as Fiancée. Power Move or Love Story?

The headlines multiplied by the second.

Behind her, Sebastian remained calm. Too calm.

He sat at the conference table reviewing a digital tablet as if they had just announced a quarterly earnings report instead of a life-altering deception.

"You're trending in twelve countries," he said mildly.

Ellie turned slowly. "My editor has called fourteen times."

"You should answer."

"And say what?"

"That you fell hopelessly in love with a morally questionable billionaire."

Her eyes narrowed. "Careful."

A faint smirk touched his mouth. There it was again, that unsettling shift when the cold executive mask slipped just slightly.

The press conference would begin in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until the world dissected their expressions, body language, and history.

"You look pale," Sebastian observed.

"I'm about to lie to the entire country."

"You're about to protect yourself."

She studied him. "You really think this protects me?"

"I think it makes you harder to eliminate quietly." The way he said it, clinical, not dramatic, made her stomach twist.

Security had tripled overnight.

Armed guards now stood discreetly near every entrance of the building. War.

He had meant it.

The doors to the conference room opened.

A tall man stepped inside without waiting to be announced. Ellie recognized him instantly.

Damien Rhodes. American tech billionaire. Investor. Publicly charming. Privately ruthless. And one of Calloway Industries' largest minority shareholders.

He looked like the kind of man who enjoyed destroying things slowly.

"Well," Damien drawled, clapping slowly. "I wake up to find my favorite British export is getting married."

Sebastian didn't stand. "Good morning, Damien."

Damien's gaze shifted to Ellie, assessing. "And you must be the journalist."

"Eleanor Whitmore," she replied coolly. He extended his hand.

"Damien Rhodes." She shook it.

His grip lingered a second too long. "Congratulations," he said, though his eyes never left Sebastian's face. "This is... unexpected."

"Life often is," Sebastian replied smoothly.

Damien's jaw tightened subtly.

"This board vote," Damien continued lightly, "is about leadership stability. Marriage doesn't automatically fix investor concern."

"No," Sebastian agreed calmly. "But it reframes it."

A flicker of tension sparked between them. Ellie felt it like static.

These two men were not casual rivals. They were circling each other.

Damien's gaze returned to her. "You should be careful," he said pleasantly. "Power struggles aren't romantic." Before she could respond, Sebastian stood. A single movement. Controlled. But unmistakably territorial.

"That will be all, Damien."

Damien's smile sharpened. "For now." He left without another word.

Ellie exhaled slowly.

"He doesn't like this."

"He doesn't like losing," Sebastian corrected.

"You think he's involved?"

"In Lydia's death?" Sebastian's expression hardened. "I think Damien benefits from my absence."

"And from your fiancée's death?" A pause. "Yes."

The bluntness unsettled her.

"Then why let him walk around freely?"

"Because I don't have proof."

"And that's where I come in." His eyes met hers. "Yes."

The press conference timer hit zero.

The flash of cameras felt like gunfire.

Sebastian's hand rested lightly at the small of her back as they stepped onto the stage.

Not possessive. Not intimate. But steady. Grounding.

Ellie hated how aware she was of it.

The questions came immediately.

"Mr. Calloway, when did this relationship begin?"

"Ms. Whitmore, were you investigating Calloway Industries before this engagement?"

"Is this a strategic move ahead of the board vote?"

Sebastian's voice remained even.

"We value our privacy. However, our relationship developed over time, and we are both committed to transparency moving forward."

Lie. Half-truth. Strategic ambiguity.

Ellie forced herself to meet the cameras confidently.

"I have always believed in accountability," she said clearly. "That includes holding myself to the same standard."

Another half-truth.

The room buzzed.

Then one reporter asked the question she knew was coming.

"What would Lydia Calloway think of this?" The air shifted.

Sebastian's hand tightened fractionally against her back. His face did not change.

"Lydia valued honesty," he said calmly. "She would want the truth." The way he said it steady but layered with something raw sent a ripple through the room. Even Ellie felt it.

The conference ended without disaster. But the war had officially begun.

That night, exhaustion hit like a physical weight.

The estate felt quieter than usual. Too quiet.

Ellie changed into silk sleepwear she didn't remember buying, presumably selected by someone in Sebastian's household staff, and paced her room.

Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

She answered cautiously.

A message this time. You should have stayed out of it.

Her throat tightened.

A second message followed. Wives are replaceable.

Cold fear slid down her spine.

There was a soft knock at her door. She hesitated before opening it. Sebastian stood there, jacket removed, sleeves rolled up, and hair slightly disheveled. He looked less like a billionaire.

More like a man who hadn't slept in years.

"You received it," he said quietly.

She nodded.

"Security is tracing it."

"And if they can't?"

"They will." He stepped inside.

The air between them felt different tonight. Less formal. More fragile.

"I didn't realize how exposed this would feel," she admitted.

He closed the door gently. "It doesn't get easier."

A faint shadow of a smile touched his mouth.

"You can leave," he said suddenly.

She frowned. "What?"

"This arrangement," he clarified. "You can walk away. I will handle the consequences."

Her chest tightened. "And what happens to you?"

"That is not your responsibility."

The dismissal stung more than it should have.

"I agreed to this," she said firmly. "I don't run when things get uncomfortable."

His gaze softened just slightly.

"It won't just be uncomfortable."

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence felt intimate. Dangerous.

"You don't trust easily," she said quietly.

"No."

"Because of Lydia."

A long pause. "Yes."

His voice was stripped of all polish now.

"She told me she was being followed," he continued. "I dismissed it as anxiety."

Ellie's heart clenched.

"She died two weeks later." The guilt in his eyes was unbearable.

"You couldn't have known," she said gently.

"I should have." The words carried years of self-punishment.

Without thinking, she stepped closer. Close enough to see the faint tremor in his jaw.

"You're not invincible," she whispered.

"I never believed I was."

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Then back to her eyes. Slow. Deliberate.

Heat coiled low in her stomach, unwanted, undeniable.

"This is exactly what we said we wouldn't do," she murmured.

"Yes." Neither moved away.

The tension stretched thin. Then...

A sharp crack shattered the window behind them.

Glass exploded inward. Sebastian moved instantly.

He grabbed her, pulling her to the floor as a second shot pierced the wall where she had been standing seconds earlier.

Gunfire.

Her ears rang. Security alarms blared.

Sebastian's body shielded hers completely. Solid. Protective. Dangerous.

"Stay down," he ordered, voice lethal. More shouting outside. Footsteps. Chaos.

The shooting stopped as quickly as it began.

Sebastian remained over her for several seconds longer than necessary.

Their faces inches apart. Her breath came fast.

His hand was braced beside her head. His chest rose and fell against hers.

"You're bleeding," she whispered.

A thin line of red trailed down his temple where glass had cut him.

"It's nothing."

But his eyes, they were no longer controlled. They were furious.

Whoever pulled that trigger hadn't just threatened his empire. They had targeted her.

Slowly, carefully, he helped her sit up.

"You see now," he said quietly, "this is not a game."

Her heart was still racing. But fear was not the only thing she felt. She reached up before she could stop herself. Her fingers brushed the blood at his temple. The touch was soft. Intimate. Unplanned. He froze.

For a second, the world went silent again.

"You almost died," she whispered.

"So did you." Their foreheads nearly touched. The line between fake and real blurred.

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly.

His jaw tightened. "You may regret that."

"Probably."

A breath passed between them. Heavy. Charged.

"Welcome to marriage," she murmured.

And for the first time since she met him, Sebastian Calloway laughed.

Not cold. Not controlled. Real.

Outside, sirens wailed.

Inside, something far more dangerous had just begun. Not the war.

The attachment.

And neither of them was prepared for what that would cost.

By morning, the estate looked untouched.

The shattered window had been replaced.

The blood had been cleaned.

The bullet holes sealed and painted over.

As if violence could be edited out like a public relations mistake.

Eleanor Whitmore stood in the hallway outside Sebastian's private study and understood something with chilling clarity:

This was not the first time someone had tried to kill him.

And it would not be the last.

Inside the study, voices were low but tense.

"Trajectory confirms the shooter was positioned beyond the tree line," a man said.

Ellie recognized him. Marcus Hale, head of security. Former military. Efficient. Loyal.

Or at least he appeared that way.

"The angle suggests they knew which room you were in," Marcus continued.

A beat of silence followed.

Which meant one thing.

Inside information.

Ellie stepped into the room.

Sebastian stood near the fireplace, one hand in his pocket, expression unreadable.

He looked composed.

Too composed.

"Was anyone detained?" she asked.

Marcus glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to Sebastian.

"No, ma'am. The shooter was gone within ninety seconds."

"Professional," Sebastian said calmly.

Marcus nodded.

"Very."

Ellie folded her arms.

"Then we assume someone here told them where to aim."

The room went still.

Marcus's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"Are you suggesting internal compromise?" he asked carefully.

"I'm suggesting," Ellie replied coolly, "that snipers don't guess which window to shoot."

Sebastian's gaze flicked between them.

Thoughtful.

Measured.

"Run a full internal audit," he instructed Marcus. "Discreetly."

Marcus hesitated a fraction of a second too long.

"Yes, sir."

When he left, the silence felt heavier.

"You suspect him," Sebastian observed.

"I suspect everyone."

A faint approval flickered in his eyes.

"You're adapting quickly."

"I prefer being alive."

He stepped closer, studying her.

"You didn't panic last night."

"I was busy not dying."

"That isn't what I meant."

His gaze softened slightly.

"You didn't run."

Her chest tightened.

"I told you," she said quietly. "I don't."

A moment passed between them.

Charged.

Unspoken.

He reached out before he seemed to realize he was doing it.

His fingers brushed lightly against her wrist.

Testing.

Asking.

She didn't pull away.

Not this time.

"You should move into my wing," he said quietly.

Her pulse jumped.

"That wasn't part of the agreement."

"Security protocol has changed."

"So has proximity."

His thumb shifted slightly against her skin.

The contact was minimal.

But deliberate.

"You think I can't control myself?" he asked softly.

The air thickened.

"I think," she replied carefully, "that lines blur when people almost die together."

A pause.

His jaw tightened, not in anger.

In restraint.

"You will have your own bedroom," he said evenly. "Attached to mine. Private access corridor. Increased surveillance."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I double security around your current room and accept the vulnerability."

Vulnerability.

The word hung there.

He was offering protection.

But he was also offering closeness.

And that was far more dangerous.

"I'll move," she said finally.

Relief flickered through his eyes, quickly masked.

"Good."

By noon, the media had shifted focus.

Attempted assassination.

Anonymous sources.

Speculation.

Damien Rhodes held a press interview outside his own Manhattan tower.

Ellie watched it from the estate's media room.

"Violence has no place in corporate disagreement," Damien said solemnly to reporters. "My thoughts are with Mr. Calloway and his fiancée."

His fiancée.

The word still felt foreign.

Damien continued, "I hope this incident does not distract from necessary leadership conversations at Calloway Industries."

Necessary leadership conversations.

Translation: board vote still happening.

Sebastian stood beside her, silent.

"He's accelerating the timeline," Ellie said.

"Yes."

"He benefits from chaos."

"Yes."

She turned to face him.

"Why haven't you removed him from the board?"

"Because removing him without evidence would fracture investor confidence."

"So you're playing chess."

"I always am."

"And he just knocked over a piece."

His gaze darkened.

"Yes."

Her phone buzzed.

This time it was Oliver.

She stepped into the hallway to answer.

"Ellie, what the hell is happening?" Oliver demanded immediately.

"You've seen the news."

"I've seen everything. Engagement. Assassination attempt. Are you out of your mind?"

"Possibly."

"Tell me you're not emotionally involved."

She hesitated.

Too long.

"Ellie."

"It's strategic," she said carefully.

"Strategic doesn't bleed."

Her chest tightened.

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I can handle this."

A pause.

"Just remember who you were before him," Oliver said quietly.

The call ended.

She stood there longer than necessary.

Who was she before him?

Certain.

Detached.

Safe.

Inside the bedroom wing, her belongings had already been relocated.

Efficient.

Seamless.

The new room was elegant but less personal than the one she had occupied.

Through a private door, she could see the entrance to Sebastian's suite.

Too close.

Too intimate.

She stepped inside her new room and closed the door firmly.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

This was still a contract.

Still controlled.

Still temporary.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

She opened the door.

Sebastian stood there, jacket removed, sleeves rolled again.

There was something restless about him tonight.

"The board has moved the vote to Friday," he said.

"That's three days."

"Yes."

"Damien pushed it."

"Yes."

She studied his face.

"You expected this."

"I anticipated escalation."

"And the shooting?"

A flicker of something dark crossed his expression.

"That was meant to destabilize me."

"Did it?"

He looked at her.

"No."

The honesty in his voice unsettled her.

"Are you ever afraid?" she asked suddenly.

A long silence.

"Of losing control," he admitted quietly. "Yes."

She stepped closer without realizing.

"You didn't lose control last night."

"I almost did."

Her breath hitched.

"Because of the shooter?"

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips.

"No."

The word felt heavier than it should have.

Silence wrapped around them.

Thick.

Electric.

"If this becomes personal," she whispered, "we both lose objectivity."

"Yes."

"And if it already is?"

His restraint snapped just slightly.

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

The touch was slow.

Intentional.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

She should have.

She didn't.

The space between them dissolved.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

But close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin.

A loud crash echoed from downstairs.

Both of them froze.

Voices shouted.

Running footsteps.

Sebastian pulled away instantly.

Control restored.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"I'm not staying anywhere."

He didn't argue this time.

They moved quickly down the hallway.

Marcus stood in the foyer, holding a tablet.

"There's been a breach in the security system," he said.

Sebastian's eyes hardened.

"External?"

Marcus hesitated.

"No, sir."

Ellie's stomach dropped.

"Internal override," Marcus finished.

Silence.

Deadly silence.

"Who has access to override codes?" Sebastian asked calmly.

"Only three people," Marcus replied.

"Yourself. Me. And..."

He stopped.

"And?" Ellie pressed.

Marcus's gaze shifted toward Sebastian.

"Your late fiancée had emergency clearance," he finished.

The implication hung in the air.

"She's dead," Ellie said carefully.

"Yes."

Marcus swallowed.

"But her access was never fully revoked."

Sebastian's expression changed.

Not fear.

Something colder.

"Meaning someone has been using Lydia's credentials," Ellie whispered.

"Yes," Marcus confirmed.

Which meant...

Whoever killed Lydia.

Was inside the system.

Inside the company.

Inside the war.

Sebastian's jaw tightened.

"Trace the override," he ordered.

"We're trying," Marcus said. "But whoever did it knew exactly which logs to erase."

Professional.

Strategic.

Personal.

Ellie felt the pieces clicking into place.

"Damien," she said quietly.

Sebastian didn't respond.

But his silence was agreement.

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the estate went completely dark.

For one suspended second, there was nothing but silence.

Then...

The emergency generators failed.

Pitch black.

Ellie felt Sebastian's hand find hers instantly.

Firm.

Protective.

Not strategic.

Instinctive.

"Stay close," he murmured.

In the darkness, she could hear it.

Footsteps.

Not security.

Not Marcus.

Different.

Measured.

Inside the house.

Someone had breached the perimeter.

And this time,

They hadn't come from a distance.

They were already within the walls.

Darkness swallowed the estate whole.

Not dim.

Not shadowed.

Absolute.

The kind of darkness that makes your heartbeat sound louder than it should.

Eleanor Whitmore felt Sebastian's hand close firmly around hers.

Warm. Steady. Controlled.

But tight. Very tight.

"Stay behind me," he murmured.

Footsteps echoed from the lower corridor.

Slow. Measured.

Not running.

Whoever it was didn't feel rushed. They felt confident.

A chill moved down Ellie's spine.

Sebastian shifted slightly, positioning himself between her and the sound.

"You're unarmed," she whispered.

"I'm not," he replied quietly.

There was a subtle metallic click in the darkness.

Her pulse spiked.

"Since when do you carry a gun inside your own house?"

"Since someone tried to shoot you through a window."

The footsteps grew closer. A door creaked open somewhere to their left.

Glass crunched under a boot.

Ellie's mind raced.

If the generators were down, security cameras were down.

Which meant whoever entered knew exactly when to move.

Internal override. Lydia's credentials.

Someone inside.

Sebastian leaned toward her ear.

"If anything happens, run toward the east wing exit. There's a panic room behind the wine cellar."

"You think I'm leaving you?"

"Yes."

"No."

The whisper came out sharper than she intended.

A shadow moved at the end of the hallway.

Sebastian raised the gun.

"Stop," he commanded, voice lethal.

The shadow didn't stop.

It lunged.

A body collided with Sebastian.

The gun discharged.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

Ellie stumbled back as two men crashed into a console table.

The attacker was masked, dressed in black tactical gear.

Professional.

Prepared.

The gun skidded across the marble floor.

Sebastian drove his shoulder into the man's torso, forcing him against the wall.

The attacker swung hard.

Sebastian absorbed the blow but retaliated instantly, striking the man's ribs with controlled precision.

Not reckless. Trained.

Ellie's breath caught.

This wasn't corporate elegance.

This was survival instinct.

The attacker reached for something at his belt...

Knife.

Ellie reacted without thinking.

She grabbed the nearest object, a heavy brass sculpture, and swung.

It connected with the attacker's shoulder.

He staggered.

Sebastian seized the opening, twisting the man's wrist until the knife clattered to the floor.

A second later, security flooded the corridor.

Flashlights blinded the scene.

Marcus appeared, weapon drawn.

"Stand down!" he barked.

The attacker froze.

Pinned.

Restrained.

Lights flickered back to life in sections.

Emergency power restored.

Ellie's chest rose and fell rapidly.

Sebastian stood upright slowly.

Breathing controlled.

But his eyes...

His eyes were furious.

Not shaken. Furious.

Marcus secured the intruder, ripping off the mask.

Ellie expected to see a stranger.

Instead...

She saw someone she recognized from earlier that morning.

One of the estate's junior security technicians.

The man who had quietly recalibrated the cameras after the shooting.

Her stomach dropped.

"Internal audit," she whispered.

Marcus went pale.

"I'll handle this," he said quickly.

Sebastian didn't respond.

He was staring at the technician with something colder than rage.

"You were given clearance two months ago," Sebastian said evenly.

The technician swallowed.

"I... needed the money."

"From who?" Ellie demanded.

Silence.

Marcus pressed the man harder against the wall.

"From who?" he repeated.

The technician hesitated.

Then spoke.

"Rhodes."

The name landed like a detonated charge.

Damien Rhodes.

Ellie felt Sebastian go very still beside her.

Too still.

"Proof," Sebastian said calmly.

The technician shook his head.

"It was anonymous transfers... offshore accounts. I never met him directly."

Smart.

Layered.

Untraceable.

Damien had kept his hands clean.

Marcus dragged the man away.

"I'll interrogate him," he said.

Sebastian nodded once.

Then the corridor emptied.

Silence returned.

But it wasn't the same silence as before.

This one was heavy.

Aftermath.

Ellie turned slowly toward Sebastian.

"You were right."

"Yes."

"You're being hunted."

"Yes."

"And Damien is escalating."

"Yes."

Each answer clipped.

Controlled.

But she could see it now.

The tremor in his hands.

He hid it quickly, but not before she noticed.

"You're shaking," she said softly.

"I'm not."

"You are."

He looked down at his hands.

They stilled immediately.

"Adrenaline," he dismissed.

She stepped closer.

Closer than strategy required.

"You could have been stabbed."

"So could you."

"You told me to run."

"Yes."

"And you expected me to."

"Yes."

She searched his face.

"You would have died protecting me."

He didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

The simplicity of the answer cracked something open inside her.

"This was supposed to be a contract," she whispered.

"It still is."

But his voice lacked conviction.

She reached for him before she could overthink it.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Warm skin.

Steady pulse.

"You don't get to pretend this is just business anymore."

His jaw tightened.

"You think I don't know that?"

The tension between them thickened.

"You're not the only one at risk," she continued. "If Damien is willing to send someone into your house, what happens next?"

His eyes darkened.

"He won't stop."

"Then we don't either."

Silence stretched.

His gaze drifted to her lips again.

This time he didn't look away immediately.

"You should hate me for pulling you into this," he said quietly.

"I don't."

"You might."

"I won't."

"How can you be certain?"

She stepped even closer.

Close enough that her breath brushed his collarbone.

"Because you didn't hesitate," she said softly. "You didn't think. You didn't calculate."

His pulse jumped under her fingers.

"You reacted."

"For you."

The admission hovered there.

Raw. Dangerous.

Her heart pounded.

This was the line.

The one they had both promised not to cross.

"You said this wouldn't become complicated," she murmured.

"I was wrong."

The honesty felt like heat.

His hand rose slowly.

Gave her time to stop him.

She didn't.

His fingers brushed her cheek.

Gentle. Careful.

Like she was something breakable.

She had never felt breakable before.

"You're not replaceable," he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

The message earlier.

Wives are replaceable.

He had read it too.

And it had angered him.

Not because it threatened optics.

Because it threatened her.

The realization hit her hard.

"You care," she whispered.

His restraint finally fractured.

"Yes."

The word was barely audible.

And then...

He kissed her.

Not aggressively.

Not desperately.

But deliberately.

Slow.

Controlled.

As if he were memorizing the moment.

Her fingers tightened against his shirt instinctively.

The world narrowed to warmth and breath, and the faint metallic scent of adrenaline still lingering in the air.

It wasn't the kind of kiss that erased fear.

It was the kind that acknowledged it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers.

"We shouldn't," he said.

"No," she agreed softly.

But neither of them stepped away.

Footsteps echoed again in the distance.

Security clearing rooms.

Reality returning.

Sebastian exhaled slowly.

"This changes nothing," he said.

"It changes everything."

Their eyes met.

And for the first time...

There was no pretending this was strategy.

It was attachment.

Dangerous.

Unplanned.

Real.

A phone buzzed sharply in the hallway.

Sebastian stepped back reluctantly and retrieved it from the console table.

He glanced at the screen.

His expression darkened.

"It's Damien," he said.

Ellie's stomach tightened.

"Answer it."

Sebastian put the call on speaker.

"Calloway," he said coolly.

Damien's voice flowed through the line.

Smooth. Amused.

"I heard about the unfortunate incident," Damien said. "Security breaches are so... embarrassing."

Ellie's blood ran cold.

"You're bold," Sebastian replied evenly.

"I'm confident."

A pause.

"I assume you've discovered your internal problem."

Sebastian's eyes flicked to Ellie briefly.

"Yes."

"Good," Damien continued lightly. "Consider this a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"That power shifts quickly."

Silence thickened.

"You should withdraw from the board vote," Damien said.

"No."

A soft chuckle echoed through the speaker.

"Then I hope your fiancée sleeps lightly."

The call ended.

The threat hung in the air.

Ellie felt it in her bones.

"He's not even hiding anymore," she whispered.

"No," Sebastian agreed quietly.

"He thinks he's already won."

Outside, sirens approached again.

Law enforcement responding late to an already-handled breach.

Sebastian looked at her with something new in his eyes.

Not just determination.

Not just anger.

War.

"This is no longer about corporate control," he said.

"It never was," she replied.

He stepped closer again.

Not to kiss her.

But to anchor her.

"We end this," he said softly.

"How?"

His jaw tightened.

"By proving Lydia wasn't an accident."

"And if Damien really is responsible?"

His eyes turned glacial.

"Then I won't just remove him from the board."

The implication was clear.

Ellie felt the weight of what they were stepping into.

This wasn't just survival anymore. This was retaliation.

And as she looked at the man she had once intended to expose...

She realized something terrifying.

She wasn't afraid of losing him.

She was afraid of what he might become if they won.

Outside, thunder rolled across the darkened sky.

Inside the estate, the war had officially crossed a line.

And there would be no returning to who they were before the lights went out.