Chapter 21

POV: Ivy

The road back to the lake house blurred under my tires. My heart was still racing from everything I’d left behind—the way Aiden looked at me like he was drowning, the way he kissed me like he’d finally come up for air. I could still feel his hands on me. I could still taste the way he said “I love you.”

This wasn’t over.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

It couldn’t be.

The forest thickened around the edges of the road, the shadows creeping longer with the hour. I rolled down the window for air, needing something cold to ground me.

That’s when the headlights appeared behind me.

Too close. Too fast.

A jolt of instinct hit my chest.

I pressed the gas.

And then—

BAM.

Metal slammed into metal. The Jeep jolted, tires screeching as I lost control. I tried to steer, but they rammed me again—harder this time. The Jeep spun, skidding off the road into a thicket of trees, the airbags exploding into my face.

I screamed, pain flashing across my shoulder, my head. My ears rang. My whole body throbbed.

But I moved.

I was alive.

Move, Ivy. Move.

I fumbled for my phone, fingers shaking. Blood ran down my temple. I didn’t care.

Aiden. Aiden. Call Aiden.

I tapped his name.

The screen flickered. A crack split through the glass.

Then—

The door wrenched open.

“Get the fuck off me!” I screamed, kicking, clawing, fighting with everything I had left.

Two of them. Masks. Gloves. Big.

One grabbed my arm, the other went for my waist.

I bit him. I bit down until I tasted blood.

He cursed, backhanded me, my vision splintering.

But I kept fighting.

Aiden’s name was still glowing on the cracked screen.

He didn’t answer.

Or maybe I didn’t wait long enough.

I screamed again, twisting, my nails drawing blood down someone’s cheek. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

“You’ll regret this,” I hissed, voice shaking with rage and terror. “He’ll come for me. You don’t know what you just started.”

Then something sharp pricked my neck.

No.

No. No—

My limbs went heavy.

My heartbeat slowed.

My vision tunneled, all black edges and echoing sounds.

But before everything faded, I saw it—

My phone.

Still glowing.

Still calling.

Aiden.

I came back to consciousness in pieces.

First, the pain. A dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind my eyes, radiating through my shoulder. My temple was sticky—dried blood? My mouth tasted like copper and cotton, dry and bitter.

Then, the cold. Not the clean air of the lake house or the fresh wind of the forest, but sterile, dead cold. Artificial.

I blinked slowly, light stabbing into my eyes like needles.

Concrete walls. Metal door. No windows. No sound but my own breathing, ragged and uneven.

I tried to move.

Chains.

My wrists were bound to a metal chair bolted to the floor. My ankles too. Thick, tight restraints cut into my skin. Someone was very afraid of what I could do.

Good.

They should be.

My heart kicked up, panic rushing in like a tidal wave.

But I didn’t let it take me.

No.

I inhaled slow, deep, through my nose. One breath. Two. Steady.

Fear was a weapon, and I’d been trained never to let it win.

What do I know?

I’d been hit—twice. They drugged me. I was out for… hours? A day? I didn’t know. I’d fought. I remembered fighting. Biting. Kicking. Scratching. I hoped they bled.

And then… my phone.

Aiden. I’d called him. I’d tried.

Had he heard me?

Had he seen?

God, I hoped he did.

Because he would come for me.

He had to.

The sound of a lock turning ripped through the silence.

My spine straightened.

Footsteps.

One. Heavy. Slow.

I kept my head high, even though everything ached, even though the light burned my eyes and I could barely lift my arms.

A tall man stepped into the room. Clean suit. Dark hair. Cruel smile.

Marcos.

I knew his face from the files. I knew his voice from the intercepted phone calls. And I knew the look in his eyes—that glint of power, of greed, of violence hidden under smooth words and wealth.

“You put up quite the fight, Ivy Montgomery,” he said casually, as if commenting on the weather. “Bit one of my men. Broke another’s nose.”

“Should’ve aimed lower,” I muttered, throat dry, voice rough.

He smirked, stepping closer. “I was going to keep this professional. Civil, even. But now? Now I think you need to learn what happens when someone like you oversteps.”

I leaned forward just enough to let him see I wasn’t afraid.

“Try me.”

His smile vanished.

Good.

Let him see the storm before it hits.

Because I was tied to a chair—but I was not broken.

And Aiden… Aiden was coming.

I knew it in my bones.

Marcos stood in front of me like a man admiring a painting.

Or maybe a possession.

And I wasn’t either.

“You know,” he said, circling me, “I gave your father options. Many. But he chose stubbornness. Integrity. Such noble little illusions.”

He leaned down, his face too close. His breath smelled like money and rot. “I told him to keep his mouth shut. Told him to play blind to a few deals. No one had to get hurt. But Jonathan?” He straightened with a sigh. “He stopped cooperating. Even when I showed him I meant business.”

My heart thudded.

“Threats didn’t work. Surveillance didn’t work. So now”—he stepped back, gesturing to me like I was the answer—“I had to get creative.”

“You kidnapped me,” I said, voice raw. “You’ll pay for that.”

He laughed, deep and smooth and full of ice. “Oh, sweetheart. You think this is about you? You’re not the endgame. You’re just leverage.”

I didn’t flinch, but I felt the tremble in my chest. Not from fear. From rage.

“Let’s see how far Daddy’s principles go when his daughter starts breaking.”

He nodded once. And the door opened again.

Two men entered. One held a small black case. The other cracked his knuckles like he’d been waiting all day for this.

My pulse quickened. I tried to prepare myself.

But nothing prepares you for pain.

The first blow was to my ribs. Sharp and fast. My breath caught in my throat.

Then the sting of something cold and metallic along my jaw. Blood pooled in my mouth.

I didn’t scream.

Not yet.

“You’re quiet,” Marco said, almost amused.

Another punch. A sharp tool pressed against the bruise on my collarbone. I gasped as white-hot pain bloomed up my neck.

Still, I didn’t beg.

Because every second I stayed strong… was another second Aiden was getting closer.

Another second I was still me.

“You know what I find fascinating?” Marco crouched again, his fingers grazing my cheek, wiping away blood like he owned it. “You look so much like her. Your mother.”

That. That cut deeper than the blows.

“Leave her out of this,” I hissed. “I’m not my mother,” I whispered, blood sliding from the corner of my mouth. “And you’re not walking out of here.”

He chuckled again. “Let’s see how long you keep that mouth running.”

Then came the worst part—an electric shock to my side, small but enough to twist my muscles, make me grit my teeth and bite down hard to keep the scream in.

My body shook.

But I held on.

Held on to his face. His name. His every word.

Because I would remember.

And I would survive.

Because Aiden was coming.

And when he did…

God help them all.

I closed my eyes.

Not because I was giving up.

But because I needed something stronger than this room. Stronger than Marcos and his fists and the cold sting of fear crawling under my skin.

I needed him.

Aiden.

I forced my mind to drift—to that night. The kitchen. His mouth on mine like he’d been starving. The heat of his hands on my thighs. The way he whispered my name like it was the only word he remembered.

God, the way he looked at me.

Like I wasn’t forbidden. Like I wasn’t the daughter of his best friend.

Like I was his.

“I love you,” he had said. Rough. Raw. Like the words had been caged for too long and finally tore free.

I believed him. I still did.

Another jolt hit my side—sharp and merciless.

I gasped, teeth grinding together, vision flashing white. But I stayed quiet. I stayed here. With him. With that memory.

He had cooked for me afterward. Told me about his marriage, his regrets. I could still see the way he wiped his hands on a towel, pretending to be composed while his green eyes gave him away. I sat on the counter with a glass of wine, watching him, knowing I’d never be the same.

He had touched me like I was fragile. Then kissed me like I was fire.

I swallowed back the sob in my throat.

He’d find me. I knew it in my bones.

Because if Aiden Blackwood loved one thing in this world—it was me.

I curled my fingers tighter against the ropes, ignoring the ache.

Marcos was still talking. Still taunting.

But I didn’t hear him anymore.

I was in a kitchen, wrapped in the arms of the only man who ever made me feel like home.

And I wasn’t letting that go.

Chapter 22

POV: Jonathan

The road was quiet. Too damn quiet.

Aiden drove ahead of me in that black truck of his, the tires spitting gravel with ruthless determination. I could see it from my windshield, the faint red of his taillights, unwavering and focused, like he had a target already lined up in his sights.

I should’ve been the one leading this search. I should’ve been the first one out the door. But here I was—following.

And wasn’t that just the story of everything lately?

For the past three days, the silence in the lake house had felt like a weight pressing against my chest. I lived with Ivy in the lake house for the last three days, without saying a word, I passed there before finding Aiden, and I hadn’t touched anything. Her coffee mug was still in the sink. Her jacket was draped over the back of the chair. Her scent, faint but present, haunted the air.

And now she was gone.

Taken.

Because of me.

Because I made enemies, and I ignored the signs, and I convinced myself that if I just protected her hard enough, she’d be safe.

But I failed her.

I fucking failed her.

When I saw her name on the tracker, when I realized she wasn’t where I thought she was—my stomach dropped like I was falling through the floor of the world. And when I heard Aiden’s voice on the phone—low, controlled, but breaking—I knew we were both spiraling.

Because I’d spent the last three days hating him.

And now he was the only one who could help me get her back.

When we were at her last location, the Jeep was there—door open, keys still inside. The sight of it made my knees buckle slightly, and I gripped the steering wheel harder, forcing myself to breathe through it.

Aiden took a look, weapon drawn, already scanning the surroundings like he was at war again. I followed, and for a few seconds, we didn’t say a word. We just stood there, the wind thick with tension and unspoken history.

I stepped toward the Jeep, heart hammering.

The driver’s side window was cracked. There was shattered glass on the passenger seat. And blood. Just a smear on the console.

I felt my stomach twist. My daughter’s blood.

“She didn’t go quietly, she fought” Aiden muttered, crouching low to inspect the ground. “Tire marks. Another vehicle. Probably rammed her.”

I swallowed hard. “Of course she fought. She’s her mother’s daughter.”

He looked at me then, and there was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years. Not since we fought wars together, or over my wife’s grave.

Grief.

Rage.

Love.

I held up her phone.

The screen was shattered—fractured like everything inside me—and smeared faintly with blood. Just a drop. Barely visible. But to me, it screamed.

“She tried to make a call,” I said, my voice barely holding. Strained. Guttural. A sound I hadn’t made in years.

I turned the screen toward Aiden.

His name glowed on it.

Still glowing.

Still frozen there like a gravestone.

Aiden – Calling…

I saw his face change as he walked toward me—each step heavy, like his heart was dragging behind him.

“She was trying to call you,” I said again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just… devastated.

He looked at me with something I couldn’t fully name. Pain. Guilt. Maybe even a little bit of blame. But underneath it all—I recognized it. Love.

And that gutted me more than anything.

He took the phone like it was something holy. Like it might break all over again if he held it too tightly. His throat worked, his jaw clenched, but no sound came out.

I watched him crumble.

She reached for him.

In the worst moment of her life—my daughter reached for him.

I stood there, useless, helpless, watching the man she trusted fall apart over a broken screen.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking like glass.

She tried to reach him. Not me.

And that gutted me more than I expected.

Now all I could think about was the last time I saw her.

Ivy.

She’d been sitting in the kitchen, legs up on the chair like she always used to when she was a kid. Drinking tea. Smiling. God, that smile—her mother’s smile—sharp and stubborn and bright enough to cut through the dark.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad,” she had said with that fire in her voice. “You don’t get to lock me away and pretend the world isn’t burning.”

And I’d said something dumb. Something cold. I don’t even remember what. Probably that I was protecting her. That Aiden was too old. That it was all wrong.

But now?

Now the only thing wrong was that I wasn’t there when she needed me. I’d spent my whole life building a fortress around her, only to leave a side door unlocked. And Marcos… Marcos had walked right through it.

I leaned against the Jeep, dragging a hand over my face. Aiden came around with a focused intensity, muttering something about directions and tire treads. He was already planning a path forward, coordinating with contacts, ready to burn the world down to get her back.

That used to be me.

But somewhere along the way, I let grief eat at my heart like rust. After Lily died, I stopped trusting anyone…Anyone but him.

I looked at him now—blood on his knuckles, dirt on his boots, and Ivy’s phone gripped in his hand like a prayer—and I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.

Pride.

And fear.

He loved her. I saw it in every move he made, every breath he took. And I knew—deep down—I could trust him. That I had to trust him.

Even if it destroyed whatever walls I had left standing.

“She’s alive,” he said, more to himself than to me. Desperate. “They didn’t kill her. Not here.”

I nodded once. It was all I could give him without losing it completely.

“We’ll find her,” I said, pulling out my tablet. My hands moved automatically, syncing satellite data, locking into heat patterns. “I’m running thermal scans in a ten-mile radius. If they stopped—if they camped—we’ll find the heat signature.”

“I’ll follow the physical trail,” Aiden said, already crouching. His voice steadied with purpose. “They moved fast, but not careful. They weren’t expecting to be followed.”

He pressed his fingers into the broken grass.

“They had a car waiting. They dragged her. But not easily. She slowed them down. There’s blood here too—not hers.”

His voice softened with something like pride. Dark. Fierce.

“My girl fought. Hard.”

My throat tightened. That was my daughter. And I hadn’t been there.

I stepped beside him, quiet for a moment before I could force the words out.

“I should’ve never left her.”

He looked up at me, eyes sharp. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

I didn’t defend myself. What could I say? He was right.

“I’ll fix it,” I said, because I had to. “I’ll work my contacts. There’s a jurisdictional loophole here—I can use it to pull files, pressure people, shake trees. You…”

“I go after them,” he finished.

I met his eyes. There was no question left between us.

“Don’t die,” I said.

He smirked, but it was hollow. “I won’t. Not until I have her back.”

His voice broke at the edges, and I realized then—we were two broken men chasing the same girl for very different reasons.

My daughter.

His love.

And maybe that wasn’t a betrayal after all. Maybe it was the only reason she was still alive.

I should’ve known.

Maybe I did. Maybe deep down I always did.

There were moments—small, flickering things I dismissed too fast. The way Ivy would laugh louder when Aiden was around. The way his eyes lingered a second too long when she walked into the room. I told myself it was protective. That he loved her like a niece. That I trusted him.

That I trusted them.

But I remember when I caught them near the pool. She was in a black bikini, legs dipped in the water, hair wet and tangled. He sat next to her on the deck, too close. Way too close. They were whispering about something, heads tilted in, eyes locked like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

I told myself it was nothing.

I told myself they were just talking.

And then, that morning…

God. That fucking morning.

I forgot my laptop.

But then I walked into my kitchen and saw them.

Ivy—sitting on the counter, lips swollen, his flanels on her halfway down her shoulder. Her eyes wide, panicked. Aiden was in front of her, hands on the counter behind her, his mouth just inches from hers. Like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her again or fall on his knees.

Time stopped.

It fucking stopped.

For one horrifying, soul-ripping moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. My best friend—my brother in all the ways that mattered—was wrapped around my daughter. My little girl.

The floor didn’t just fall from under me—it shattered.

Aiden—the man I trusted with my life—had crossed a line so sacred, I couldn’t even find the words to name it.

But then the days passed.

And she closed herself.

And I watched Aiden fall apart in silence.

He didn’t drink. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t show up at the firm or answer calls. He just… broke. Quietly. Completely. Like a man who’d lost something he couldn’t live without.

And now he looking for her…

And that’s when it hit me.

He didn’t fuck my daughter.

He loved her.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because that kind of love doesn’t go away. That kind of love carves itself into your bones and stays. And that meant this wasn’t some mistake. This wasn’t lust or loneliness. This was real.

I wanted to hate him.

God, I tried to hate him.

But now she was missing. And Aiden was tearing the world apart to get her back. Not for me. Not for guilt. But because he couldn’t breathe without her.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s what she needed.

Not protection.

Not rules.

Love.

The kind of love that scares you senseless and still makes you run into fire.

And if he was willing to burn for her, then I would walk into that same blaze.

Even if I had to do it next to the man who broke my heart to protect hers.

Chapter 23

POV: Jonathan

She used to hold my hand.

Ivy would wrap her small fingers around mine with this fierce little grip like she thought the world would swallow her whole if she let go. She never cried much—not even when she scraped her knees or when her mother got sick. But she held on to me. Always.

I remember the first day of school. She looked up at me with those stubborn blue eyes and said, “Don’t let go until I tell you to.”

And I didn’t.

Not that day. Not the day we buried her mother. Not the day she graduated law school. Not until recently.

I’d spent my life building a fortress around her. One brick at a time. I taught her how to argue, how to fight smart, how to lead with her head even when her heart wanted to scream. She was brilliant. Unstoppable. So goddamn full of fire.

I thought I’d prepared her for everything.

Except growing up.

Except leaving me behind.

I wanted her at the firm. I dreamed of it—our names side by side on the wall, her sharp mind slicing through cases, making a difference. I wanted to build a future with her, give her the legacy her mother never got to finish. That was supposed to be enough.

But it wasn’t. Not for her. And not for me.

Because I never stopped seeing the little girl with tangled black hair, running barefoot through the lake grass, yelling about bugs and justice and wanting pancakes for dinner.

Not the woman.

Not the one who looked at Aiden like he hung the fucking stars.

God, I wish I hadn’t walked into that kitchen.

I just needed my damn laptop.

That’s all.

I’d left it charging on the counter. A stupid mistake in the middle of too many lately. I figured I’d be in and out in thirty seconds, tops.

The door slammed open behind me. My footsteps hit the hardwood, echoing in the silent house.

And then I heard it.

A moan. “Aiden,”

Her voice.

My daughter.

The sound rooted me in place.

I turned the corner, my breath halfway to my lungs—and the world fucking stopped.

Ivy. On the kitchen counter. Legs wrapped around him like she belonged there.

And Aiden.

Between her thighs.

Him.

My best friend. My brother in everything but blood.

His hands were on her hips. His mouth on hers. Her fingers in his hair.

And I felt the ground open under me.

Time shattered.

“What the fuck—” I barely got the words out before I moved, before I lunged, fists already clenched like they had a goddamn mind of their own.

“Dad, stop!” she screamed.

But it was too late.

I slammed Aiden against the fridge so hard the magnets scattered. His head hit the metal with a sickening thud. He didn’t even fight back.

“You son of a bitch!” I snarled. “You touched her? You fucked her?!”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t stammer.

Didn’t backpedal.

Just said it, quiet and wrecked.

“Yes.”

That one word lit every fuse inside me.

I hit him. Hard. A punch that cracked something in my own goddamn chest. His head snapped sideways, blood blooming on his lip.

“You were my best friend!” I shouted, voice shaking. “You were supposed to protect her! I trusted you with everything, and you—you fuck my daughter behind my back?!”

“I love him,” Ivy said.

Like it was simple.

Like it didn’t crush me into fucking dust.

Everything froze.

Her voice—so small, so strong. So sure.

And my world tilted again.

She loved him?

My little girl—my baby—was in love with him?

I turned to her slowly, my breath ragged. My hands still trembling. Her eyes were shining, wide with guilt but not shame. Never shame.

“Don’t,” I rasped. “Don’t say that, Ivy. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You’re twenty-four. He’s—he’s me. He’s—”

“I do know,” she said. “I’ve wanted him for years.”

I could barely breathe.

Every memory slammed into me like a truck. Her in pig-tails, hugging a stuffed bear. Her falling asleep on the couch during movie night. Her in her cap and gown, eyes shining with pride. Her mother’s face in hers.

And now this.

“You let her think this was okay,” I whispered to Aiden, broken.

“She’s not a child,” he said. Low. Shaking.

“She’s my daughter,” I snapped. My voice cracked on the last word.

And that’s what it was.

That’s what gutted me.

She was mine. The last piece of Lily I had left in this world. My baby girl. And now I was staring at her like I didn’t even know her.

I turned back to her and saw it all—her defiance, her pain, her love—and I felt like I was standing in the ashes of a life I used to understand.

“You were supposed to be mine,” I whispered. “Not his. Not like this.”—not as a man clinging to possession, but as a father who had already buried one love of his life. She was the last piece of her mother I had left, the baby I thought I could keep safe from everything—broken hearts, cruel men, the ugliness of the world. I thought I had more time. More years of her laughter, her innocence, her being only mine to hold and protect. But in that moment, watching her with him, she wasn’t just my little girl anymore. She belonged to herself—and it hurt more than I could bear.

Her voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I love him. And he—he didn’t just touch me. He saw me.”

She looked at me like she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

And I hated it.

And I understood it.

And it destroyed me.

I turned to Aiden. My voice was cold. Final. “Then be a man. If you ever gave a damn about her—or about me—walk the hell away.”

His eyes met mine. And what I saw there? It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t pride. It was devastation.

Regret. Love.

Loss.

He stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Then he walked out.

And I just stood there.

Still. Shaking. Shattered.

I’d lost my best friend. I was losing my daughter.

And I had no one to blame but myself.

That’s what killed me. Not that it happened—but that it meant something.

They weren’t just fucking.

They were in it.

And for one selfish, broken second, I hated them both. I hated her for growing up without my permission. And I hated him for touching the one thing in this life I’d sworn to protect above all else.

But most of all?

I hated myself.

Because I left her behind without meaning to.

I buried myself in work. In grief. In survival. And she kept growing and changing and hurting right in front of me, and I didn’t see it until it was too late.

Until she didn’t need to hold my hand anymore.

Until she reached for his.

And now she’s gone.

Taken.

And the world feels hollow without her.

I look at Aiden now—guns strapped to his chest, rage in his bones, fire in his eyes—and I see what I missed. He’d die for her. No hesitation. No questions. Just blood and war and love so brutal it scares the hell out of me.

Maybe that’s what she needed.

Not a father who kept her caged in memories of a little girl.

But a man who saw all of her, fierce and flawed and grown, and loved her anyway.

And maybe… maybe I need to see her that way too.

Maybe it’s time to let go.

Not because she doesn’t need me.

But because she finally knows how to fly.

Aiden hadn’t slept.

I’d known him long enough to recognize the signs. The edge in his jaw, the dark crescents carved under his eyes, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking.

He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t stopped. Hadn’t spoken much since we launched into this hell.

Since she was taken.

My daughter.

And the man I once wanted to kill was the only other person on this goddamn planet who was just as destroyed by it as I was.

I watched him from across the office—his fingers flying over his laptop, maps pulled up on three screens, satellite imagery, traffic cams, timestamps from security firms we contracted with.

He was chasing ghosts. Pixels. Shadows.

But I knew what he was really chasing.

Her.

Her scent. Her name. Her breath.

I exhaled slowly, chest tight.

He looked like he was breaking in real time. And maybe he was. Because whatever existed between them—whatever I didn’t want to believe, whatever I couldn’t fucking face—wasn’t just lust or recklessness.

It was love.

And love, I was beginning to understand, wasn’t always clean. It wasn’t always polite. Sometimes it tore through people like a wildfire, leaving nothing but ash and truth behind.

That’s what Aiden looked like now.

Ash and truth.

“I found something,” I said, my voice rough, stepping into the war room with a thick file in hand.

Aiden’s head snapped up. He crossed the space like a man starved.

“What is it?”

I set the file down. “Property records. I had our legal team and our darknet contractors run a sweep on Marco’s shell companies. One of them popped up. Small warehouse outside the city—unregistered to his name, but the money trail connects.”

I handed him the proof.

Aiden’s fingers clenched around the paper. “This could be it.”

“Could be.” I stepped back. “I already pulled blueprints. I’m building a tactical entry plan. I’ll take the north. You’ll take the east side. Team of six from the firm will cover the rest.”

He looked up. “We go together?”

I nodded once. “We go together.”

Something in his expression broke. But not in a weak way. In the way a soldier finally exhales when he’s not alone anymore.

“We have another lead,” I added. “One of the guys cracked into private transport logs. There was a delivery from one of Marco’s fronts—food, painkillers, zip ties. Enough to hold someone. Enough to—” My voice faltered. “Enough to keep her.”

Aiden closed his eyes, jaw grinding.

“I’ll kill him,” he said.

I didn’t argue.

Because I might beat him to it.

“I didn’t just fail you,” he said suddenly, voice like gravel. “I failed her. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve—”

“You didn’t fail her,” I said, cutting him off. “Marco’s been planning this a long time. You know that. He had money. Men. Threats. He was waiting for me to care about something again. Someone.”

I swallowed hard.

“Ivy was the one thing he knew he could use to hurt me.”

Aiden looked like he wanted to tear himself apart.

“She’s everything,” he whispered. “I’d die before I let him keep her.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why you’re going to help me get her back.”

His eyes flickered. And for the first time in days, I saw something behind them that wasn’t agony.

Fire.

We moved in sync after that.

Just like always.

Hacking data. Pulling city blueprints. I took over logistics—traced Marco’s supply lines, tracked which burner phones pinged near the area in the last 72 hours. Aiden took the trail—every lead, every scent, every possible location.

And it was terrifying how good we still were together.

This was why we built the firm. Why we were unstoppable.

Because when we worked side by side, no one slipped through the cracks. Not even devils like Marco.

I glanced at Aiden as he stared at one of the heat maps, fists clenched at his sides.

He wasn’t my enemy.

He never had been.

He was a man in love with the one person I loved more than life.

And maybe… just maybe… that meant we were still on the same side.

Chapter 24

POV: Aiden

The room went silent when the video started.

No one moved. No one breathed.

And then—there she was.

Ivy.

Stripped down to nothing but a thin tank top, bruises blooming like violets along her ribs. Blood crusted on her lip. Her eyes were swollen, half-shut, her breath ragged. But even broken, even bound—she was still Ivy.

Still mine.

And then the camera moved. One of them—Marco, probably—stepped into frame.

He grabbed her hair.

She flinched, but didn’t scream. Not even when he pressed something cold and sharp against her neck.

Steel twisted in my chest.

“Ivy Montgomery,” the voice sneered. “You think your daddy’s gonna save you? Look around, little girl. Nobody’s coming.”

I took a step forward, fists clenched.

Jonathan was frozen beside me. Not blinking. Not breathing. His jaw was locked so tight I thought he might snap his own teeth.

And then the voice continued—dark, smug.

“But he can. All he has to do is agree. Sign the papers. Get back to business. That’s all I want.”

The screen flickered.

Gone.

I stared at the blank monitor like it had taken my oxygen with it.

The rage came slow. Not a fire. Not a scream. It came like ice—cold, methodical, absolute.

“Where?” I rasped.

Jonathan handed me the file. “Abandoned site outside of Weston. They ran a false registry, but I traced the purchase through one of his shell firms. Remote. Reinforced. Only one way in without triggering an alarm.”

I nodded once.

“Prep the team. We go in clean. No negotiations. No second chances.”

“I’m coming,” Jonathan said.

I turned to him.

His voice didn’t shake. Not once. “This bastard took my daughter. My wife died with her name on her lips. Ivy’s all I have. You think I’m sitting this out?”

“No,” I said quietly. “I think you’re finally seeing what I’ve known all along.”

His brow furrowed.

“That I love her,” I said. “That I would burn the world to bring her home. That I’ll die for her. Gladly.”

Jonathan didn’t speak. But his eyes—those sharp, ice-blue eyes—softened. Just a little.

“Then let’s go get her,” he said.

The video had stopped, but the image of her didn’t.

I could still see her—bloodied, shaking, barely able to lift her head. Her lip split, bruises crawling down her ribs. Ivy, tied to a fucking chair like some goddamn pawn in a sick game.

And that bastard’s voice, still echoing in my ears:

All he has to do is sign the papers. Get back to business. That’s all I want.

I wanted to kill him before. Now, I wanted to erase him.

I stood, jaw locked. “We move. Now.”

Jonathan didn’t argue.

He handed me the file he’d built from the shadows—scraps of contracts, property transfers, utility irregularities, buried so deep only someone with government-grade access could’ve pulled it. Because of course he did. Jonathan Montgomery didn’t just love his daughter. He was trained. Ruthless. Brilliant.

So was I.

That’s why we’d made a damn empire together.

But this time, we weren’t running a company.

We were running a war.

“Weston,” he said. “Private compound. Shell corporation tied to Marco. Reinforced perimeter. Only one entry that doesn’t trigger their alarms.”

“We’ll use it,” I said. “But we won’t be alone.”

His brow lifted.

I glanced at my phone. “I called in someone.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“An old friend. Special investigations. He’s FBI now.”

“Shit,” Jonathan breathed. “You really think they’ll come for Marco?”

“They’ve been watching him for months,” I said. “Illegal arms, cross-border operations. He just handed them the final piece—kidnapping, torture, ransom. All on video.”

“And they’ll help?”

“They’re already in position.”

Jonathan looked at me. He didn’t speak. But something shifted in his face.

Not forgiveness. Not approval. Just… understanding.

Silent. Heavy. Real.

He saw it.

He saw what I would do for her.

And he didn’t say a damn word.

The van was silent on the ride over. Tactical gear strapped tight, weapons loaded, comms checked. The men were ready. I was ready.

But inside, I was anything but calm.

Every bump in the road felt like a heartbeat lost.

Every mile a minute too long.

I ran through the blueprint in my head a hundred times. Front entrance covered. Rear access point was ours—quiet, dark, half-collapsed. Perfect for a breach.

“She’s strong,” Jonathan said beside me, voice low.

I looked at him.

“She’s your girl,” he added, meeting my eyes. “But she’ll always be my daughter. And I need her to survive this.”

“She will,” I said. “Because she knows we’re coming.”

The compound loomed out of the darkness, lit by harsh floodlights and lined with barbed fencing. My team moved like shadows, silent and lethal, breaking formation only when we split into groups at the breach point.

I crouched behind the concrete barrier, earpiece humming.

“Team Two, in position.”

“Three, ready.”

“Four, waiting on green.”

“Go,” I whispered.

We moved.

The corridor reeked of rust and mildew, old oil soaked into the walls. My steps were measured, eyes sweeping for tripwires, motion sensors, anything that could screw this up.

But Marco… he knew us.

Knew me.

He was waiting.

We rounded the final corner—and there he was.

Standing behind Ivy, gun loosely in his hand, pressed just under her jaw.

I froze.

Ivy’s eyes met mine.

Raw. Wild. Desperate.

“Should’ve known,” Marco said, smirking. “You’d never stay away.”

My voice came low. Steel. “Let her go.”

He chuckled. “You think I didn’t plan for you? I had a contract with your company. I know every one of your tactics. Every piece of tech you own. Every weakness you pretend you don’t have.”

Jonathan stepped up beside me. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Marco waved his gun. “And you brought him?” His grin turned feral. “Perfect. Two-for-one. I’ll make her watch.”

Movement from the right—one of my men, pulled out of the shadows, gun stripped, slammed against the wall.

Another ambushed from behind.

Jonathan’s fist clenched. “They knew.”

“They thought they knew,” I said.

Then, calm as hell, I whispered into my mic:

“Now.”

The compound exploded in sound—boots crashing through the rear, flashbangs lighting the dark, voices shouting, “FBI! Don’t move!”

Marco’s eyes went wide. “What the—”

“You weren’t the only one with friends,” I growled.

Gunfire erupted behind us. Chaos. My men surged in, taking down Marco’s guards with surgical precision. I did my first team with the same tactics we use on contracts, but I also had the FBI, and my second tean with a completly different technique. Marco thoguht he was smart, but i was more.

I ran.

Straight to her.

Marco aimed—

I fired.

Twice.

He dropped.

The world slowed.

Smoke hung in the air like a curse. Ivy’s body swayed in the chair, head lolling forward. I dropped to my knees, ripped the ties off her wrists.

Her skin was cold. Damp.

But she was breathing.

“Ivy,” I whispered.

She blinked. “Aiden…”

I wrapped my arms around her, held her tight to my chest, pressing my lips to her temple.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. No one touches you.”

Then I looked at Marco’s body, blood spreading under him like ink in water.

“No one touches you and lives.”

Jonathan reached us seconds later. He dropped to his knees, jacket already off, wrapping it around her.

His arms held her like he hadn’t let himself believe she was real until now.

And then—he looked at me.

Something in his face shifted again.

Not just understanding now.

Not just silent knowing.

But something close to respect.

He didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

But he would.

And when he did—I’d be ready.

Because I wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 25

POV: Ivy

The cold had stopped biting hours ago.

Now it was just there—settled under my skin like rot, like the silence I’d tried not to scream into.

The ropes cut into my wrists. My shoulders ached from being pulled back for so long. My face… well, I didn’t need a mirror to know what it looked like. Every throb told a story. Every sharp breath burned through my ribs.

But I was still breathing.

Still here.

And I was still praying.

Please. Just let him come for me.

Marco stood in the corner, his phone to his ear, pacing like a wolf waiting to pounce. He’d been bragging for hours—about the files, the contracts, how he knew exactly how Aiden and my father would react.

“They’re predictable,” he’d said. “Good little soldiers. Honor-bound and obedient.”

But he didn’t know Aiden the way I did.

Aiden was a soldier—but only on the surface.

Underneath? He was a man you did not corner. You did not take what belonged to him and expect to survive it.

And suddenly—boom.

A blast echoed through the compound, and Marco dropped the phone.

“What the hell—?”

Another crash. Boots. Gunfire. Screams.

The door flew open, and smoke flooded the room.

And through it—

Aiden.

Wearing full tactical gear. Rifle in hand. Shoulders squared like war incarnate.

His eyes locked on me like nothing else existed.

And my heart—

My heart broke open.

“Aiden,” I whispered. But it came out more like a breath, like a sob. I didn’t even know I had that much voice left.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate.

He moved through the chaos like he was born in it, like he owned it, and when Marco grabbed me and pointed his gun at my head, I saw it.

The shift.

That darkness in Aiden’s eyes.

He wasn’t a man anymore.

He was death.

“Let her go,” he said, voice cold as steel.

Marco turned to face him, gun in hand, and chuckled like the devil himself. “You think I didn’t plan for you? I had a contract with your company. I know every one of your tactics. Every piece of tech you own. Every weakness you pretend you don’t have.”

The air in the room shifted as another presence joined him. Jonathan. My dad. Stepping beside Aiden like he belonged there all along.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” my father said, his voice hard with fury.

Marco’s grin twisted into something feral, sick with satisfaction. “And you brought him?” He waved the gun between them like it was a toy. “Perfect. Two-for-one. I’ll make her watch.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, the threat hitting like ice water. My body jerked instinctively, but the chair held me firm. I hated feeling helpless. Hated the idea of them getting hurt because of me. Hated the idea of watching—

Movement snapped my attention to the right.

One of Aiden’s men—someone I didn’t recognize—was dragged out of the shadows, his gun ripped away before he was slammed into the wall.

Another was ambushed from behind.

Jonathan’s fist clenched at his side. “They knew.”

But Aiden… Aiden didn’t even flinch.

“They thought they knew,” he said, calm. Too calm.

And then, like a ghost whispering in the dark, I heard him speak into his mic:

“Now.”

The room erupted.

Flashbangs shattered the shadows.

Boots thundered through the rear of the compound.

Voices roared through the smoke and light, “FBI! Don’t move!”

Marco’s eyes went wide, spinning toward the chaos.

“What the—”

Aiden stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You weren’t the only one with friends,” he growled.

And in that moment, everything changed.

Hope detonated in my chest like one of those flashbangs.

Because Aiden came for me.

Crack.

Crack.

Two shots.

Fast. Clean.

Marco’s grip went limp.

And then he hit the ground, blood pooling under his back, eyes wide and empty.

Aiden stepped over his body like it meant nothing.

And then—he dropped to his knees in front of me.

“Ivy,” he said, his voice breaking.

I didn’t know what I looked like. I didn’t care.

Because he was here.

He untied me with shaking hands. His rifle hit the floor, forgotten, as he caught me before I could fall. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me up like I weighed nothing, like I was something sacred.

I pressed my face to his chest and sobbed.

He held me tighter.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ve got you.”

The hospital lights were too bright.

Everything smelled like antiseptic and metal and faint flowers.

But I didn’t let go of his hand.

Aiden hadn’t moved since they’d wheeled me in.

He sat beside me, still in half his gear, dried blood on his sleeves—some his, some not. His jaw was tight. His fingers never stopped tracing soft patterns over mine.

And my father?

He was on the other side, one hand on my leg, silent, eyes locked on mine with something between heartbreak and rage.

Neither of them left.

Not when the nurse cleaned my wounds. Not when the doctor whispered the words “concussion” and “deep bruising.” Not even when I fell asleep and woke up again, hours later, drenched in sweat and still half-lost in the nightmare.

They were just there.

Unmoving. Unrelenting.

I black out and came back several times.

At first, the world was soft.

Like breath on glass. Like cotton pressed over my ears. My body was heavy, like I’d sunk into the earth and the weight of it had held me safe. I drifted somewhere between pain and peace, between dreaming and remembering.

And then—

The light started to return.

The hum of machines.

The sterile scent of the hospital.

The pressure of fingers curled gently around mine.

I tried to move. Just a little.

My fingers twitched.

And immediately, I felt him tighten his grip—not hard, just enough to feel. To ground.

“She’s awake,” I heard him whisper. Aiden. His voice broke on the words.

Something inside me stirred like a fragile flame catching wind.

Then—

“Ivy,” my father’s voice. Hoarse. Shaken.

I blinked.

The ceiling lights blurred into shapes. I blinked again. And then I saw them.

Aiden, at my right side. My hand still in his.

Jonathan, standing over me, eyes wide and red, breath hitching in his throat as he passed a trembling hand through my hair like he used to when I was a child too sick to sleep.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured.

I forced my dry lips to move. “But you didn’t.”

His face broke. A silent sob, his chest stuttering, his eyes wet.

He looked up, across the bed, to the man who hadn’t let go of me once.

“We got her,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You saved her.”

Aiden’s eyes met his. Raw. Fierce. Softened by exhaustion and something deeper.

“No,” he said. “We saved her.”

And then they did something I’ll never forget—

They leaned in, foreheads resting against each other, right above me, across the hospital bed.

Two men—battle-hardened, haunted, tied by years of loyalty and pain and the love they held for the same girl in different ways.

“Thank you, brother,” Jonathan whispered.

Aiden didn’t reply. Just closed his eyes. Held his breath like it was a prayer.

I felt tears slide down my cheeks.

Not from pain.

From the weight of it.

From the love.

Chapter 26

POV: Ivy

Jonathan squeezed my arm, pressing a kiss to my forehead before murmuring, “I’ll get us some coffee.”

I nodded faintly, and he left.

Leaving just me and Aiden.

He turned to me slowly, like he didn’t want to startle me. Like I was something fragile—like I hadn’t just survived hell.

“You’re here,” I whispered, voice still scratchy.

He smiled. A real one. Soft and disbelieving. “Yeah, baby. I’m here.”

I reached for him. He didn’t hesitate.

He took my hand in both of his and brought it to his mouth, kissing the inside of my wrist with reverence.

“I thought I’d be too late,” he said, voice low and breaking. “I thought—” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “I can’t lose you, Ivy. Not now. Not ever.”

“You didn’t,” I whispered. “You found me.”

“I’d find you in hell if I had to.” His eyes welled. “And I’d burn it all down to bring you home.”

I reached up, weak but steady, and brushed his jaw.

He leaned down. Pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then another to my cheek. And finally, a soft, trembling kiss to my lips.

It wasn’t passionate.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was everything.

“I love you,” he whispered into my skin. “I love you so much I can’t breathe when I think of you not in this world.”

I closed my eyes, tears slipping down. “I love you too.”

He rested his forehead against mine, his thumb stroking over my temple, our breath mingling.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispered. “And I’m never letting go.”

The world outside the hospital smelled like sun-warmed pavement and spring air.

I blinked into the light, my body still sore, muscles weak, but there was peace now—a heavy, beautiful kind of quiet that sat in my bones and reminded me: I was safe.

I was alive.

Aiden pushed my wheelchair down the front ramp of the hospital, one hand steady on the handle behind me, the other holding the small go-bag the nurse had given me. Jonathan walked beside us, quiet but close, like he didn’t quite trust the world not to take me again.

I didn’t blame him.

We’d barely crossed the parking lot when Jonathan turned his eyes to Aiden. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, nodding toward me. “Taking care of her, I mean.”

Aiden didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

Jonathan squinted, assessing. “It’s not going to be easy. She’s a handful.”

“Already survived worse,” Aiden said, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Budapest?”

Aiden laughed—a deep, warm sound that tugged something loose in my chest.

“Definitely Budapest.”

I laughed too, weak but real, the sound lighting something old and familiar in both of their faces. Their eyes met, and for a second, they weren’t my father and my lover. They were just them. Brothers. Friends. A bond reforged in fire and sharpened by fear.

They hadn’t lost me. And in that, they’d found each other again.

Aiden carried me up the stairs like it was nothing, even when I insisted I could walk. “Shut up, baby, your legs still shake when you blink,” he’d said, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “Let me take care of you.”

And he did.

He laid me gently on the bed. Ran me a bath. Lit a candle. He even put on that low jazz playlist he always pretended to hate but secretly loved when we were alone.

“Come on,” he said, walking back into the room, sleeves rolled, hands warm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Sounds dirty,” I teased, lifting an eyebrow as he helped me sit up.

He smirked. “Not that kind of dirty.”

I undressed slowly, his hands steady and sure but gentle as he helped me, never looking away, never flinching at the bruises or the tender spots. He held me by the waist and helped me step into the water.

But I didn’t let go.

“Come in with me,” I said, looking up at him. “Please.”

Aiden swallowed, jaw clenching. “Ivy…You can’t have sex right now, you need to recover,”

“No sex,” I said sweetly. “Just you. In the water. Holding me.”

He hesitated.

“You’re already picturing it, aren’t you?” I teased, brushing a finger across his waistband.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“You said no sex,” I shrugged. “I didn’t.”

“Ivy…”

I grinned and splashed a gentle wave of warm water against his jeans. He yelped, jumped back, glared at me.

“I swear—”

“Come in or I’m pulling you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

I splashed him again.

“Okay,” he growled, undoing his belt. “You asked for it.”

He stripped. No hesitation this time. I watched, wide-eyed and thoroughly entertained, as he stepped into the bath behind me. My back found his chest instantly, his arms sliding around me with practiced ease.

I melted into him, head on his shoulder, the steam curling around us.

His breath caught.

I shifted slightly—and felt it.

“Mmm,” I hummed, a devilish grin tugging at my lips. “You said no sex, Aiden. But you’re already hard.”

“I can’t not be hard around you,” he muttered, voice dark and amused. “You’re naked. In my arms. And you just splashed me like a damn water nymph.”

I laughed, and it turned into something softer when his hands brushed my stomach, his lips pressing a kiss to my temple.

“God, I missed your laugh,” he whispered.

My heart squeezed. I turned my face slightly, brushing my lips along his jaw.

“Hold me,” I murmured.

“I am.”

“Forever.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

“Always.”

Aiden held me in the warm water like I was made of glass.

One arm banded under my thighs, the other across my back, my body curled into his chest as the water poured over us. His heart beat slow and steady beneath my cheek. I listened to it like it was a song I’d nearly forgotten.

But I needed more.

I needed him. Not just the safety of his arms or the comfort of his breath—but his touch, his skin, his mouth. The feel of him that made me remember I was still alive. That we were still us.

I shifted, rising up slightly in his hold until I was facing him. His green eyes locked onto mine, serious and soft all at once.

I lifted my hand, my fingers trembling just slightly, and brushed them over his face. The jaw I loved. The faint stubble that scratched my palm. His cheekbones. His lips.

This was the face I thought I might never see again. Might never touch again.

And now he was here. Real. Solid. Mine.

I leaned in and kissed him—soft at first, hesitant, like my heart wasn’t quite convinced this was real. But it was real. He was warm and wet and breathing me in.

Aiden let me deepen the kiss, his hands firm on my waist, anchoring me, steadying me.

But I didn’t want steady. I wanted him undone.

My hands slid over his broad chest, tracing every ridge and line, over his abs, damp and flexed beneath my touch. I explored him like I was rediscovering sacred ground. Because I was.

I let my hand drift lower, wrapping around the hardness that throbbed with want.

His breath hitched. He stopped kissing me.

Foreheads resting together, our bodies wet and pressed close, he chuckled. That low, sexy, infuriating sound I loved so damn much.

“Trouble…” he whispered, breath hot against my lips. “You can’t.”

“Oh, this is so bad,” I murmured, voice low, teasing, sinful. “There is no way I’m spending the first night with my dad’s grudging blessing without having sex with you.”

His laugh rumbled in his chest, but he shook his head, amused and frustrated all at once.

“He didn’t bless us,” Aiden muttered. “He just stopped fighting.” He kissed my temple. “One celebration at a time, Ivy.”

“I am celebrating,” I whispered, letting my hand tighten around him. “And so are you.”

“Ivy…”

His hands cupped my face, his expression shifting to something deeper, more serious. “I mean it. Your body’s been through hell. I’m gonna be patient. I’ll wait. I want to wait. Until you’re not just craving me, but ready for me. All of you.”

That gutted me.

Not because he said no.

But because he loved me. In the way that mattered. In the way that stayed.

I smiled up at him, kissed him again, slower this time, reverent, letting every ounce of my gratitude pour into it.

His breath shivered. His body trembled.

He pulled back just enough to speak, voice gravelly, deep, dangerous in all the right ways.

“Of course…” he murmured, “being around you, kissing you—it’s fucking torture. But heal, baby girl. Because once I get you… I’m gonna rake you.”

That devilish smirk bloomed across my lips.

“God, I love us.”

Chapter 27

POV: Ivy

Five days.

Five whole days of him never leaving my side.

Aiden had been my shadow, my home, my healer.

He’d cooked for me—like, actually cooked, not just thrown eggs in a pan and hoped for the best. He let me curl around him at night, his chest my pillow, his heartbeat my lullaby. We binged awful crime shows, argued about the plot holes, and he teased me every time I cried over the golden retriever ad.

It was heaven. It was surreal.

It was love.

And now—five days later—I felt good. Not just physically. But inside. Like I had finally climbed out of that cold, dark place and into the warmth of something real.

I padded quietly out of the bedroom, my feet bare, wearing one of Aiden’s old t-shirts that fell halfway down my thighs. I found him on the couch, laptop balanced on his thigh, glasses perched on his nose, reading a file with that little crease between his brows.

And I just… watched him.

Because that man—this ex-soldier, protector, stubborn-as-hell beautiful human—was mine.

Mine.

I was wearing his shirt. Just his shirt.

And I was absolutely butchering an attempt at pasta. The kind of pasta that comes in a box and even gives you instructions, but somehow still turns out like glue when I make it. My focus wasn’t really on the food, though. It was on the fact that Aiden had gone to grab wine, and I missed him like an idiot after just fifteen minutes.

The front door opened behind me.

“Trying to kill us with carbs, Montgomery?”

I smirked over my shoulder, already grinning as I stirred the pot.

“I’m cooking. Be grateful. And besides… I thought you liked danger.”

When I turned to face him, he was leaning against the doorframe with a bottle of wine in one hand and an unfairly hotsmirk playing on his lips. The sleeves of his gray shirt were rolled to his elbows, the top buttons undone. Tired but gorgeous. Dangerous but mine.

His eyes slid down me, pausing on my bare legs.

“That’s my shirt.”

“It’s called reclaiming my territory.”

He stalked toward me in two steps, placing the wine down without breaking eye contact.

“I think we have a pattern, you and me,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Kitchens. You tempting me. Me failing to resist.”

“So… are you resisting now?” I asked, my voice low, teasing.

Aiden’s eyes—those wild, hungry green eyes—dragged down my body like he was already touching me. I could feel the heat of that look settle between my legs. He licked his bottom lip and crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing beneath the sleeves of his fitted shirt.

“I usually do a terrible job resisting you,” he said, eyes darkening. “But I could try. Want me to try, baby girl?”

I let out a breathy laugh and tilted my head. “Not even a little.”

And then I did it—bold, shameless, so me. I jumped lightly up onto the counter, the edge cold against my thighs, and slowly, deliberately, I spread my legs.

His shirt was the only thing I wore. And I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

His gaze dropped, and he froze. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His eyes went wide and wild, like I’d just knocked the air out of him. And I had.

He shook his head once, muttering like a prayer or a curse, “God. You’re going to be the fucking ruin of me.”

Two steps. That’s all it took for him to be in front of me, grabbing my thighs, slipping between them like he belonged there. Like he always had.

Then his mouth was on mine—rough, desperate, claiming me in a kiss that was full of teeth and tongue and need. I clutched at his hair, tugging, moaning into his mouth as he devoured me.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against my lips.

“Good,” I whispered, grinding my hips against him. “I want to be the only thing that ruins your control.”

“You are,” he growled. “Every. Fucking. Time.”

His hands slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—gripping my hips. He paused, resting his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“Ivy,” he rasped. “If we go there tonight, there’s no going back. You’re mine. Fully.”

I bit my lip and nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Take me. Love me. Ruin me.”

He groaned, deep and low, and reached behind me to turn off the stove.

“And here I thought we were just making dinner.”

“Who says we’re not?” I teased. “You’re my main course.”

He laughed, breathless, then lifted me off the counter like I weighed nothing.

“We’ve had way too much sex in kitchens,” he said, carrying me toward the bedroom. “Let’s move things around a little.”

“Switching locations doesn’t mean it’s not still a kitchen kink,” I quipped.

He chuckled, then tossed me onto the bed, and I landed on the soft sheets with a gasp. His gaze devoured me as I slowly peeled his shirt off my body. The way his eyes darkened—it made me feel everything.

“You’re… perfect,” he whispered.

“No. I’m yours.”

That undid him. He came down over me, kissing me deep, reverent, until we were gasping into each other’s mouths. His lips moved down—jaw, neck, collarbone.

“We took our time to get here,” he murmured. “Now let’s take our time. Let me worship you, baby girl.”

And he did.

He kissed every inch of my skin—my breasts, making me arch and moan, then down my stomach until he was between my legs. He looked up at me from there, eyes burning.

“I missed your taste,” he said, right before his tongue licked a slow line through my folds, and I gasped, my back bowing off the bed.

“Aiden,” I whimpered, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“I heard you moan in pain in that video,” he murmured between licks. “I need to erase that sound. Replace it with this—your moans of pleasure. That’s all I ever want to hear from you now.”

His words broke something open inside me. Healed something I didn’t even know still bled.

“Aiden…” I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, right before he sucked my clit so hard I cried out, legs shaking around his shoulders. “Yes, baby girl. Just like that.”

He didn’t stop until I was coming hard on his tongue, gasping his name like it was the only word I knew.

He kissed his way back up, sliding over me, and kissed me full on the mouth, letting me taste myself on his lips.

My hands were frantic as I pulled his shirt over his head, needing skin. Needing him.

I undid his belt, shoved his pants down, and when I saw his cock—thick and hard and mine—I pushed him onto his back and lowered myself over him.

“Ivy—” he started, but it dissolved into a moan the second I wrapped my lips around him.

I took him deep, my hands and mouth working him as his moans got louder, rougher, needier.

“Fuck, baby. You’re going to make me—shit—Ivy, I need you.”

He pulled me up, flushed and desperate, but I didn’t lie back. I turned around, got on all fours, and looked over my shoulder.

His eyes went dark.

“God, Ivy,” he groaned, gripping my hips.

“Please,” I begged.

“Please what, baby girl?” he asked, teasing, fingers tightening.

“Please… fuck me,” I whispered.

And he did. In one long, deep thrust, he filled me. I cried out, overwhelmed, so full of him, of love, of everything.

He didn’t move at first—just stayed there, breathing hard, forehead against my spine.

“You feel like home,” he whispered.

I whimpered. “Move. Please.”

And he did—slow at first, then deeper, harder, perfect. My body responded to him like it was made for this. For him. His fingers went to my clit, brushing it just a little, but I was already at the edge.

“I’m close,” I gasped. “Aiden, I’m so—”

“I’ve got you,” he growled, his voice raw. “Let go. Come for me, baby.”

And I did.

I shattered around him, crying out his name, and a second later, he followed, burying himself inside me with a broken moan.

“I’m yours,” I whispered against his chest.

He kissed the top of my head, hand on the small of my back. “You’ve always been mine.”

Chapter 28

POV: Ivy

I woke up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, warming the room in that golden, slow kind of way that made everything feel softer. Safer.

And him.

His arm was draped across my waist, hand splayed low on my stomach like he was claiming me even in his sleep. His body was warm against my back, and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, steady and soothing.

I didn’t want to move.

But then his nose nuzzled into the curve of my neck, and his voice—low, sleep-rough and sinfully deep—rumbled against my skin.

“Good morning, baby girl.”

I smiled, eyes still closed. “Hmm. Morning. Still alive?”

“Barely,” he groaned. “You ruined me, just like you promised.”

“Hmm.” I rolled over slowly to face him, resting my cheek against his bare chest. “You seemed very alive when you were begging last night.”

“Begging?” he raised an eyebrow.

I grinned. “Oh yeah. I distinctly remember an ‘Ivy, I need you,’ followed by at least two ‘God, Ivy’s’ and a ‘please.’”

He laughed, the sound deep and warm, tugging his hand through my messy hair. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“I love it.” He leaned down to kiss me, slow and sweet, his lips moving lazily over mine like we had all the time in the world. “I love you.”

The words didn’t scare me. Not anymore. Not when they came from him.

I tucked myself closer into his side, draping my leg over his. “You’re warm.”

“You’re a blanket thief,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly along the bare skin of my thigh. “But I forgive you since you look very sexy in my shirt.”

I smirked. “Which one? The one I ruined last night or the one I wore to seduce you this morning?”

His eyes darkened, just a little. “This morning?”

“I had a whole plan to walk downstairs in it again and make you forget what cereal is.”

He laughed, flipping me onto my back in one smooth motion, his body settling over mine. “You are dangerous.”

“I’m adorable.”

“You’re mine.”

That made my stomach flutter.

“Say it again,” I whispered.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. Full of something deeper. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had, Ivy.”

My throat tightened. “You mean it?”

“Since the moment I saw you again.” He leaned in to kiss me, soft and lingering. “I’m not letting go of this. Of you.”

“Good.” I grinned against his lips. “Because I’m a menace when heartbroken.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his thumb stroking my cheek.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you happy for the rest of your life.”

“High maintenance,” I warned.

“Worth it,” he countered.

We lay there like that—naked, tangled, hearts exposed and hands drifting lazily over skin—as if the world outside didn’t exist.

And for now, maybe it didn’t.

Aiden was living in my apartment for now, first was to take care of me, and his lake house is being rebuilding, so it was easy…

He had left the apartment that afternoon for meetings, but before he did, he kissed me like he didn’t want to go. He also, very not casually, left a few folders on the kitchen counter.

Labeled.

Tabbed.

Practically begging to be read.

I stared at them like they were a bomb waiting to go off.

“Oh, you sneaky bastard,” I muttered, pulling the closest one toward me and flipping it open. My eyes scanned through the legal jargon quickly—easier than I expected. Surprisingly interesting, too.

And then I saw it.

“Wait a second…” I leaned closer, rereading a clause. “This is a loophole. Not huge, but enough to be messy. No waymy father missed that.”

Another folder. Another sneaky little backdoor in a contract. It wasn’t sloppiness. It was intentional.

The man was baiting me.

When Aiden returned, I was sitting at the counter with the contracts spread like a crime scene.

He stopped mid-step, smirk already tugging at his mouth. “You weren’t supposed to read those.”

“Liar,” I said flatly. “You wanted me to.”

“I didn’t say that.”

I crossed my arms. “This was a trap.”

He came around the counter, brushed his fingers over my waist. “A gentle nudge.”

“A manipulative little setup.”

“A hope that you might get curious.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You knew I couldn’t resist picking things apart.”

“You’re smart. I like seeing you use it.” He leaned in close, lips brushing my ear. “It’s hot.”

I rolled my eyes, but my stomach fluttered. “You’re plotting to make me work for you.”

“No. I’m plotting to show you that you already want to.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, pushing at his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“But adorable,” he said with a wink. “And tonight, dinner. Your dad’s coming over. Try not to traumatize him?”

“Do I have to?” I asked dramatically.

“Yes. And please—please don’t say anything about us having sex in the kitchen.”

“Not even a little hint?”

He gave me a long, warning look.

I grinned. “I’ll behave.”

“Famous last words.”

Jonathan arrived right on time, bottle of wine in one hand and a look that was somewhere between affection and suspicion. Probably still adjusting to the idea of me dating and now living with Aiden.

Aiden took the wine and gave him one of those man-hugs—back clap included.

“You’re early,” Aiden said.

“You’re cooking,” Jonathan replied. “I wanted to make sure the house was still standing.”

“Ha ha.”

I floated into the kitchen then, wearing a soft dress and Aiden’s flannel draped over my shoulders. His eyes caught mine and lingered there for a moment, the heat barely restrained.

But I was good. Behaved, like I promised.

Jonathan grinned and kissed the top of my head. “Hey, baby girl.”

“Hey, old man.”

He raised a brow. “Still sharp.”

“Always.”

Dinner was shockingly normal. There was laughter. Aiden and my dad bickered like brothers, shared stories about the early days of the firm, and I kept stealing bites off Aiden’s plate just to make him glare at me.

He still let me.

“You read the contracts, didn’t you?” Jonathan said halfway through his meal, cutting into a steak with practiced ease.

“Obviously,” I said, casually sipping my wine. “You left those loopholes on purpose.”

He smirked. “Thought you might like a little intellectual foreplay.”

Aiden choked on his drink.

“Dad,” I said with mock scandal. “Are you trying to flirt me into a job?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said innocently. “Just thought maybe, if you’re feeling better, you might want to dip a toe. Come in for a week. No pressure. Just to see how it feels.”

I looked at Aiden.

He didn’t say a word—but his eyes were practically glowing with hope.

I smirked. “Just a taste?”

Jonathan nodded. “Just a taste.”

I took another sip of wine and smiled.

“Fine. One week. But if either of you start treating me like the boss’s daughter, I’m out.”

Aiden leaned over, hand grazing my thigh under the table. “Noted, boss.”

I kicked him lightly and tried not to blush in front of my father.

Chapter 29

POV: Ivy

I woke up tangled in heat and muscle.

Aiden’s arm was draped heavy over my waist, his chest pressed against my back, and his breath was warm against my neck. We were a mess of limbs and sheets, and his hand had somehow slipped under my shirt during the night—big and possessive, cupping the curve of my breast like it belonged there.

Which, honestly, it did.

I shifted a little, stretching under him, and that’s when I felt it.

Hard.

Thick.

Pressed right against my ass.

Of course.

I bit my lip, smothering a grin. “Seriously? Again?”

Aiden groaned behind me, his voice rough with sleep. “Don’t act surprised. You exist. In my bed. In my shirt. What do you expect?”

He pressed a little closer, grinding slightly. Teasing.

Tempting.

“Maybe just a quick one,” he murmured, lips brushing my neck. “Start your first day right.”

God. That voice. That body. That…everything.

But I was trying to be good. Just this once.

I sighed and wriggled out of his arms, ignoring the protesting sound he made as I sat up. “I can’t. It’s my first day, I have to be on time.”

He flopped onto his back dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You never say no. This is new. I feel rejected.”

“You’ll survive.”

He peeked at me with one eye, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Will I, though?”

I rolled out of bed and padded toward the bathroom, smirking to myself. The second the water turned on in the shower, I heard movement behind me. Heavy footsteps. Then the door creaked open.

“You wouldn’t,” I said without turning around.

“Oh, I would.” His voice was low. Dangerous. Amused.

I turned just in time to see him slip into the shower, naked and very ready. Water streamed over the hard lines of his chest, dripping down those abs and—

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned, stepping back.

He reached for me anyway, pulling me under the spray. My back hit the cold tile as his warm body pressed into mine.

“You know,” he said, voice all innocence, “technically I’m your boss now. So if you’re late… I really won’t mind.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re evil.”

“And you love it.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips down the side of my neck, biting lightly at my collarbone. “Let me give you a little extra confidence before your big day,” he whispered, hands sliding down my waist.

“Aiden,” I warned, already breathless.

But his mouth was already on mine, slow and coaxing. I tried to resist. I did.

Then his fingers dipped between my thighs, found exactly where I was already getting wet, and I gasped.

“God, you’re already ready for me,” he whispered, voice full of wonder. “Just needed a little reminding, huh?”

“Dammit,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

He lifted me easily, pressing me back against the tile. The heat of the water. The heat of him. His cock hard and thick against my entrance. His mouth everywhere—jaw, neck, breasts.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” he whispered. “I’ll make it fast. But I’m gonna make it good.”

And then he filled me—deep and sure—and all thoughts of punctuality vanished.

Aiden didn’t slow down. He held me up with ease, his strength wrapping around me like heat, his thrusts sharp and deep, pushing me higher with every movement. I held onto him, nails digging into his shoulders, legs tight around his waist.

“God—Aiden—” I gasped, my head falling back against the tile, my body on fire.

He was relentless. Focused. And he knew exactly how to break me apart.

“I was trying to be good,” I whispered against his mouth, trying to pretend I still had any control left. “You know that, right?”

He kissed me again, deep and consuming, then pulled back just enough to smirk. His green eyes locked on mine, wild and worshipping.

“But let’s be honest, baby girl…” He thrust up again, slow and deep, making my body tremble. “We can’t resist each other.”

“No,” I breathed. “We really can’t.”

His hand moved from my waist to between my thighs, fingers finding my clit, circling it with perfect pressure.

I shattered.

My body arched, pleasure rushing over me like a tidal wave. I screamed his name, falling apart in his arms, clenching around him, completely undone.

“Fuck, Ivy—” he groaned, his body tensing.

And then he followed, pulsing deep inside me with a low, broken moan. He buried his face in my neck, panting, arms still holding me up, grounding me through the aftershocks.

We stayed there, just breathing.

Steam curling around us. Water cascading. Skin to skin. Hearts racing together.

By the time we finished in the shower (and made out a little more, because apparently we had no self-control), I was already running late.

Sort of.

I stood in front of the mirror, slipping on a crisp white shirt and tucking it into a black pencil skirt that hugged my hips. Aiden had left me a black belt that fit perfectly, and I paired it with a pair of low nude heels I found in the closet.

I was smoothing my shirt down when I felt him behind me—warm and clean, his hands sliding around my waist as he pulled me back against his chest.

His mouth brushed my neck. “You look like trouble.”

“Professional trouble,” I teased.

He hummed. “Are you anxious?”

I smiled into the mirror, meeting his eyes in the reflection. “One of my bosses is my father. The other is my… boyfriend. So, no. Not anxious.”

He laughed, low and warm. “You’re such a liar.”

“Okay,” I said, turning in his arms. “Maybe I’m a little anxious. But I’m also kind of excited. I never thought I’d work with you two. I was so set on running from it all, but now…” I looked up at him, softer. “Maybe it could actually be good. Maybe… I could be good at it.”

His face shifted, his smirk softening into something deeper. Proud. Loving.

“You will be,” he said. “I’ve always known how brilliant you are, Ivy. You see things no one else does. You don’t just read contracts—you understand them. You challenge. You question. You make people think twice.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, and I blinked hard to keep it down.

“And for the record,” he added, his smirk returning as he kissed the corner of my mouth, “I am excited about working with you. But also… very concerned.”

I raised a brow. “Concerned?”

“Yeah.” He kissed my jaw. “Because now I have to spend all my work hours in pain.”

I snorted. “Oh my god—”

He tugged me close again. “You’ll be walking around the office looking like that and I’ll be expected to focus on spreadsheets. So yeah, pain. Constant pain.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You’ll survive.”

“I’m not so sure,” he whispered against my lips. “But I’ll die happy.”

And even though I rolled my eyes and pushed him away playfully, my heart was too full.

Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just falling—I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Chapter 30

POV: Ivy

Walking into Blackwood & Montgomery Security felt like stepping into a different version of Aiden and my dad’s world—one where the shadows weren’t made of secrets, but steel, screens, and the subtle scent of power. The glass doors whispered closed behind me with a hiss, sealing me in.

I wasn’t just Ivy today. I was Ivy Montgomery. My father’s daughter. Jonathan Montgomery. And possibly worse… Aiden’s girlfriend.

And God, I hated that they might see me like that—before they saw me.

“I still think you should’ve let me walk in alone,” I whispered under my breath.

Aiden glanced down at me, that smug, knowing little smile playing on his lips. “And miss this? Watching you pretend you’re not nervous while absolutely shaking under that skirt? No chance.”

I bumped him with my hip, but he only chuckled. My father, thankfully ahead of us, didn’t notice.

We entered the main atrium—open, modern, buzzing with quiet, calculated energy. Men and women in uniforms, suits, and sleek black workwear passed by, tablets in hand, earpieces glowing faintly. It was sleek. Clean. Intimidating.

“Welcome to our empire,” Jonathan said, his voice full of warmth and pride. He always made things feel more like a family dinner than a high-stakes security firm.

He turned and nodded toward a hallway. “Come on, let’s give you the full tour.”

I caught Aiden’s hand briefly brushing the small of my back. Barely a touch. Probably instinct. But it lit something low in my belly anyway.

I followed them through different sectors—each more intense than the last.

The training hall was full of simulations and combat rings, people sparring and barking commands. The weapons division had rows of locked cases, polished guns gleaming under LED lights. The tech labs were a blur of monitors, surveillance systems, and AI security programs I barely understood. It was thrilling. Overwhelming. Kinda sexy.

“You’re not putting me in with the hand-to-hand combat guys, right?” I joked, as we passed one very intimidating-looking man flipping someone onto the floor with alarming ease.

Jonathan chuckled. “No, princess. You’ll be where your mind shines brightest.”

Which brought us to the legal & privacy sector—glass-walled offices, deep-focus silence, rows of high-powered computers, and binders thick with red-tape and rules.

“This is where you’ll start,” Aiden said, finally speaking again. His voice was softer now, more intimate. “Contracts, loopholes, data security law. All the boring stuff only someone like you would get turned on by.”

I shot him a side glance. “I don’t get turned on by loopholes.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping low near my ear. “You do when you find one no one else sees.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I caught a few looks. People peeking from glass offices or behind desks. I could feel the heat of curiosity and quiet judgment. The “Montgomery” on my ID badge screamed louder than I did.

I straightened my spine. Let them look. Let them whisper. They didn’t know me yet.

But they would.

A few hours in, I had my own desk, my own screen, and my own pile of soul-crushing contracts to read.

I was skimming a particularly dry section on intellectual data transfer laws when my phone buzzed in my blazer pocket.

Aiden:

This is unbearable.

You’ve been gone for 2 hours and 17 minutes.

I’m dying.

I bit my lip, hiding a grin.

Me:

You’re dramatic.

Also, I’m in the same building as you. Calm down.

Aiden:

I can see you through the security feed.

You’re wearing my favorite skirt.

This is cruel and unusual punishment.

I glanced up, scanning the corners of the office. And sure enough, a tiny black camera winked from above the door. Bastard.

Me:

Stop spying on me, or I’ll report you to HR.

Aiden:

I am HR.

I rolled my eyes, but warmth bloomed in my chest. Even here, in this world that felt so big and sharp, he found a way to make me feel soft and tethered. Like I belonged.

Aiden:

Come to my office at lunch. I need you.

I stared at the message, heat curling between my thighs at the double meaning. I was supposed to be working. Starting fresh. And yet—one look, one text, one word from him, and my mind went somewhere very, very different.

I sighed, tapped out a final reply.

Me:

You’ll survive. Maybe.

I’d just started making sense of a pile of NDAs and client contracts when a folder slammed down on my desk.

A tall guy—probably early thirties, good suit, smug mouth—stood in front of me with a raised brow. I remembered seeing him on the tour. Greg? Gary? Something G-related and unremarkable.

“I assume this is more your speed than the tech stuff,” he said. “Since, you know, your dad runs the place.”

He didn’t say it with malice exactly. Just with that annoying tone of false politeness, dipped in condescension and wrapped in a little bow of insecurity.

I slowly looked up, tilting my head.

“Greg, right?”

“Gavin.”

“Ah. Close enough.”

He shifted, uncomfortable already.

I opened the folder. Read the first paragraph. My brows lifted. “Wow. This is garbage.”

His face twitched. “Excuse me?”

“This contract. It’s absolute garbage. These clauses would fold the second a decent lawyer looked at them. You’re trying to protect the company, but this is basically an invitation to get sued for breach of privacy. Clause seventeen contradicts clause four. And you misspelled ‘jurisdiction.’”

He flushed, and I smiled sweetly.

“Maybe it was a typo,” I said with faux sympathy. “Or maybe you were just trying to impress my dad by rushing through it. But see, the thing is—I didn’t get this job because of my last name. I’m here because I see things like this. Things you don’t. So maybe next time, don’t walk into a woman’s office with half-baked work and assume she won’t notice.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Picked up the folder. Walked off.

I leaned back in my chair, grinning as I refocused on my screen.

Not even noon, and I’d already put a man in his place.

Progress.

My phone buzzed. Again. Predictable.

Aiden:

Come have lunch with me before I break into your office and bend you over your desk.

Me:

Romantic.

Aiden:

I miss you.

Me:

You saw me this morning. Naked.

Aiden:

And I haven’t recovered since.

I bit my lip, cheeks burning. The fire between us? Still very much alive. Still deliciously dangerous.

I checked the time. Almost lunch. My heart beat a little faster as I stood, smoothing my skirt. I could already picture him—leaning against his office desk, arms crossed, smirking like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Because he probably did.

I stepped out into the hallway and nearly collided with him.

“Whoa—” Aiden caught me by the waist, steadying me with warm, sure hands. His eyes flicked over me, and his mouth twitched. “You came fast.”

“I always do when you ask nicely,” I said, voice low, teasing.

His gaze darkened, and I felt my entire body tighten.

He leaned closer, whispering just against my cheek, “Five minutes. That’s all I need. I’ll lock the door.”

I opened my mouth to reply—but then a very familiar voice cut through the hallway.

“There you are.”

Aiden straightened instantly. His hands dropped from my waist.

Jonathan Montgomery walked toward us, holding a phone in one hand and a lunch bag in the other.

“Ivy, come eat with me,” he said, completely oblivious to the steam curling around us. “I want to talk through a few ideas I had for your onboarding.”

My mouth fell open slightly. “Now?”

“Now,” my dad said, nodding. “You’ll have time for Aiden later.”

Aiden looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

Jonathan didn’t even blink. He handed me the bag. “I brought your favorite.”

I stared at it. Pasta. Of course he did.

“I’ll see you after,” I mouthed to Aiden.

He mouthed back, I’m dying inside.

And I followed my father into the lunchroom, heart pounding, skin still buzzing, with the certainty that our lunch break wasn’t over—it was just postponed.