FIVE
JULIAN
The message hits my inbox at nine fourteen. It has been three weeks since we found her. Olivia is healing, but it is slow. I’m in the penthouse office, buried in a contract, when Marcus calls. His voice is a tight wire.
“We got something.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I’m on my feet before he even finishes the sentence.
“What?”
“It came through HavenLink.”
My pulse hammers against my throat. I grab my jacket and head for the elevator in one fluid motion. “Explain.”
“The message came through the support inbox. The one users use to contact Olivia.”
The elevator doors slide shut, sealing me in the small, metal box. “What did it say?”
Marcus hesitates for a second, then reads it aloud.
“None of this should have happened. It is all Julian’s fault.”
The words hit me like a physical blow to the chest. Kieran. The bastard is still out there, watching every move we make.
I step into the underground garage. “Trace it.”
“We already started.”
“Keep going.”
“We are.”
I end the call and scramble into my car.
The drive to NexaCore is a blur of adrenaline and white-knuckled focus.
By the time I push into the conference room, Marcus has three screens open.
Two consultants sit beside him, their faces gray with exhaustion.
Our head of infrastructure stands by the whiteboard.
The room is thick with silence. Nobody bothers with a polite greeting.
Marcus points to a screen. “The message bounced through multiple relays.”
“Can you find him?”
“We followed it through three.” His jaw tightens. “Then we lost it.”
I stare at the lines of data. “Where?”
“The Netherlands.”
A curse tears out of my throat. One of the consultants leans forward.
“He knows what he’s doing.”
I already know that. That is the entire problem. Kieran isn’t some idiot hiding behind a keyboard. He spent years inside my company, learning the architecture, studying how everything connects, and preparing for this exact moment.
Marcus zooms into a new section of the monitor. “We found something else.”
The room goes dead silent. He pulls up a report. Lines of code. Access logs. Changes buried so deep inside the system that most people would never notice them. Hell, I never noticed them.
“He built entry points.”
I stare at the screen, jaw aching. “What kind?”
“Hidden access.” Marcus rubs a hand across his rough jaw. “Different locations. Different systems. Different dates.”
One of the consultants chimes in. “They were designed to blend in.”
A cold weight settles in my chest. “How many?”
Marcus looks up at me, his eyes tired. “More than a few.”
The room falls quiet again. For four hours, we dig.
We tear through every file, every update, and every change Kieran ever touched.
Each hour uncovers something new. A hidden doorway here.
An extra access point there. Small, deliberate things.
Careful things. Nothing rushed. Nothing sloppy.
It is the work of a patient, twisted man. A man who planned for years.
I sit at the end of the table and watch the reports pile up.
NexaCore is my life. I built it from nothing.
Every office, every employee, every floor, every single decision, I know this company better than I know my own mind.
Or at least I thought I did. For two years, Kieran sat here with me, smiling, working, and pretending.
All the while, he was carving pieces out of the foundation.
The realization makes my stomach churn. I trusted him. I called him my friend.
The meeting ends shortly after four. Nobody looks happy. Nobody should be. Kieran is gone, and we still do not have a location. We only know he’s watching.
I spoke with Detective Reyes earlier. Nothing. Just dead ends on their side, too. Kieran planned this to the bone.
I leave the office the second the door closes behind the last consultant. I’m going home to Olivia. I told her this morning I would be at the office all day. She said she would be fine.
Olivia is sitting at the kitchen table when I walk into the penthouse.
A mug is cradled in her hands. She looks up the moment she hears my footsteps.
The sight of her hits me, slicing through the tension wrapped around my chest. She’s here.
She’s safe. She’s breathing. I will never take that for granted again.
The bruises are fading, day by slow day.
Her ribs clearly still ache, but she manages to hide it.
The pain meds help, and for that, I’m grateful.
I make myself a coffee and sit across from her. The steam rises from our mugs, but we both let them go cold.
She notices my mood immediately. “What happened?”
I do not soften the edges. I do not hide the truth. She asked me not to hide anything from her, and she deserves to know what she’s dealing with. So, I give it to her.
I tell her about the message. I tell her it came through the support inbox on HavenLink.
Her sharp inhale tells me she understands exactly what that means. He used her own platform to reach her. He knew she would see it.
“What was the message?” she asks. Her voice is barely a whisper, though she stays steady.
I look at her, my throat tight.
“None of this should have happened. It is all Julian’s fault.” I take a slow breath. “He wants you to believe that if I had just noticed him the way he wanted, nothing would have happened to you.”
I look down at my coffee, then back at her. I have to say the rest. I promised.
“He’s obsessed with me. And he hates that we’re together. I see it now. The reason he took you. He wanted to remove the obstacle. He wanted to get rid of you.”
She gasps. Her hands start to shake against the porcelain of the cup. I need her to understand how deranged he is. She has to be on guard.
“He wants me to stop having the constant urge to make everything right with you. He thinks he can end that by eliminating the problem.”
She looks at me, her eyes wide. In a low, terrified tone, she says, “He wants to kill me.”
Her hands shake violently now. She sets her cup down on the table with a clatter. I reach out and take both of her hands in mine, desperate to hold her together.
“He will not touch you again,” I say, my voice hard. “I will kill him with my bare hands before I let him near you.”
She doesn’t look at me. She just keeps shaking.
I stand and walk to her side of the table.
I pull her up slowly, carefully, and wrap my arms around her.
I hold her close, making sure she can feel the beat of my heart against her chest. I want her to know she’s not alone. I want her to know I’m here.
I stay silent, letting the meaning of the words settle between us.
After a long moment, the shaking subsides. She leans into me.
“He wants me to believe this is your fault,” she says, her voice calm and low.
“He wants me to blame you for what happened.”
“He’s sick, Olivia.”
I nod, though it feels like a hollow gesture.
“He needs help,” she says.
I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “He needs a prison cell.”
“That too.”
A tiny, ghost of a smile touches her lips, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.
“He’s getting worse, and desperate to get your attention,” she adds.
I know she’s right. Every instinct I have screams the same thing. Kieran is escalating. People like him do not stop. They spiral. They push boundaries. They take bigger, more dangerous risks. The thought makes my stomach twist into knots.
Olivia moves half a step back, now looking into my eyes.
“I’m okay.”
I look at the fading bruises on her face, the healing cut, and the exhaustion she tries so hard to hide. No. She’s not okay. But she’s alive. Right now, that has to be enough. I drop my head slowly, leaving a kiss on her forehead.
That evening, I help her get settled in bed. I move the chair closer out of habit. The same chair I’ve spent nights sleeping in.
“Julian.”
I look up from the chair. She pats the mattress beside her.
“Come sleep in the bed.”
I freeze, my grip tightening on the fabric of the armrest. “I’m fine—”
“You’re not,” she cuts me off. “That chair looks uncomfortable.”
A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is. Every morning you look like you’re in pain from a stiff back and neck. Stop being so difficult.”
I glance at her ribs, the bruising, the evidence of everything he did to her. Fear crawls straight up my spine. “What if I hurt you?”
She sighs.
“In my sleep,” I add, looking away because I can’t face her. “What if I roll over?”
My arm catching her ribs. My knee slamming into her side. The sheer agony it would cause her. I can’t breathe just thinking about it. “I could bump into you.”
“You won’t.”
“No. I’m not taking that chance. It kills me not to be close to you, but I won’t risk hurting you.”
She reaches out and takes my hand, her fingers warm against my skin. “You won’t.”
I stare at her for a long, agonizing moment. Then, I let out a slow breath. “Fine.”
A smile spreads across her face. I pull back the covers, hesitate for a second, and climb in. I stay on top of the blankets, keeping my body rigid and leaving a wide gap of space between us.
“You look like a stick figure lying there.” She laughs, and the sound settles somewhere deep inside me, quiet and solid. For the first time in weeks, the tight knot in my stomach eases.
“Relax, Julian. You won’t hurt me.”
I try to relax, but I’m not convinced. I know how I move in my sleep. I’m terrified that the moment I drift off, I will reach out and pull her to me. I want her head on my chest. I want to feel her heartbeat close to mine, but the risk is too high.
The lights go off. The room falls into a comfortable silence. I listen to her breathing. I’m sure she listens to mine. Eventually, sleep comes. Real sleep. Not the restless half-consciousness I had in the chair. Not the constant, jarring waking. Just sleep.