Chapter 5
AURELIA
There’s blood on the pavement, and Cassian Rourke is still holding the gun.
I saw him first—standing across the street about fifty feet away, dressed casually in dark jeans and a button-down, looking more relaxed than he did in his suit this morning.
My stomach did that stupid flip it’s been doing since I met him, and I was about to cross the street when three men appeared out of nowhere and blocked his path.
The confrontation happened fast. Words I couldn’t hear from this distance, tension building in the way they stood, people on the street starting to back away like they sensed violence coming.
Then one of the men reached inside his jacket.
Cassian moved faster.
The gunshot made me flinch so hard I dropped my phone, and now there’s a man on the ground with half his head missing, and Cassian is standing over him with the gun still raised.
People are screaming, and I’m frozen on the sidewalk, unable to move, unable to process what I just watched happen.
Cassian killed him. Just pulled the trigger and ended a man’s life on a public street like it was nothing.
Someone grabs my arm from behind. “Easy, miss, you need to get out of here—”
I shove them off and run.
Pure instinct takes over, adrenaline flooding my system and wiping out every coherent thought except move. I push through the gathering crowd, ignoring the shouts behind me, focused entirely on putting distance between myself and the body on the pavement.
Between myself and Cassian.
My feet hit the sidewalk hard, sneakers slapping concrete as I sprint down the block. I don’t know where I’m going. Don’t have a plan beyond away. The restaurant we were supposed to meet at is behind me now, along with everything else from the last twenty-four hours that felt like freedom.
I make it two blocks before a hand clamps around my arm and yanks me sideways into an alley.
I fight immediately. Elbow back, trying to connect with ribs. Foot stomping down toward an instep. Nails clawing at whatever I can reach. But there are multiple hands now, strong, and they pin my arms before I can do any real damage.
“Let me go!” I’m screaming, thrashing, trying to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”
“Miss Vance, stop fighting.”
The name hits me like cold water.
I twist my head and see him—Luca, one of my family’s senior security.
“Your brother and uncle have been worried sick,” he says, and his voice is almost gentle. “Two months is a long time to be missing.”
No.
No, no, no.
They found me.
After two months of staying invisible, of jumping at shadows and sleeping with one eye open, Victor’s people finally tracked me down.
And of course it happened here, in New York, because I was stupid enough to come back to visit my mother’s grave.
Sentimental and reckless, and now I’m paying for it.
“I’m not going back,” I spit, still trying to wrench free even though I know it’s useless. “You can’t make me—”
“We’re not asking.”
More men appear, blocking the alley entrance, and I realize with sinking certainty that I’m not getting out of this. There are four of them. Trained and loyal to Victor, and I’m one exhausted woman who hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.
I keep fighting anyway, because the alternative is giving up, and I didn’t spend two months running just to roll over now.
I kick one of them hard enough that he grunts, manage to bite another’s hand when he tries to cover my mouth, but it doesn’t matter.
They’re stronger, and they don’t care if they hurt me in the process.
They drag me toward a black SUV idling at the curb.
The door opens, and they shove me inside.
I hit the seat hard, scrambling immediately for the opposite door, but it’s locked.
Child safety locks, probably. One of them slides in beside me, another in front, and Luca takes the driver’s seat.
The doors slam shut, and we’re moving before I can try anything else.
“Where are you taking me?” My voice is shaking, fury and fear tangled together until I can’t tell which is which.
“Airport,” Luca says without looking back. “We have a plane waiting.”
“For where?”
“Somewhere you can’t run from this time.”
I slam my fist against the window, knowing it won’t break but needing to do something. “Victor can’t just lock me up. I’m not his property.”
“You’re his niece. That’s close enough.”
The casual certainty in his voice makes me want to scream. This is my life, my future, and to them I’m just a runaway asset that needs to be secured. It doesn’t matter what I want or what I’ve been through. Victor says come home, so they drag me back like a dog on a leash.
We drive in silence for ten minutes, weaving through New York traffic toward wherever this private airfield is, and I force myself to think past the panic.
They grabbed me off the street near a mob shooting. They have to know I witnessed it. But Luca hasn’t asked any questions about what I was doing there or if I saw anything. Hasn’t mentioned Cassian at all.
They think I was just a bystander. Wrong place, wrong time, caught up in violence that had nothing to do with me.
The relief is sharp and immediate, followed quickly by grief.
Cassian doesn’t know they took me. Probably thinks I ran when the shooting started, that I’m somewhere in the city, terrified of him now that I’ve seen what he’s capable of. He has no reason to look for me, no way to know that the Vances just reclaimed their runaway daughter.
Which means I’m on my own.
The thought sits in my chest like a stone.
“Victor’s still planning to marry me off to that old man,” I say, testing. “That’s what this is about, right?”
Luca glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Your fiancé died of a heart attack two weeks after you disappeared. When he found out his bride had run away.”
I blink. “What?”
“He’s dead. Has been for almost two months.”
The arranged marriage is gone. The alliance Victor wanted, the entire reason I ran in the first place—it’s already over. And I didn’t even know.
“Then why am I being dragged back?” I spit. “If there’s no marriage, no deal, what’s the point?”
“You embarrassed the family. Made Victor look weak. You think he’s just going to let that slide?”
No. Of course not.
Victor Vance doesn’t forgive, doesn’t forget, and definitely doesn’t tolerate family members making him look like he can’t control his own niece. This isn’t about the marriage anymore. It’s about punishment. About making sure I understand that running has consequences.
We pull into a private airfield, past security gates that open without question, and I see the plane waiting on the tarmac. They haul me out of the SUV and toward the stairs, and I dig my heels in one last time.
“Where?” I demand. “Where are you taking me?”
Luca looks at me with pity. “Barbados,” he says. “You’ll be comfortable there. It’s very nice this time of year.”
Then they push me up the stairs and into the plane, and I know with absolute certainty that comfortable is the last thing I’m going to be.
The flight is to Barbados six hours of silence.
They don’t tie me down, don’t lock me in the bathroom, just make it very clear that trying anything will end badly. So I sit in the leather seat and stare out the window at clouds and ocean, replaying the last forty-eight hours until they blur together into one long nightmare.
By the time we land, I’m exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
The compound is exactly what I expected—luxury disguised as imprisonment. High walls, security cameras, and armed guards at the gate. The main house is beautiful, with white stone and tropical landscaping, and ocean views from every window. A gilded cage.
A woman meets us at the door. She’s in her mid-forties, with dark skin and warm brown eyes, wearing linen pants and a loose blouse that makes her look like she belongs in a resort brochure. Her hair is cut short, natural curls framing her face, and when she smiles at me, it almost looks genuine.
“Aurelia,” she says. “I’m Helena. I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.”
Taking care of me. That’s one way to phrase it.
“Am I allowed to leave?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I need to hear it.
“Not until your uncle says otherwise.”
“So I’m a prisoner.”
“You’re family,” Helena corrects gently. “This is for your protection.”
I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Protection from what? I was doing fine on my own.”
“You were living in motels and running from city to city for two months. That’s not fine.”
She’s not wrong, but I hate her for saying it anyway.
Helena leads me inside, through rooms that are decorated with expensive furniture and original art that tries to make them look welcoming while being completely impersonal. She shows me to a bedroom on the second floor—huge bed, ensuite bathroom, balcony overlooking the ocean.
“You’ll have everything you need,” she says. “Clothes, toiletries, whatever you want to eat. Just ask.”
“Except my freedom.”
“Except that.”
I want to throw an object. Want to scream or break the window or do anything that releases the pressure building in my chest. But Helena is just the messenger, just the woman Victor hired to keep me contained, and taking it out on her won’t change anything.
“Your uncle was very angry when you disappeared,” Helena continues, her voice still gentle but firm. “The marriage falling through cost him a significant alliance. And the man you were supposed to marry—when he found out you ran, the shock triggered a heart attack. He died.”
“Good,” I say before I can stop myself.
Helena’s expression doesn’t change. “He had a family. Grandchildren. They blamed Victor for the whole situation.”
“Then maybe Victor shouldn’t have tried to sell me like livestock.”
“That’s not how he sees it.”
“I don’t care how he sees it.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I realize this is how it’s going to be. Helena will be kind but unyielding, treating me like a wayward child who needs to be guided back to the fold. And I’ll be stuck here, locked away from everything, until Victor decides I’ve learned my lesson.
“Get some rest,” Helena says finally. “I’ll bring dinner in an hour.” Then she leaves, and I hear the soft click of a lock engaging from the outside.
I walk to the balcony and look out at the ocean, watching waves crash against white sand, and try to figure out how the hell I’m going to survive this.
Two months of running, and it all ended in one night.
One night with Cassian Rourke that I can’t stop thinking about, even though I should hate him for what he is.
One night that cost me everything.