Chapter 2
DAMON
The phone nearly slips from my hand when I hear her voice.
Six years. Six damn years.
I searched for her for months after she vanished, combed through every possible lead, only to come up with nothing. And now, out of nowhere, here she is calling me, asking for protection. The irony tastes bitter, like chewing on glass.
“Mia,” I say her name, testing it after all this time, like a prayer or maybe a curse.
The silence on the other end stretches, heavy with everything unspoken. She recognizes me. I know she does.
“Damon,” she finally whispers, her voice soft but edged with something I can’t quite place. Fear, maybe. Or regret?
It takes me a moment to respond. Hearing her now, so suddenly, feels like a gut punch. “Is this... really you?”
“It’s me,” she says so quietly that I almost miss it.
The emotions I’ve buried for years rise to the surface—anger, confusion, a flicker of relief. But I shove them all down. Right now, it doesn’t matter why she left or what she’s been hiding. She called me.
“What’s going on, Mia?” I ask, keeping my voice steady, professional. “Why are you calling Mars Security?”
“I need…the agency is yours?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m the owner.” My heart pounds in my chest. She didn’t call me; she called Mars Security, which can only mean…
“What is it?” I ask, my voice coming out harsher than I intended it.
There’s a shaky exhale on her end, and I can picture her biting her lip and tucking her hair behind her ear like she used to when she was nervous.
“I need help,” she says finally. “It’s... complicated.”
Complicated. That’s one way to describe the mess she left behind.
“I’m listening,” I say, leaning back in my chair, but my grip on the phone tightens.
“It’s Jason,” she admits, her voice breaking on his name. “He found us. He’s been sending threats, showing up near the daycare... I think he’s watching us.”
Jason. That name alone makes my blood boil. I remember the rumors about him back on base. His volatile temper, the way he’d circle Mia like a predator. I should’ve done more to protect her then.
“Are you safe right now?” I ask, already pulling up the surveillance program on my laptop. If Jason’s anywhere near her, I’ll find him.
“For now,” she answers, but her voice wavers. “I’ve got the twins inside. The doors are locked.”
The twins. She had children with that fucking monster? But however much I want to hate them, I really can’t. They’re innocent children, and they’re Mia’s.
I know right then and there that I’ll protect them with everything I have, even my own life.
“Where are you?” I ask, my voice dropping lower.
“At home,” she says. “But Damon, I—”
“You need more than locked doors, Mia,” I cut in. “If Jason’s watching you, he’ll make a move. He doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.”
“I know,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.
There’s something in her tone, a weariness that wasn’t there six years ago. I can hear the weight she’s been carrying, the fear that’s been eating at her.
“Mia,” I say, softer this time, “I’ll help you. I’ll protect you. But I need to know everything—including what Jason’s been doing.”
And where you’ve been, why you left. But I don’t say the rest out loud.
Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is firm but guarded. “Can we talk in person?”
My chest tightens. Seeing her again after all this time...
“Where and when?” I ask.
“My place. Tomorrow evening.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Send me your address. I’ll be there.”
There’s a beat of silence before she says, “Thank you, Damon.”
But when the line goes dead, I don’t feel thankful. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into a storm I thought I’d left behind.
Six years of wondering. Now, I’ll finally get answers.
And Jason? He doesn’t know it yet, but his time is running out.
Mia’s house is smaller than I expected, a modest bungalow tucked at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. From the outside, it looks ordinary, a place where someone might bake cookies or plant flowers. But when I pull into the driveway and take a closer look, it’s anything but.
The front door has a reinforced steel frame, nearly invisible unless you’re trained to notice. A camera perches discreetly above the porch, its lens trained on the street. Another one is mounted at the side, covering the driveway and the backyard gate.
She’s turned this place into a fortress.
I grab my bag from the passenger seat and step out, scanning the perimeter automatically. No signs of Jason, but the tension in my shoulders doesn’t ease.
When the door opens, my breath catches.
Mia.
She’s different, but then again, so am I.
Her hair is shorter now, falling just past her shoulders, and there’s a tiredness in her posture I don’t remember. But her eyes—those fierce, stormy blue eyes—are the same, even if they’re shadowed by years of fear and fighting.
“Damon,” she says, her voice soft but steady.
“Mia.” Her name feels strange on my tongue, like an old song I can’t quite remember.
She steps back, holding the door open. “Come in.”
Inside, the house is neat. Almost too neat, like she’s spent hours scrubbing away anything that might give her away. But there’s no hiding the details: escape routes planned down to the smallest inch, locks reinforced with bolts that wouldn’t look out of place in a vault.
She’s learned to protect herself.
The living room is cozy but functional. A couch, a coffee table, and a couple of mismatched chairs.
A framed photo on the mantle catches my eye, but before I can look closer, Mia clears her throat.
“This way,” she says, nodding toward the couch.
I follow her, my senses on high alert, cataloging everything: the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. The way her hands shake just slightly when she motions for me to sit.
She doesn’t waste time. As soon as we’re seated, she launches into it—Jason’s threats, his stalking, the psychological warfare he’s been waging.
“He shows up at the daycare,” she says, her voice tightening. “Sends messages through mutual acquaintances. Leaves notes on my car. He knows things—things he shouldn’t. It’s like he’s everywhere, always watching.”
Her words feed the rage simmering just beneath my skin. Jason’s been pulling this crap for years, using fear to control and destroy.
But as she talks, my attention drifts to the mantle again. To the photo.
It’s a picture of two little girls, maybe four or five years old, with identical smiles and curly dark hair. Something about them pulls at me—one has my mother’s eyes, a warm brown with flecks of gold. The other has my sister’s nose, slightly upturned. My sister used to complain about that feature.
My heart skips a beat. It can’t be. She would have told me if they were mine, wouldn’t she?.
“Damon?” Mia’s voice snaps me back. She follows my gaze, and her body stiffens.
“Your daughters?” I ask, keeping my tone casual, though the question burns in my throat.
“Yes,” she says quickly, standing and moving to block my view. “Emma and Ella. They’re upstairs asleep.”
I nod, but the gears in my head are spinning, connecting dots I don’t even want to acknowledge yet.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, watching her closely.
She crosses her arms, her posture defensive. “They’re my life.”
For a moment, silence stretches between us, thick with everything she’s not saying.
Mia clears her throat and gestures toward the coffee table, where she’s laid out a stack of papers. “I thought you might need to see these—copies of the notes Jason’s left, the threats he’s made. It’s all here.”
I shift my focus to the paperwork, though my mind keeps circling back to the photo.
As she walks me through the threats—the letters, photos, strange packages—I see how calculated Jason’s been. How deliberate. The bastard isn’t just stalking her. He’s breaking her down piece by piece, stripping away her sense of safety, of control.
Each detail adds to the fury building inside me.
But something else gnaws at me, something I can’t shake. The twins. The way Mia avoided my question. The familiar features I saw in that photo.
“Mia,” I start, my voice low, “are you sure there’s nothing else I need to know?”
Her hands tighten on the papers she’s holding. “Damon, this isn’t about them. It’s about Jason. He’s dangerous, and I need your help to keep us safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
She’s deflecting, but I let it slide. For now.
“All right,” I say, leaning back. “We’ll start with a full security assessment tomorrow. Cameras, motion detectors, reinforced locks—these are good, but not enough. Jason’s military. He knows how to breach defenses like these.”
“What do you suggest?” she asks, her voice steady but her eyes wary.
“Round-the-clock protection,” I say. “Someone here at all times. Starting tonight.”
Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but then she nods. “Okay. Whatever it takes.”
A small cry drifts down the stairs. Mia is already halfway to her feet by the time I stand.
“I’ve got it,” she says.
“I’ll come with you, just to be sure,” I say. Mia doesn’t fight me on that but she moves ahead of me.
My heart beats faster. The creak of the stairs beneath my boots is louder than it should be. At the top of the stairs, the door to a room is ajar. Pale pink walls and soft nightlights cast a glow across the hall.
Inside, two little girls sit in matching beds. They’re identical in every way: dark curls, small faces, and big, expressive eyes. One clutches a stuffed unicorn while the other leans over the rail of her bed, peering toward the door.
The fearless one spots me first. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hide. Instead, she tilts her head, curious and calm, her gaze locking onto mine with a startling intensity.
The other one follows suit, her eyes softer and more cautious. Both pairs of eyes are warm brown with golden flecks.
My mother’s eyes.
A chill runs down my spine, and something deep in my chest tightens painfully.
Mia appears behind me, her presence a quiet heat at my back. “It’s okay, girls,” she says softly, stepping past me and into the room.
I can’t move. Can’t take my eyes off them.
“Are you a ninja?” the fearless one asks me, her voice as steady as her stare.
“Manners, Emma,” Mia chides gently, running a hand over her daughter’s curls.
I chuckle. “No, I’m not a ninja.”
“Then why are you dressed like one?” she says, eyeing my black vest and combat boots.
I smile. “I’m Damon. I’m a soldier.”
But the other one—Ella, I’m guessing—pipes up with quiet confidence. “Mommy says soldiers keep people safe.”
A strange lump forms in my throat. “Sometimes,” I say, my voice rough.
Emma’s expression doesn’t waver. She leans forward, stretching out a hand toward me. There’s no hesitation in her movements, no fear.
My heart clenches. She’s fearless, just like I was as a kid according to my mom.
Emma holds up her stuffed unicorn proudly. “This is Sparkles,” she tells me. “She keeps the bad dreams away.”
I crouch in front of her, my hand resting on my thigh as I consider her. “Sparkles, huh? She looks like she’s seen a few battles. Must be tough.”
Emma giggles, thrusting the unicorn closer. “She’s the bravest unicorn ever.”
Mia places a hand on Emma’s shoulder, gently guiding her back into bed. “It’s late, sweetheart. You and Ella need to rest.”
“Mama,” Ella whispers, her voice barely audible. “Are we safe?”
“Always,” Mia says firmly, tucking the covers around her.
The word punches me harder than it should. Always. It’s what I promised myself I’d be to Mia once. And now it’s what she promises these two little girls who couldn’t be more than five.
The timeline clicks into place in my mind—our night together, her disappearance, their age.
“Are they his?” The question is out before I can stop it.
Mia stiffens, her back to me as she presses a kiss to Emma’s forehead. Slowly, she straightens and turns, her hand resting protectively on Ella’s bedframe.
“No,” she says after a beat, her voice cool but edged with steel. “Their father isn’t in their lives. And I don’t expect him to be,” she adds, her chin tilting slightly as she looks at me.
Her answer is calculated, her posture defensive. But it’s the way she keeps her hand on Ella’s bedframe, the way her eyes dart toward Emma when she thinks I’m not looking, that tells me there’s more.
I want to press her, to demand answers, but I force myself to be quiet. To think.
After all, Mia’s mother had dark hair, too, and genetics can be tricky. The girls’ resemblance to my family might just be a coincidence.
I can’t make assumptions.
Still, something nags at me as I take a step back toward the door, my professional mask slipping firmly into place.
She’s standing at the door, hand gripping the knob too tightly.“They’re asleep now,” she says softly. “I think it’s time we talk about the next steps.”