Chapter Two
MILA
Luke and I left the gala on Mom’s heels without stopping to say anything to his family. One moment perfume and champagne pressed in from every direction, the next the night swallowed us whole. And I definitely preferred that.
Luke didn’t loosen his grip on my hand. We dropped Mom off at home as she and I had been picked up by one of Dunn Industries’ drivers. I didn’t ask where we were going when he pulled away from the curb.
The town quieted the closer we drove to the coast. November in Blackwood didn’t strip the trees bare, but the air carried a cooler edge after sunset, eucalyptus bending in the coastal wind, palms rattling softly overhead.
The heater hummed beneath the dash, but the chill in me had nothing to do with temperature.
Something had shifted.
Something had begun.
Luke parked near the public beach access and cut the engine. For a second neither of us moved. The world ticked by in silence. My pulse still carried the rhythm of the confrontation with Elise and the revelation of our discussion on the balcony.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, though the motion felt fragile. “I will be.”
He came around to my side, opened the door, and the night rushed in—salt, wind, and air chilly enough to wake the dead.
We kicked off our shoes in unspoken agreement, and our bare feet met the cold sand. The shock traveled up my spine, clean and grounding. The moon hung low and luminous, scattering silver across the water. Stars crowded the sky, unbothered by corporate wars and fabricated documents.
The tide rolled in, waves crashing just short of where we walked, foam dissolving into the darkened shore.
Luke laced our fingers together again. We didn’t talk at first as our steps fell into rhythm. The sand shifted beneath us, grains slipping between my toes. The air carried a cool edge against my lungs, salt-heavy and reassuring. The ocean moved in endless repetition—advance, retreat, advance again.
Nothing about tonight felt repetitive. Everything felt irreversible.
The risks in our plan pressed heavier here by the ocean.
I squeezed his hand. “This doesn’t get to be the thing that breaks us,” I said quietly.
His response wasn’t immediate. “It won’t,” he said, drawing the words out. “Breaking would mean one of us stops fighting.”
He brushed his lips against my temple.
“And I haven’t even started.”
The boardwalk came into view, and despite the late hour, music drifted faintly from an open bar, patio heaters glowing at the far end. Halfway down, the old boardwalk studio wasn’t there anymore. A temporary banner hung crooked above the door: Coming Soon—Coastal Kitchen.
I slowed. Luke’s thumb brushed over my knuckles. He followed my gaze without asking.
The studio had once felt permanent. Bright canvases propped against windows. Music drifting through open doors. Paint on my hands and the certainty that I could create something that belonged only to me.
Now paper covered half the front window. Life shifted without warning.
“You miss it,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
The admission lingered between us, simple and honest.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save it.”
“I know.” I leaned into his side. “It’s okay. It was out of your control.”
The wind pushed my hair across my face. I tucked it behind my ear, staring at the darkened windows from where we stood. If we were closer, I would’ve seen my reflection staring back—Luke’s tux jacket swallowing the silver dress beneath it, mascara smudged faintly beneath my eyes.
Different girl. Same war.
“It’ll work out,” he told me.
I turned toward him. Moonlight carved sharp lines across his features—determination etched into every angle.
“I won’t let Dunn touch you or your mom.”
A small breath left me. “You can’t control everything.”
His jaw flexed. “No. But I can control how I respond.”
The waves punctuated the silence, and we resumed walking, hands linked. I studied the horizon, trying to picture a future that wasn’t shadowed by threats and leverage.
“They’re going to expect me to disappear,” I reiterated. “Not show up at school like their threats don’t matter.”
“But that’s not what we’re doing. We’re changing the playing field.”
The plan made my stomach tighten. What if didn’t work? What if Luke’s play wasn’t enough to hold them back?
He squeezed my hand. “It’ll work. We’re forcing moves.”
I faced him fully now. “How? By letting Dunn realize who we’re connected to?”
His focus locked in, strategy falling into place with unsettling ease. “First, we confront Elise at school. Publicly.”
My brows lifted. “It would be better if I did all the talking for this initial one.”
His jaw flexed. He didn’t like it, but he inclined his head. I was right on this.
“She doesn’t get to operate in the shadows anymore,” he went on. “If she wants to escalate, she does it in front of witnesses.”
Yeah, that was not going to go well. “She’ll twist it.”
“Probably. But we won’t be hiding.”
The thought sent a ripple through me. No more being careful not to touch. No more pretending we weren’t already intertwined.
“United front,” he added. “No space for them to wedge in.”
The wind whipped harder off the water, tugging at his tux jacket around my frame.
“And your parents?” I asked carefully.
His expression shifted, not softening but recalibrating. “Not yet.”
“Luke.”
“I won’t bring them what Dunn threatened until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
A flicker of relief passed through me before I could stop it.
Facing Dunn was one thing. Facing the King empire head-on was another.
And to be honest, I doubted they would help.
Their son, yes. But my mom and me, absolutely not—they would hang us out to dry and make sure the effort benefited their son in some way.
“But I will talk to my brother,” he continued. “Drew is useful in these types of situations.”
My pulse skipped. “You really think that’s our best move?”
“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation.
I held his gaze longer than necessary. “I don’t want this pulling you further in,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
His brows drew together. “Further into what?”
“Your father’s world.” My voice dropped. “The parts you pretend don’t touch you.”
The ocean wind moved between us, playing with our hair and the edges of our clothes. I hated that this was happening now—when we’d finally stopped hiding. When we’d finally chosen this. Openly.
“I can handle it,” he said.
“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”
His jaw flexed slightly.
“I’m afraid,” I continued, forcing it out, “that one day I’m going to look up and realize you’ve stepped so far into protecting me that you can’t step back out.”
I hated the position we were in. Hated that loving me meant dragging him closer to a world he was trying to outrun.
My fingers lifted to the delicate star at my throat—the one he’d given me the night he told me our dreams were written in the same sky.
That maybe we were meant to find each other.
That fate could light the path—but we still had to walk it.
“You’re so close to the life you want. Hockey. Michigan. Not the path your family laid out. One step closer to the NHL.” My voice wavered despite my best effort. “But this? It pulls you backward. Closer to their control. Closer to that business.”
His hand came up, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “I’m not choosing that world,” he said quietly. “I’m choosing you. And if it brushes up against it, that’s on me. Not you.”
I studied him in the moonlight. There was no bravado in his expression, only intent.
“Mom will reach out to Edwardo right away,” I said carefully. “If he’s going to be involved, it has to come from her.”
“Agreed.”
For a second, the plan fell away. The strategy. The alliances. It was just us. Bare and tired and standing too close to the edge of something that felt bigger than school corridors and gala threats.
“When Elise said felony complaint…” My voice was soft.
He didn’t interrupt.
“I thought I was going to lose everything in one breath.”
His expression didn’t shift much. But his hand wrapped around mine.
“And the worst part?” I swallowed. “I didn’t think about my mom first.”
His thumb moved slowly over my knuckles.
“I thought about us. About how walking away from you would be easier than watching this tear you apart.”
His forehead rested lightly against mine. “I don’t walk when things get complicated,” he said quietly. “I walk when I stop caring.” A beat. “And I’m nowhere near that. When it comes to you—I’ll never stop caring.”
We fell silent again. The tide surged higher this time, foam brushing closer to our path before retreating. “You’re not afraid?” I asked finally.
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m cautious.”
That stopped me.
He exhaled slowly. “I’m worried about what they’re capable of in relation to you. I’m afraid of underestimating them. I’m not afraid of standing next to you.”
Emotion rose in my throat. The boardwalk creaked somewhere in the distance as wood adjusted to temperature and time.
“There’s something else,” I whispered.
His attention zeroed in instantly. “What?”
I stared out at the water, gathering courage from its endless motion.
“The gallery downtown.” My fingers curled into his.
“They reached out last week. They’re expanding their winter exhibits.
They want to feature local artists.” Colleen, the owner of the boardwalk studio who used to rent space on the beach, had followed through with her promise and made the connection for me.
The result had been through my art, and that filled me with hope for the future.
He stilled.
“I didn’t tell you yet because I wasn’t sure it would even happen,” I continued. “It’s small. One wall. Maybe two pieces.”
His reaction wasn’t small. A grin broke across his face—unfiltered, fierce pride lighting his eyes. “Mila.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks despite the cold air.
“That’s huge.”
“It’s not huge.” I bit down on my lower lip before releasing it.