Chapter 15
15
ANNA
M orning came in soft pieces. Sunlight was draped over the bed like silk, the scent of rain still lingered in the air, and the steady rhythm of Atlas’s breathing was warm against my neck.
I didn’t want to move.
I didn’t want to open my eyes and risk the spell breaking. His arms were wrapped around me from behind, one heavy over my waist, the other tucked beneath my pillow. Our legs were tangled. Our skin still flushed from everything we’d shared, from everything we hadn’t yet spoken aloud.
How had this happened so fast? And why did it feel like the most grounded thing I’d ever known?
I blinked against the light and turned slightly in his arms. He was awake—barely. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, his face shadowed with sleep. But the moment he felt me shift, he tightened his grip around my waist like I might slip through his fingers if he didn’t.
“Good morning,” I whispered.
His eyes met mine, warm and steady. “Is it?”
I smiled. “It is now.”
We lay like that for a while, quiet in the sunlight, a hush between us that felt more like reverence than silence.
Eventually, reality tugged at the edges of the peace.
I traced a slow circle over his chest. “We should talk about Eugene.”
Atlas exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. We should.”
“I have the day off from rehearsal,” I said, “but I was thinking of going in this afternoon anyway. Just to practice. Clear my head.”
He nodded, gaze distant now. “He crossed a line. I don’t like people who test boundaries. And I sure as hell don’t like people who watch from shadows.”
I pressed my forehead to his chest. “He’s not going to let this go.”
“No,” Atlas said softly. “He’s not.”
A pause.
“What do we do?”
“I’ll handle him.”
I pulled back, searched his face. “ We handle him. Together.”
Atlas’s jaw tensed—just a flicker—but I saw it. That flash of something behind his eyes. Something not quite fear, not quite hesitation. It wasn’t about me questioning his strength. It was about the way he’d spent so much of his life carrying battles alone.
“I’m not used to letting people in on the plan,” he admitted.
“Get used to it.”
A slow breath left his chest. “You’re serious.”
“I let you stay the night, didn’t I?” I said. “You’ve seen me naked. Emotionally and otherwise.”
He gave a soft grunt—amused, but not unguarded. “Fair point.”
I slipped my fingers into his. “I want to understand. You. Your world. The things you’ve hinted at.”
That’s when something shifted.
His fingers tightened around mine, and he nodded once. A decision made.
“You know I have brothers,” he said.
“I read that online. Barely. Everything’s locked down.”
He gave a dry laugh. “That’s on purpose. There are seven of us. We co-founded Dominion Defense Corporation together. It started as a family contingency, but it’s grown. Every brother has a role. Dominion Hall isn’t just a house—it’s the hub. Think of it like a small military base. It’s more fortress than estate. We’re not exactly a normal family.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, “I sort of got that vibe when you walked into my life like a hurricane in a tux.”
He huffed a laugh but didn’t deny it.
He leaned back, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Each of us handles something different. There’s Ryker, Marcus, Charlie, Silas, Noah, and Elias. We’re all ex-military.”
“Seven brothers,” I whispered. “That’s … a lot of testosterone.”
He smirked. “You have no idea. But we work as a unit. Always have. That’s what saved us after our dad died.”
That admission hung heavy between us, but I didn’t press. Not yet.
“We’re circling wagons due to a complicated chain of events that maybe I’ll fill you in on another time. But Eugene made this personal. And personal threats don’t get ignored at Dominion.”
There was a lot to unpack there. I didn’t push.
I studied him. “So that’s how you handle problems?”
“With precision,” he said. “And cunning. We’re not the kind of family that waits for fallout. We prevent it. Contain it. Clean it up. Make it disappear.”
It was terrifying … and weirdly comforting.
“And what about now?” I asked. “With me caught in the crossfire?”
His hand brushed my cheek. “Now? We protect you.”
My throat tightened. “Even if it costs you?”
He nodded, serious. “Especially then.”
I swallowed against the lump rising. “Claire Dixon talked about you a lot on her podcast. She always sounded like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry your family or run.”
Atlas chuckled. “Claire’s a good person. A little impulsive. But honest. She’s engaged to Marcus now, actually.”
That shocked a laugh out of me. “Wait—really? Claire Dixon? The Unseen Claire Dixon?”
He nodded, but didn’t elaborate. I knew he was telling me a lot, and I felt kind of badly about it. Like I should start spilling my own guts to keep up.
My eyes widened. “Is Claire the one with Diego Gil? The man who?—?”
“Died in the pool at The Palmetto Rose hotel,” Atlas finished, his voice grave. “Yeah. That night changed a lot of things for us. Diego was Claire’s best friend. The one who got her involved in everything in the first place when he suggested she come down here and investigate an explosion at the Folly Beach Pier.”
“I sense a story there?”
“Complicated.”
“Right.”
Atlas’s eyes darkened. “And Izzy, the woman who was on site when they found Diego? She’s engaged to Ryker. She works at The Palmetto Rose. Tough as hell. Smart, too. She and Claire hit it off and became fast friends.”
I blinked. “So two of your brothers got engaged, back to back?”
“It’s a weird season,” he said. “But they’re in it. All the way. You can see it in the way they move around the women they love. Like they’ve already decided the rest of the world can burn if it means keeping them safe.”
I swallowed hard. “And you?”
Atlas met my gaze. “You already know.”
My heart gave a traitorous lurch.
There were still pieces missing. Still truths I didn’t know how to hold. But here—now—I could feel it. That this wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t even just longing.
It was the beginning of something immovable.
We stood there for a moment in the quiet that followed.
Then I shook my head, lips twitching. “I was going to listen to more of Claire’s podcast last night, you know. Just to get more context. Instead …”
He smirked. “You got distracted?”
“Completely derailed. Not sorry.”
“I’ll tell her that,” he said. “She’ll understand.”
I smiled. “Look, unfortunately, I know Eugene will cause us trouble, even though I don’t know exactly what he’ll do yet. It will be something. He’s entirely too petty to let this go.”
“Then we handle him,” Atlas said, all steel and certainty. “You’ve got me now. And if anyone wants to come for you … they’re going to have to go through seven Danes and the full force of Dominion.”
Wow.
I got up first, wrapping myself in a robe. Atlas lingered in bed, watching me like he was memorizing the shape of me in the light.
It should’ve felt like a bright new beginning—it did—but by noon, everything had begun to unravel.
Starting with a phone call.
Then two more.
I didn’t answer the first one. Or the second. By the time I saw Lindsey’s name flash across the screen on the third call, I picked up with a sinking feeling already blooming in my stomach.
“Anna,” she said, her voice strained. “Have you seen today’s newspaper?”
No.
No, I hadn’t.
Who even read the newspaper anymore? It felt archaic—ink-stained pages and opinion columns buried beneath the weight of digital headlines. But that’s what made it worse. If it made the print edition, it meant someone wanted it seen. Wanted it preserved. Deliberate. Permanent.
I opened my laptop and pulled up the Charleston Post and Courier ’s homepage.
There it was—front and center.
Boston Artist-in-Residence with Charleston Philharmonic at Center of Scandal Involving Prominent Dane Family Heir
My stomach dropped.
The article was slick. Careful. Full of suggestive phrasing and anonymous sources. But it said enough: I was “rumored” to have been involved in a physical altercation at a private society event, and that law enforcement was “reviewing surveillance footage” of an incident involving me and a “local man with ties to the Dane estate.”
It didn’t name Atlas. It didn’t have to. The comments were already filling with speculation.
Then I saw the quote.
“What happened to Anna wasn’t consensual,” said a close source, identifying himself as her fiancé. “She has a documented history of mental health struggles—emotional instability, periods of confusion. She hasn’t been well. That man took advantage of her in a vulnerable moment. We’ve been engaged for over a year, and I’ve watched her unravel. She’s not thinking clearly right now. What she needs is treatment. What he needs is to face the consequences.”
My hands shook.
“Anna,” Lindsey said gently on the other end, “there’s more. The Philharmonic board is meeting this afternoon. I’m not supposed to say this, but—someone’s pushing for a temporary suspension. They’re citing mental instability and inappropriate relationships during a high-profile season. You’re on the Spoleto docket.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I whispered.
“I know. But Eugene’s board-adjacent. And he’s … persuasive.”
I hung up, my breath coming too fast. My chest ached.
I couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t just a smear campaign. It was strategic.
He was turning my life into a question mark. Casting doubt before I had the chance to defend myself. Whispering poison.
He was trying to take everything.
My career. My name. My voice.
And worst of all?
People might believe him.
Atlas leaned over my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard him move. He read the headline once, then again—slowly, carefully. I felt the shift in him as the words sank in.
“What did your friend say? Lindsey?” he asked, voice low, calm in a way that was somehow more terrifying than rage.
I nodded, then swallowed. “They’re holding a board meeting today. Talking about suspending me. They say it’s for my own well-being.” I gave a bitter laugh. “Apparently I’m unstable.”
Atlas didn’t speak for a second. His fingers brushed over mine, steadying them where they still trembled on the laptop keys. Then he bent, kissed my temple with a kind of terrifying gentleness, and said, “Don’t worry.”
I turned to look at him. “Atlas?—”
But he was already moving.
He didn’t slam anything. He didn’t shout. He just stood, bare-chested and calm, and pulled on his clothes with slow, precise movements. Like a man preparing for war.
Because he was.
I watched him put on his shirt, slide his watch into place, and comb his fingers through his hair. He looked lethal and composed and terrifyingly beautiful. And when he glanced back at me, there was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.
Resolve.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He kissed me again. This time on the lips. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just final. Steady.
“To make sure the next person who says your name like that regrets it.”
He was out the door before I could follow. No storm this time. Just silence.
By the time I called my parents, I was so upset I could barely speak.
My mother answered, voice warm and immediate. “Anya?”
“I—I need you,” I choked out. “I’m serious.”
There was no hesitation.
“We’re coming,” she said.
And I knew she meant it.
They would get on a plane. They would drop everything. Because when the world threatened to unmake me, they didn’t ask why.
They just showed up.