Chapter 22
Kane
T he fear didn’t leave me, even after I had her safe in my arms.
It lingered in my chest—that cold, suffocating terror that had gripped me from the moment I’d learned Charlotte was gone. Every second of the drive to Calloway’s building, every floor I’d climbed in that endless stairwell, I’d been haunted by the same thought… what if I’m too late?
By some miracle, I hadn’t been. Charlotte was here, pressed against my side in the back of the SUV, her heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine. She was bruised and shaken and probably running on nothing but adrenaline and sheer stubbornness—but she was alive . She was safe.
The relief was so overwhelming it almost brought me to my knees.
We headed back to Noble and Associates headquarters to put out fires.
The breaking and entering was a problem, there was no getting around that.
But unless Calloway wanted to draw attention to himself, to the fact that he’d kidnapped a journalist and held her captive in his penthouse, I knew he’d stay quiet.
Men like him didn’t invite scrutiny. They attempted to bury their tracks and waited for the heat to die down.
This time, though, hopefully there would be no burying anything. Not with what Charlotte had conceivably downloaded from his laptop.
As soon as we arrived at the firm, Tate disappeared into his office to start working on the encrypted files once Charlotte gave him access to her Dropbox.
Then the rest of us filed into the conference room for a debrief with Sutton that stretched over an hour, where we recounted every detail of the rescue, the bodyguards we’d subdued, the evidence Charlotte had managed to secure before we’d arrived.
Sutton listened without interruption, his expression unreadable.
But when his gaze shifted between Charlotte and me—noting, no doubt, the way I couldn’t seem to stop touching her and how she leaned into me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded—a flicker of understanding and acknowledgement passed briefly in his eyes.
Tate must have filled him in on our history.
When the debrief finally ended, I took Charlotte’s hand.
“We need a minute,” I said to the room at large.
No one argued, and desperately needing time alone with her, I led Charlotte’s to the firm’s lounge where it was quiet.
I closed the door behind us, shutting out the rest of the world, and for a moment I just stood there, drinking in the sight of her.
Those beautiful blue eyes, that gorgeous auburn hair, her stunning features.
She’s safe. She’s here. She’s mine .
The possessive thought was absolute, settling deep in my chest with undeniable certainty. Not ownership in the ugly way men like Calloway understood it, but in the fierce, protective manner that made me want to build an entire future around keeping her safe, loved, and beside me.
Because now that I’d nearly lost her, the idea of letting her walk out of my life again felt impossible.
If Charlotte gave me the chance—if she wanted this too—I was done fighting what existed between us.
Done pretending this was temporary or born from circumstance.
I wanted mornings and nights with her. Arguments and make-up sex when her stubborn attitude drove me insane.
I wanted her laughter filling whatever place I called home.
I wanted her woven permanently into my life. And for the first time in years, I wanted that future badly enough to risk my heart for it.
Charlotte looked up at me, exhaustion etched into every line of her face, but there was something else there too. A softness. A vulnerability she rarely let anyone see.
I crossed to the sofa and sat down, then reached for her, pulling her onto my lap. She came willingly, curling into me like she belonged there, because she did. I wrapped my arms around her and held on.
“Kane.” Her voice was muffled against my chest. “I’m okay.”
“I know.” I pressed my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in. “Just... give me a minute.”
She didn’t argue. She just settled deeper into my arms, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and let me hold her.
This was what we both needed. Just this—the two of us alone, with nothing between us but the quiet certainty that we’d survived.
Eventually, though, I had to tell her what I’d learned. She deserved to know everything.
“Tate found out how Calloway’s people tracked us to the safehouse,” I said quietly after a few more silent minutes had passed, my hand tracing slow circles on her back. “It was my phone call to Kohen. I know he’s the one who took you.”
She lifted her head, a look of torment in her eyes as they met mine. “I’m so sorry, Kane.”
“But it’s worse than that,” I continued, the words scraping against my throat like broken glass. “Tate dug into his financials. He’s been receiving regular payments—substantial ones.”
Her eyes searched my face. “Payments from Calloway?”
I nodded, the admission tasting like ash. “Yes. He was on Calloway’s payroll. But not only that, there are other deposits from two years ago, and the dates…they line up exactly with when the evidence locker was compromised. Every single time.”
“He framed you,” Charlotte whispered. “Your own brother framed you.”
“Yeah.” The word came out hollow. “He did.”
Saying it out loud made it real in a way I hadn’t been prepared for. My little brother—the kid I’d tried to protect, the man I’d tried so hard to reconnect with—had systematically destroyed my life.
Not because he had to. Not because someone forced him. Because he wanted to.
“There’s more,” I said, forcing myself to continue. “Tate found evidence of a group of cops on Calloway’s payroll. They’re the ones who stole the drugs and money from evidence. Kohen was part of it. He was probably part of it from the beginning.”
Charlotte’s hand found mine, her fingers squeezing gently. “Kane... I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell my parents.
” The confession slipped out before I could stop it, raw and unguarded.
“They still think he’s the one who stayed on the right path while I threw my career away.
How do I tell them that their youngest son is a criminal? That he’s been corrupt for years?”
“You’ll find a way,” Charlotte said softly. “When the time comes, you’ll know what to say.”
“Will I?”
She reached up, cupping my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. “This isn’t your fault, Kane. Who Kohen chose to become—what he did to you—none of that is on you. You didn’t make him corrupt. You didn’t make him betray his family. He did that all on his own.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to.
“I spent two years trying to figure out who framed me. I went over every interaction, every friendship, looking for the moment I should have seen it coming.” I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my chest for years.
“It never occurred to me that it was Kohen. That my own brother hated me enough to destroy my life.”
“He didn’t destroy it.” Charlotte’s voice was fierce. “He tried. But you’re still here. You built a new career, a new life. You have people who believe in you—Chase and Ford and Austin and Tate and Sutton. Me .” Her thumb stroked across my cheekbone. “Kohen failed, Kane. He failed to break you.”
A crack split straight through the walls I’d spent years building around myself.
Around the anger and betrayal and loneliness I’d carried since the day my life fell apart.
And sitting here with Charlotte looking at me like I was still worth believing in, I knew for certain I didn’t want those walls anymore.
I pulled her closer, burying my face in her hair, and let myself feel all of it—the grief, the rage, the relief that despite everything, I wasn’t alone anymore.
We sat there together for a long while, until Charlotte’s loud and grumbling stomach made us both laugh.
I ordered food from a nearby restaurant.
Neither of us had eaten in hours, and the adrenaline crash was hitting hard.
When the delivery arrived, we fell on the Italian food like we hadn’t seen a meal in days.
We ate in comfortable silence at the small table in the lounge, just the two of us passing containers back and forth, stealing bites from each other’s plates.
It felt strangely domestic. Normal. Like this was just an ordinary evening instead of the aftermath of violence, betrayal, and nearly losing each other forever.
And maybe that was what affected me the most. Not the high-octane rush of the rescue, or the relief of surviving. Not even the fierce possessiveness still thrumming beneath my skin every time I looked at her.
It was this. Two years , I thought. We lost two years .
Two years of mornings I could have woken up beside her. Two years of learning her moods and hearing her laugh and building this connection instead of believing the absolute worst about her.
Regret hit hard, but it was tangled with another emotion now. Hope. Because despite everything that had happened between us, despite the wreckage we’d both carried into this, Charlotte was still here. Still looking at me with warmth and trust and a tenderness that made my chest ache.
After dinner, we settled back on the couch, Charlotte lightly dozing against my chest while I held her. A short while later, a knock sounded at the door and Tate entered, followed by Sutton, grim satisfaction on both of their faces.
“You’re going to want to hear this,” Tate said, pulling up a chair, while Sutton stood quietly nearby.
Charlotte straightened on my lap, instantly alert. I kept my arm around her waist, anchoring her to me.