Chapter Twenty-One
Nikolai
The morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bedroom. Dawn shifts beside me, wincing slightly, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
A week has passed since the attack. Most of the bruising has faded, but she still moves carefully. She holds her ribs like they ache. I sit up first, offering her my hand. She takes it.
I pull her up gently, keeping her steady as she stands. She exhales slowly, rolling her shoulders.
“I’m fine.” She says softly.
I don’t comment. I just keep my hand on her waist as we move through the house.
When we reach the living room, I help her ease onto the couch. She sinks into it with a quiet breath, her body still adjusting.
I glance down at her. “Coffee?”
She nods with an easy smile, looking up at me, “Yes, please.” And reaches for the remote.
I move towards the kitchen. The TV is on, low murmurs of the morning news filling the space while I prepare our coffees. I’m barely paying attention, half-asleep myself.
Until I hear Luke’s name.
“…under scrutiny after leaked reports show Carter’s campaign received untraceable foreign donations—”
Dawn is frozen as I walk back into the room. Her fingers tighten around her phone, her whole body going still.
“The allegations, first reported by—”
Dawn’s phone is already ringing. She doesn’t even look at me. “Luke, pick up.”
I set the coffee down in front of her, then settle into the couch beside her as she waits.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then— he answers.
“I know,” Luke says, voice clipped, hurried. “I’m handling it.”
Dawn exhales sharply. “Luke, what the hell is this?”
“A fucking hit piece. It’s got to be fake. I have no clue where those transactions came from.” A muffled voice speaks in the background—he’s already multitasking. “Someone’s trying to sink me. It’s bullshit, Dawn. I never took foreign money.”
“I know you didn’t.” Her grip tightens around the phone. “But who planted this?”
A pause. A tired exhale. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Dawn leans forward, her elbow on her knee. “What can I do?”
Luke laughs, dry and humorless. “Nothing. Stay out of it.”
Dawn’s expression hardens. “Like hell—”
“Dawn—”
“Luke.”
Another pause. A beat too long.
Then his tone shifts. “Just be careful, okay?”
Dawn stills. I don’t move.
She swallows, voice quieter now. “You, too.”
The line goes dead. She lowers her phone slowly, staring at the screen like it might bring him back.
I grab my phone and start making a call of my own.
I press the phone to my ear, my jaw tight, my patience thinner than usual. “Explain.” I say, butting straight through the pleasantries.
Dawn is still beside me on the couch. She hasn’t moved, but I feel her eyes on me.
The voice on the other end stammers, already scrambling. “Sir, we—”
“Don’t waste my time.” I exhale slowly, forcing my tone to stay measured. “Who authorized the transaction?”
A pause. Too long. That’s my answer.
I close my eyes briefly, irritation simmering. “So, you don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
The man swallows audibly. “I—I’ll find out, sir.”
“You’ll have an answer by noon.” I hang up.
Silence lingers between us.
I set my phone down, rubbing my jaw. Dawn hasn’t said a word. She’s still watching me, her expression unreadable.
Then, finally—she speaks. “Was this you?”
The question doesn’t surprise me. The way she says it does. There’s no heat, no immediate accusation. Just quiet demand. A need to know.
I meet her gaze. “No. I’ve been here with you all week, Dawn.”
A muscle ticks in her jaw. “But someone in your company.”
Not a question.
I nod. “Probably.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Jesus, Nikolai.”
Frustration. Disbelief. But I don’t flinch from it.
“This isn’t over.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “They want him out of the race.”
Dawn goes still. The weight of it settles between us.
“They’re not going to stop until he’s out of the way.”
Her fingers press into her thigh. “He’s not backing down.”
“Neither are they.”
She swallows hard, and I see it—the helplessness creeping in.
I hate it.
She hates it more.
. . .
I check the time. Almost noon. Dawn hasn’t stopped pacing. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her jaw set, her steps sharp and agitated as she moves back and forth across the living room. Restless. Frustrated. I should’ve expected it. Waiting isn’t something she does well.
I exhale, rubbing my temple before refocusing on my laptop. Emails, updates, reports. Everything I should be paying attention to.
But my attention keeps shifting back to her.
The energy rolling off her is almost tangible. Like a caged animal, locked in place with no way to fight. Her fingers tighten against her sides.
Then, she just snaps. “So what? We just sit here?”
I glance up. Her blue eyes are burning, but it’s not anger—it’s that helplessness again. “We wait.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. Disbelief. Frustration. Hatred for every second slipping by where she can’t do anything. “That’s it?”
I set my laptop aside, standing slowly. “This isn’t a game of speed, angel. It’s a game of power. Someone, somehow, has access to Luke’s campaign accounts. We just have to find out who. Patience.”
Her lips part like she’s ready to argue, but she stops herself. Because she knows I’m right. Still, she shakes her head, exhaling through her nose before turning away, running a hand through her hair. “I fucking hate this.”
I watch her, expression strained and stern. She’s not used to feeling powerless.
And neither am I.
. . .
I step outside on the upstairs balcony, pulling a glass door shut behind me. The air is cooler now, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows over the estate where my groundskeepers work diligently. The view should be grounding, but it isn’t.
I pull out my phone and dial.
It rings twice before a familiar voice answers. One of my father’s top executives.
“Nikolai.” Not a question.
“Who planted that money in Carter’s campaign account?” I don’t waste time.
A pause.
“If you have to ask, then you already know the answer.”
My jaw tightens. “I want a name.”
“That’s above your clearance.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “My clearance? Since when is anything above my clearance?”
“Since your father decided you weren’t ready to handle these decisions.”
The words land like a strike.
“So, you’re keeping me in the dark?”
“It’s not personal, Nikolai. It’s just business.”
“What kind of—”
“Just let it play out, Mr. Blackthorn.” A quiet warning.
Click.
Irritation bubbles underneath my skin, and I immediately dial the next person I can think of. One of the best we’ve got working in the Silicon Valley location. Owes me a favor.
If Blackthorn won’t tell me, then I’ll go around them.
The line clicks after one ring.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon, Blackthorn.”
“Who framed Carter?” My voice is flat and controlled.
A slow, amused exhale comes from the other end of the line. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“And I expect an answer.”
A pause.
“You don’t usually get your hands dirty like this. What changed?”
“I’m feeling inspired.”
A low chuckle, “I’ll see what I can find. But tread carefully, Blackthorn. Some things aren’t meant to be dug up.”
The line goes dead.
I step back inside. Dawn is still sitting in the living room, curled up into the couch. She looks up immediately as I walk back downstairs.
She studies my face. She wants to ask. But she doesn’t.
Instead, her fingers drum lightly against the fabric. “What happens if they don’t stop?”
I hold her gaze. “Then I stop them.”
She doesn’t flinch. But I see the shift in her expression. She’s slightly more relaxed.
That makes it worth it.