Chapter 33
The lights in the corridor were dimmed, the bunker still caught in the hush of early morning.
Clara hadn’t slept well, the blankets tangling around her legs as her mind whirled.
When the clock kicked over to five am, she gave up on sleep entirely.
Tea didn’t appeal, food even less. What she wanted, what she needed, was Jonas.
Her bare feet padded across the cool floor as she pulled on a jumper and slipped out into the hall. The hum of machinery below told her where he’d be. Always the tech room. Always chasing threads no one else could see.
She pushed the door open quietly, and there he was.
Jonas in his element, shoulders broad and rigid, eyes lit by the glow of screens.
His hands moved across the keyboard in a rhythm almost musical.
Bás sat beside him, looming in the shadows, eyes intent on the data streaming across the monitors.
They looked like men standing at the edge of something vast.
Jonas turned as if he felt her before he heard her.
His expression softened, the kind of soft she knew no one else saw and it was like a gut punch.
No man had ever looked at her like he did.
To think a month ago she didn’t know him, and now she couldn’t imagine her life without him.
He swivelled the chair slightly and held out a hand.
She crossed the room, heart thudding, and when she slipped her fingers into his, he tugged her gently until she was perched on his lap.
The gesture startled her, not just the intimacy of it, but the ease. A public claim, even with Bás there. It sent a thrill through her chest.
“Morning,” she murmured, suddenly shy.
Instead of answering, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard. His mouth was warm, insistent, his breath mingling with hers. She clutched at his shoulders, dizzy with the suddenness of it, the sheer rightness that made her toes curl in her socks.
Bás made a low noise, somewhere between a cough and a sigh. “I’ll go gather the others,” he said dryly, standing. “No fucking on the desk, please. This equipment cost a fortune.”
Clara flushed hot as Jonas released her, his thumb stroking along her jaw before he let her settle against his chest. Contentment curled through her, warm and liquid as she tucked her legs up and burrowed into him.
“Why do you need the others?” she asked, heart still pounding, lips tingling from his kiss.
Jonas’s expression shifted, the warmth still there but tempered with gravity.
He tapped a key, bringing up a set of documents and blueprints that glowed ominously on the screens.
“Because I found something. About Oliver. About your father.” His voice was gentle, careful, as if he were holding glass that might shatter.
Her breath caught. “My father?”
Jonas nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “Clara… it looks like he’s tied to all of this. Money trails, properties hidden in trust funds, reinforced estate buildings no one was supposed to know about.” He hesitated, then added, softer still, “He’s deeper in it than you realised.”
Her stomach turned, but the way he said it, the steady hand on her back, the quiet certainty, kept her from breaking. She leaned against him, trembling, her mind grasping for purchase against the sudden freefall.
A big part of her wanted to deny it, to refute any claims her father was mixed up in anything nefarious, but she couldn’t, because deep down, she wasn’t shocked.
Too many times as a child, strange men had turned up at their home late at night, closeted behind the door of her father’s office.
Her mother’s tears and his bad moods were followed by smiles and joy as if everything was fine.
The patina of a family that didn’t exist.
Jonas kissed her temple once, a silent promise. “We’ll face it together.”
And for the first time since Oliver had appeared like a storm in her life, Clara believed it.
Her father’s name on Jonas’s lips was a weight she could barely carry. It settled in her chest like a stone, dragging her breath shallow.
She pulled back enough to look at the screens, though part of her wanted to close her eyes and pretend none of it was real. Rows of accounts, offshore transfers, and a blueprint of a building she didn’t recognise.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, shaking her head. “What does my father have to do with any of this? He’s… he’s a businessman. Stubborn, controlling, old-fashioned, but not this. Not this.”
Jonas’s hand covered hers, grounding her.
His thumb pressed circles into her knuckles.
“Look.” He pointed to the transfers, moving with the same meticulous care he always had when he explained his work.
“Large sums moved through shell companies, always circling back to trusts connected to your family estate. Money doesn’t move like this unless someone is hiding something. ”
She stared at the screen until the numbers blurred. “That doesn’t prove anything. He could be investing. He could…” Her throat closed, the words tasting like ash. “He could be protecting us.”
Jonas’s jaw ticked, but he stayed calm. Patient.
“Maybe. But then there’s this.” He tapped another file, and the blueprint filled the screen again.
“An unregistered property. Reinforced basement, security systems that rival government buildings. Hidden in the countryside under a trust in your father’s name.
Not a farmhouse. Not a retreat. Something else. ”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. She gripped the edge of the desk. “I’ve never seen that house before.”
“I didn’t think you had.” Jonas’s eyes searched hers, soft but unyielding. “But Oliver knows about it. I found comms between him and someone listed only as ‘Sutton.’ And I’m fairly certain that’s your father.”
Clara’s stomach lurched, bile rising. Papa? The man who’d taught her how to ride a bike, who polished his cufflinks every Sunday before church, who always cared more about appearances than her happiness. Could he really?
“I don’t believe this.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t.”
Jonas didn’t flinch. He simply said, “I wish you didn’t have to.”
The door opened before she could respond.
Duchess slipped in, hair tied up messily, clearly pulled from sleep.
A second later, Bishop followed, yawning and muttering about coffee.
One by one, the rest arrived, Valentina with her dogs at her heels, Titan, Lotus, sharp-eyed despite her Winnie the Pooh pyjama bottoms, Reaper already smirking, and Hurricane ducking his head beneath the doorframe as he held it for Snow and Bein to walk through.
Bás entered last, a storm in human form, eyes grim. He clapped his hands once. “Alright. Everyone’s here. Let’s get to it.”
Clara sat straighter on Jonas’s lap, his arm steady around her waist as if daring anyone to question it. No one did.
Bás stood at the head of the room, scanning their faces.
“Oliver’s not working alone. Watchdog and I dug deep, and it all leads back to the Sutton family.
Clara’s father in particular. Hidden estates, financial trails, links to Hansen’s old network.
This isn’t about one man trying to marry his way into society.
It’s about infrastructure. Power. Money.
A network that didn’t die when Hansen did, it adapted. ”
The room stilled, the weight of his words hanging heavy.
Lotus leaned forward, eyes sharp. “You’re saying her father is funding them?”
“Or worse,” Jonas said quietly, his voice a low thread. “He could be running it.”
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by Monty’s soft whine as Valentina laid a calming hand on his head.
Clara’s heart pounded, each beat screaming denial even as the evidence glowed on the screens. She felt Jonas’s hand squeeze hers once more, anchoring her, reminding her she wasn’t alone, even if her world was crumbling.
Jonas angled the screen toward her, his arm solid around her waist. Rows of scanned deeds and contracts filled the monitor. Each bore a signature that looked painfully familiar.
Her own.
Her pulse spiked. “That’s…” She swallowed, leaning closer as if distance might make it clearer. “That’s my name.”
Jonas nodded once, his expression grim. “Property deeds. Accounts. Trusts. All tied to you. Some of them date back years.”
“No.” She shook her head, her stomach twisting. “I’ve never seen these before. I never signed them.”
“They were signed for you,” Jonas said softly. “By your father. Forged, or coerced. I don’t know. But it all funnels through your name.”
Her chest tightened. “Why would he?”
“Because once you marry Oliver,” Jonas cut in, voice taut, “it all transfers to him. The property. The trusts. The financial pipeline. Everything. The marriage was never about saving the Sutton estate. It was about securing a legal transfer. You weren’t saving anything. You were the prize.”
The words sliced through her like glass. She stared at the screen, seeing not just numbers and signatures, but years of lies. The little nudges her parents had given her. The pressure to stay with Oliver despite her doubts. Her mother’s insistence that it was for the family.
Her hands shook. “So, he, my father, wasn’t trying to protect us. He was…” She broke off, bile burning her throat. “He was selling me.”
Jonas’s grip tightened on her hand. “He was using you. And making sure if the network fell apart, you’d be implicated instead of him. A scapegoat.”
Her head spun. The room tilted and she pressed her forehead against Jonas’s chest, steadying herself on his solid weight.
She wanted to scream, to deny it, to pretend the evidence wasn’t there, but her father’s signature was burned into her mind, alongside her own name dragged across pages she’d never seen.
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.
Clara could barely breathe. Her heart thundered against her ribs, tears pricking hot at her eyes. She wanted to protest, to argue, to cling to the image of her father she’d always held, but the screens glowed with proof. She wasn’t the saviour of her family. She was the bargaining chip.
Her voice came out small. “He’s… he’s rich. He always has been.” She blinked hard, shaking her head. “And all those times they told me we couldn’t keep the house, that everything was falling apart,”
“It was leverage,” Jonas finished, his jaw tight.
Bás’s expression softened, just for a breath, before hardening again as he addressed the team. “Oliver’s a symptom. The Suttons are the disease. We dig deeper. We find every link, every bastard tied to this. No more shadows.”
The team shifted, the crackle of determination in the air.
Clara sat frozen, her world burning down around her. The only thing keeping her upright was the steady arm of the man beneath her, the man she now realised was the only one who’d never lied to her.
Bás scanned the room, his arms folded, his stance screaming command. “Duchess, you’ve got MI5 contacts. I want you to see what they know about the Suttons. Quietly. No chatter that could blow this wide.”
Duchess gave a sharp nod, her jaw tight. “On it.”
“Bishop,” Bás continued, “dig into financials. Track shell companies. If it’s in Clara’s name, I want to know every transaction, every bloody paperclip purchased.”
Bishop smirked faintly, but his eyes were serious. “Consider it done. I’ll rope Charlie in. She loves tearing apart financial fraud.”
“Titan, Snow, you’re on security. Both here and for Lena. We don’t give Oliver or anyone else another opening. Reaper, Bein, you run down the muscle. Associates. Known hitters. If Hansen’s replacement is moving in shadows, he’s got men. Find them. Focus on his ties from Africa.”
Reaper leaned back in his chair, grin sharp. “Time to stretch my legs.”
Lotus’s gaze flicked toward Clara, then back to Bás. “And me?”
“You stay close to Clara.” Bás’s tone left no room for argument. “She’s in the crosshairs. She doesn’t breathe without you knowing it.”
Lotus tilted her head. “Copy that.” Her eyes softened briefly as they met Clara’s.
Valentina shifted where she sat, Monty and Scout at her feet, alert even in the calm. “I’ll support where needed. But, Clara,” she gave her a small smile, “if you need someone outside of all the noise, I’m here. We take care of our own.”
Clara swallowed, her throat thick. Our own. The words should have felt alien, but instead they wrapped around her like a balm.
Bás straightened, his gaze sweeping them all again. “This isn’t just Oliver anymore. This is a network. And Clara’s father is tied to it, whether she knew it or not.”
A muscle jumped in Jonas’s arm beneath her hand, his arm still anchoring her in place. “He used her. Set her up.”
Clara flinched.
Bás’s voice softened, but only a fraction. “We protect her, we protect Lena, and we expose this for what it is. But no mistakes, too much is riding on this.”
The team murmured agreement, determination snapping into place like steel.
Clara sat silent, her pulse drumming in her ears. She felt their eyes flick to her now and again, not accusatory, but weighing. Calculating. She was no longer a bystander. She was tangled in this web whether she wanted to be or not.
And yet, through the roaring in her head, she heard Jonas’s steady voice as he leaned in, low enough just for her. “You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”
Her chest tightened, her breath catching as she looked at him. His eyes were fierce, unwavering, and for the first time since she’d seen her name on those papers, she felt a spark of something steady inside her.
Hope.