50. Chapter 50
LONDYN
IT'S MIDNIGHT. IT'S AN HOUR past the deadline Sean told Declan.
Friday is dead. Saturday is born. And Sean isn't here.
Across the living room, Declan and Sienna are busy sorting luggage, checking documents, and exchanging glances heavy with unspoken sorrow.
It reminds me of the frantic atmosphere backstage at a theater show.
Everyone scrambles for costumes and set pieces, trying to get into position for the next scene so the audience's immersion in the story isn't broken.
Declan and Sienna think I don't notice how they're hiding their tears, but I'm finely tuned to the frequencies of other people's pain.
And as an actress, I had to anticipate my costar's reactions so I knew when to deliver my next line.
Any moment, one of them will come over and say the line, "It's time to go.
" I know what I'm supposed to say in response, only I don't want to.
I refuse to.
My phone rests in my palm. I've been staring at it for so long the screen has gone black twenty-four times. Each time I touch it back to life, hoping, praying, willing it to vibrate with his name.
Declan approaches. His voice is firm—a businessman's confident voice—but there's a hollowness of grief around the edges. "We need to be ready to move within the next ten minutes."
"I can't. Please. Just… more time. He's coming.
I know he's coming." My eyes drift to the foyer where the massive double doors lead to the front drive.
I'm trying to materialize Sean through sheer force of longing.
If I stare hard enough, maybe I can bend reality to my will.
For once, I need the world to do what I want instead of the other way around.
Sean will walk through that door.
"Londyn," Declan says, my name gentle on his tongue. "Sean is always punctual. Always. He said eleven PM and it's an hour past that. We have to accept—"
"No. No, I'm sorry. I have to wait longer. Please, just give him more time. Please." My voice weakens on the last plea, splitting like stage wood designed to break dramatically. "He's coming… he wouldn't just…"
The plan was simple. Plant the drugs while Miller wasn't around. Get out. So why is he so late? Why did he have to extend his return time?
Maybe he got caught. Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he's—
No. I won't let my thoughts travel down that black corridor. I seal it off, board it up, place armed guards at its entrance. Some rooms in the mind are too dangerous to enter.
Instead, I press my hand against my stomach to feel the faint warmth beneath my skin.
He'll come back to us.
Declan hasn't responded, so I glance up from my spot on the couch. His imposing height is bent with exhaustion. The usual crisp lines of his face have become uneven. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, search mine with a compassion that feels worse than cruelty.
I can tell he's a man accustomed to difficult decisions who takes no pleasure in the weight of his authority.
"Twenty minutes," he says finally. "That's all.
After that, we're leaving for the airport.
" His voice drops lower and he looks on the verge of passing out; none of us have slept much these past few days.
"I promised Sean I'd keep you safe, and I intend to keep that promise. Twenty minutes is all we can spare."
"Thank you."
He moves away and I continue to rub my belly. I close my eyes and start counting the seconds. Twenty minutes is twelve hundred seconds. One. Two. Three.
Daddy will come home. Daddy is—
I stand quickly because I'm too restless and can't just sit here counting seconds.
I need something to ground me before I completely unravel.
My eyes drift around the room, searching for an anchor, and land on a large wrapped package leaning against the far wall.
The brown paper is partially torn at one corner, revealing a glimpse of Sean's painting. He shipped it here for safe keeping.
I walk closer. Without really thinking, I tear back more of the paper.
The familiar open window stares back at me.
Sean really loves this painting. I do too.
I imagine hanging it in our home someday, wherever that might be.
Our child would grow up seeing this painting, this reminder of stepping from darkness into light.
Sean and I would sit together in the mornings, drinking tea, looking at this window that promises hope.
If he comes back.
When he comes back.
Soft footsteps approach behind me. I turn to see Sienna standing behind me, hugging her waist. Just like her husband, her posture is bent and deflated, eyes bloodshot.
Am I the only one who still has hope Sean will come back?
"That's mine," she says quietly.
I glance between her and the painting, startled. Then I'm suddenly aware of all the paintings hanging around the living room. I hadn't noticed before since I've been so focused on Sean, but all the paintings are the same watercolor style. Same as Sean's.
"It's beautiful," I say. "All of these paintings are."
She nods, moving to stand beside me. Her eyes are fixed on the canvas. She doesn't speak, only stares at it with tired eyes.
I feel the need to fill the silence, so I say, "I love the contrast between inside and outside... it's like..."
"Like being trapped," she finishes softly. "But still being able to see that there's something better waiting."
"Yeah."
We stand in silence for a moment, both studying the painting. Both lost in our own thoughts.
Then Sienna drops her arms to her sides, like releasing the invisible armor she'd been hugging against herself. "I painted this after I was rescued."
"Rescued?"
"Long story, but my ex kidnapped me and locked me in a room for weeks.
He was psychotic. But he... he let me open the window while I painted.
I needed the fresh air for my sanity." Her hands tremble slightly as she crosses her arms over her chest. "I used to stare out that window for hours, watching the world go by.
The colors outside seemed so much brighter because everything in that room was gray.
Dead. That whole house was filled with death.
It burned to the ground with him in it."
My breath catches. I look her up and down, suddenly seeing her in a new light. When we first met, I sensed she was a confident woman. Self-assured. I didn't realize it came from trauma.
"I'm so sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. It's… horrendous."
Our eyes meet, and in that moment, I see the same haunted pain I've glimpsed in mirrors.
I've only known her a few days, but it's clear we've both experienced hell. Different situations, same monsters. So I feel comfortable sharing the truth. "Me too."
Her lips part and she drops her brows, not understanding my meaning.
I swallow. "I… I don't want others to know."
"Of course. I won't tell anyone."
"I was also locked in a room. Chained." The words fall out before I can stop them. "No windows. Just brick walls and darkness."
Sienna's face crumples. "Oh, Londyn." She reaches for my hand and I let her take it. There's a strange current between us, like we've both had moments of drowning and now found each other in the dark water.
"I never thought I'd get out or see sunlight again. I haven't felt safe since. Not until meeting Sean." I touch my stomach with my free hand.
For a moment, we just stand there, two women who understand what it means to be caged, to survive, to carry those invisible scars. Then something inside Sienna cracks completely. She opens her mouth a few times, trying to respond, but finally breaks, standing there motionless and just sobbing.
Declan must've sensed her pain because he suddenly appears. He quickly folds her against his chest like he's tucking away something priceless.
"I wish I knew what was going on," Sienna cries, her words muffled against her husband's shirt. "I don't understand. What did Sean get mixed up in?"
I feel the guilt slithering inside me like a snake, so I move away, returning to the couch.
I haven't told them everything. I've kept the details vague, offering only tiny breadcrumbs of truth.
It was partly to protect the mission, partly because speaking it out loud now feels like admitting that it failed.
I can't admit that Sean failed and that he's not coming back.
And selfishly, I keep the story close because it's all I have left of him—these fragmented pieces of a plan that somehow changed.
Declan strokes his wife's red hair, his large hand making her seem smaller and more fragile. "Sean said it was about Victor. He said you'd know—"
"Victor?" Sienna's head snaps up and her body goes rigid. Her eyes, still swimming with tears, find mine across the room. There's a new quality to her gaze—recognition layered with horror—like she's seen a ghost.
I look away, unable to hold the understanding of her stare. How does she know Victor?
"We have to go now ." Sienna's voice and entire vibe has transformed into panic. Her fingers twist into Declan's shirt and she yanks him to the side toward the luggage. "We can't wait. If it's Victor, if Sean didn't… We have to go, honey. Now!"
She pulls away from Declan and hurries to the luggage. She tears a zipper open to pull out her passport and double check it. Then she yanks the car keys from Declan's pocket and starts dragging luggage toward the front door.
Our controlled departure is now an evacuation.
"No!" I'm on my feet, blood rushing to my head so fast I feel woozy. I grab the back of the couch for balance. "We can't leave. He'll come back. If we're gone, he won't—"
Sienna drops the luggage and rushes to me. Her hands grip my shoulders. The contact is startling—I'm not used to being touched by anyone except Sean. My body tenses involuntarily, but I don't pull away because I trust her and know she's just freaking out. I've certainly had my share of those.