The first sign of retaliation was silence.
Not the absence of noise—but the absence of resistance.
Xander noticed it the way predators noticed a forest gone too still. No frantic calls. No legal threats. No angry messages from Harold Reyes demanding explanations.
Nothing.
That was never good.
Amaiyla stood at the window of the estate, phone in hand, refreshing the same thread she had been staring at for nearly an hour.
No messages.No missed calls.No Connor.
"He's really gone," she said quietly.
Xander didn't look up from his phone. "He's been instructed to stay unreachable."
"Instructed," Amaiyla echoed, bitterness curling around the word. "Like a dog."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Like leverage."
She turned sharply. "And you're just… accepting that?"
"No," Xander said calmly. "I'm counting on him breaking."
Amaiyla stared at him. "You think Connor will defy my father?"
"I think," Xander replied, finally meeting her gaze, "that men who sacrifice themselves don't stay silent forever. They either disappear—or explode."
Her chest tightened. "That's not comforting."
"It's realistic."
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
Amaiyla's breath hitched as she looked down.
Unknown number.
Xander moved instantly, crossing the room, peering at the screen over her shoulder.
The message was short.
H: France ends tomorrow.We need to talk.
Amaiyla felt cold.
"He didn't even use my name," she whispered.
Xander's voice was sharp. "That's intentional."
"What does he want?"
Xander didn't hesitate. "Submission. Or spectacle."
Before Amaiyla could respond, Xander's phone rang.
Harold Reyes.
Xander answered without greeting.
"You're bold," Harold said smoothly. "I admire that."
"You're late," Xander replied. "I was expecting consequences sooner."
A pause.
Then a soft chuckle. "Consequences don't announce themselves."
Amaiyla watched Xander's face closely—how his shoulders squared, how his expression went perfectly blank.
"You've rerouted resources," Harold continued. "Interrupted three negotiations. Publicly."
"Yes."
"You've cost yourself influence."
Xander's voice was cool. "I can afford it."
Harold hummed thoughtfully. "Can she?"
Amaiyla felt the blood drain from her face.
Xander's hand clenched around the phone. "Leave her out of this."
"That's not how containment works," Harold replied mildly. "You destabilized a system. I'm restoring balance."
"By hurting people who didn't choose this?"
Harold's tone sharpened. "Everyone chooses eventually."
The line went dead.
Amaiyla stared at Xander. "What did he mean?"
Xander exhaled slowly. "He's going to make an example."
"Of who?"
Xander didn't answer.
Because they both knew.
Across the city, Connor Jackson sat alone in a hotel room that no longer felt temporary.
His phone lay untouched on the table.
He had followed instructions.He had stayed silent.He had disappeared.
And still, the walls felt like they were closing in.
The knock at the door was soft.
Controlled.
Connor froze.
Another knock.
He opened it to find a man in an immaculate suit, expression neutral.
"Mr. Jackson," the man said. "I represent John Hollingsworth."
Connor's heart pounded. "I did what he asked."
"Yes," the man replied. "This isn't a reprimand."
Relief flickered—brief and fragile.
"This is clarification."
The man stepped inside, setting a folder on the table.
"Your silence is appreciated," he continued. "But silence alone doesn't erase risk."
Connor's stomach dropped. "What do you want?"
The man opened the folder.
Inside were photos. Documents. Dates.
Madrid.
"Distance is only useful if it's permanent," the man said calmly. "You understand."
Connor's hands trembled. "You said if I disappeared, she'd be safe."
"She is," the man replied. "For now."
Connor laughed, broken. "That's not protection. That's a leash."
The man smiled faintly. "Only if you pull."
The door closed behind him.
Connor sank into the chair, breath ragged.
Amaiyla's name burned in his chest.
He reached for his phone.
Stopped.
If he contacted her, she'd be punished.
If he stayed silent, he'd be erased.
And for the first time, Connor realized something terrifying:
He wasn't protecting Amaiyla.
He was being used to train her.
Back in France, Tammy Veraga arrived unannounced.
She didn't knock.
She didn't ask permission.
She found Amaiyla alone in the sitting room, pacing.
"You should be packing," Tammy said calmly.
Amaiyla spun. "How do you know?"
"Because France only works while it feels like escape," Tammy replied. "Once it feels like a trap, they pull you home."
Amaiyla's voice shook. "They're going to hurt Connor."
Tammy studied her carefully. "They already are."
Amaiyla's eyes burned. "And you knew."
"Yes."
"And you didn't tell me."
Tammy's gaze didn't waver. "Because you needed to see it yourself."
"That's cruel."
"So is ignorance," Tammy said. "But ignorance lasts longer."
Amaiyla sank onto the couch. "What do I do?"
Tammy sat across from her. "You stop letting men suffer for you."
Amaiyla looked up sharply. "That's easy for you to say."
"No," Tammy replied quietly. "It's learned."
Amaiyla's chest tightened. "Xander thinks he's protecting me."
"He is," Tammy agreed. "But protection isn't free. Someone always pays."
Amaiyla whispered, "I don't want Connor paying for my choices."
Tammy leaned in slightly. "Then make choices that can't be traded."
Amaiyla frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Tammy said softly, "you stop being the prize."
The words settled heavy and sharp.
"You confront your father publicly," Tammy continued. "You refuse quiet obedience. You force him to show his hand."
Amaiyla swallowed. "And if I do?"
Tammy smiled thinly. "Then the war stops being polite."
Xander entered the room then, tension radiating from him.
"You're filling her head with dangerous ideas," he said.
Tammy stood. "I'm reminding her she has one."
Xander turned to Amaiyla. "We need to leave. Now."
"Go back to London?" Amaiyla asked.
"Yes."
Her heart raced. "That's what he wants."
Xander nodded. "Which is why we don't go quietly."
Amaiyla stood, resolve hardening. "I'm not disappearing."
Xander searched her face. "You're sure?"
"No," she admitted. "But I'm done being managed."
Something dark and proud flickered in his eyes.
"Good," he said. "Because Harold just made this personal."
Amaiyla's phone buzzed again.
A message—from Connor.
Just one line.
Connor: I tried to protect you. I think I made it worse.
Amaiyla closed her eyes, breath breaking.
Xander's hand came to rest on her shoulder—not possessive.
Present.
"We go back," Amaiyla said quietly. "And we don't let them decide the terms."
Xander nodded. "Agreed."
Tammy watched them, satisfied.
The cage hadn't opened.
But something inside it had shifted.
And this time, it wasn't fear.
It was momentum.