Ethan's face went blank, as if someone had taken a rag and wiped the warmth away. First the color left, then whatever small animation kept his features readable—until there was nothing to read. Luna learned fast: this was the worst version of him. Not loud. Not furious. Just cold. The kind of cold that makes you check the doors twice and count exits you didn't think you knew.
"When?" he asked.
"Fifteen minutes ago," Kay said. "Security cams caught them. Four operatives. Professional. In and out in under three minutes."
"Three minutes." He let the number roll over his tongue. "To breach a penthouse behind layered biometric locks and armed response."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded once, slowly. "Then they had inside access."
Kay didn't answer. What could she say?
Ethan pulled out his phone. "Send me the footage. Every angle. Every timestamp."
He turned to Luna. "We're leaving."
"Leaving where?" Her voice cracked on the question.
"Somewhere not already compromised."
"My apartment just burned. Your penthouse was broken into. Excuse me—where exactly is 'not compromised' supposed to be?" She folded her arms, disbelief like a blade.
His jaw tightened, a wire snapping. "Nowhere is truly safe. But there are places harder to reach."
Luna's voice sharpened. "Those files—you said they were evidence. How bad are we talking?"
He spoke evenly and measuredly. "They catalog financial crimes, political murders, offshore laundering, and weapons contracts. Records people kill to bury."
"But they took them."
"They took the physical copies," he corrected. "The data itself is split into encrypted fragments across multiple servers."
"Then why run?"
"Because they now know I was watching." He fixed her with a look. "When predators realize the light is on, they don't step back. They move."
Kay opened the door. "Vehicle ready."
They drove in silence, slipping under the city through tunnels Luna had never known existed. The air down there smelled of concrete, old grease, and exhaust; above felt like a painted backdrop. When they climbed back up, Bangkok seemed harder—edges sharper, shadows deeper, every lamppost an accusing eye.
Ethan made a call. "Wake up, London. Tell them Protocol Seven is live. Full lockdown."
He ended it, then dialed again. "Mr. Park. This is Ethan Cole. Why is your daughter in Bangkok?"
Luna went rigid.
Ethan listened; his expression darkened in stages.
"You thought she was at charity events?" he said at last, his voice like a snapped string. "She's been meeting with my competitors for three weeks."
Breath left her in a small, stunned sound. "No. We are not fine."
He hung up and looked at Luna. "Sienna's been playing both sides."
"You think she stole the files?"
"I think she knows who did," Ethan said. "And I think she helped."
The car descended into a deeper garage. Fluorescent lights hummed; cameras swept in lazy arcs. The place smelled faintly of bleach and old tires.
"Where are we?" Luna asked.
"A safe house. One of several." He glanced at her. "Only two people know this location."
They stepped into an apartment designed to disappear: clean lines, minimal furniture, nothing personal—no photos, no books, no clutter. The blinds were tight; there were no street-facing windows.
"Stay here," Ethan said. "No calls. No leaving."
"I'm coming," she said.
"No."
"I won't sit and wait while everything burns."
He closed the distance, hands on her shoulders—careful, practiced. "Luna, if they can't get to me, they'll use you. You're leverage now."
"I'm not helpless."
"I know." His voice softened but kept its edge. "But you belong to me. That makes you dangerous to them and dangerous to me."
His phone rang. He answered. Listened. Color leached from his face.
"When?" he asked.
Another pause. "How critical?"
His eyes closed a fraction. "I'm coming."
He hung up. "My lawyer was shot. Three times. He's alive—for now."
The hospital was a blur of sirens and camera flashes, with men in ill-fitting suits smiling too hard. Ethan moved through it like a force; Luna trailed, unsteady, the smell of antiseptic pulling at the back of her throat.
Outside the ICU, a doctor met them. "Stable but critical. He asked for you."
"Give us five minutes," Ethan said.
He turned to Luna. "Stay here."
She nodded. Kay planted herself beside Luna like a steady rock, silent and solid.
"Do you trust him?" Luna whispered.
"With my life," Kay said without hesitation.
"Even knowing what he hides?"
"He hides burdens so others don't have to carry them," Kay replied. "That isn't the same as lying."
Ethan reappeared minutes later, colder than before. "They knew exactly where he'd be," he said. "Someone on the inside fed them that information."
"Who?" Luna asked.
"That's what we find out."
They drove straight to Cole Empire headquarters—a glass blade slicing into the skyline. From outside Luna had admired the building; inside it felt intimate and obscene at the same time.
On the top floor, Ethan summoned department heads. Ten people filed into the conference room: pale faces, cold coffee cups, and the shuffle of nerves. Ethan stayed standing.
"Someone here betrayed me," he said, composed and hard. "You leaked classified intelligence. You endangered lives."
Silence. The kind that makes skin prickle.
"You have until midnight to confess," he continued. "After that, I will expose you. Completely."
They left in a scatter of forced glances and quick exits.
Ethan pulled up security footage and rewound it. A face he knew too well filled the screen.
"James Chen," he said. "My CFO."
The tape showed James entering the penthouse hours before the break-in, then driving alone to a warehouse.
"Bring him in," Ethan ordered.
James arrived shaking, guilt written in every tremor. "They threatened my family," he sobbed. "They knew everything."
"Who?" Ethan demanded.
"I don't know names," James managed.
"When did this start?"
"After your wedding."
Ethan arranged protection for James's family. He didn't look surprised; there are always human tolls in games like this.
His phone buzzed. Marcus Tan. Ethan answered.
"I almost died today," Marcus said. "Car bomb."
"When?" Ethan asked.
"An hour ago." Marcus sounded like someone surfacing from deep water. "Meet me. Neutral ground. Bring Luna."
"For what?"
"For the truth about her father," Marcus said, blunt and edged. "The truth you haven't told her."
They met on the Mandarin Hotel rooftop. Wind tugged at the corners of the folder Marcus handed over a few loose papers that lifted like startled birds. Luna unfolded the first page. Her father's handwriting looked back at her like a verdict.
She read. Her chest clenched. The rooftop tilted. Names, dates, and allegiances mapped out in neat, damning lines. The file is named Ethan's real identity. He named Sienna as his sister. It named a betrayal—fifteen years old and still bleeding.
The papers slid from Luna's trembling fingers.
She looked at Ethan.
"Sienna… is your sister?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't move.
Silence stretched, then collapsed like an avalanche on Luna's world. Everything she'd believed about him had been built on a lie. The man she loved had been someone she'd never really known.
Cliffhanger: Ethan's true identity is exposed—a hidden family war that predates Luna's life and threatens to destroy everything next.