Vivienne's POV
My hands were still shaking from picking the lock when Damian pulled out another file from my father's desk.
This one was different. Older. The papers inside were yellowed and brittle, like they'd been hidden for years.
Damian went completely still as he read the first page.
Then his hands started shaking.
I'd never seen him shake before. Not when we climbed down forty floors on a fire escape. Not when FBI agents nearly caught us. Not ever.
Damian? I whispered. What is it?
He didn't answer. Just kept staring at the paper like it was burning his eyes.
I moved closer and saw the header: INCIDENT REPORT - CONFIDENTIAL - MAY 15, 2019
The date meant nothing to me. Just another day five years ago.
But Damian's face had gone completely white. His jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth grinding.
That's the night my sister died, he said. His voice sounded dead. Empty.
My blood went cold.
What? I reached for the file, but he jerked it away.
Don't. The word came out harsh. You don't want to read this.
If it's about your sister, if it connects to my family, I need to know
Your father killed her. Damian's dark eyes finally lifted to meet mine, and what I saw there made me step back. Pure hatred. Your father murdered my sister and covered it up.
The room started spinning. No. My father wouldn't
Read it yourself. He shoved the file at me.
My hands trembled as I read the typed report.
Date: May 15, 2019
Time: 2:17 AM
Location: Brooklyn, corner of Atlantic and Hoyt
Incident: Traffic collision involving Asset T.A.'s private vehicle (Driver: redacted). Pedestrian struck at intersection. Female, approximately 22 years old, nurse's uniform.
Pedestrian witnessed transfer of materials between Asset T.A. and Contact V. Pedestrian attempted to photograph the exchange with mobile device.
Decision: Immediate neutralization required to prevent exposure.
Action Taken: Vehicle reversed over pedestrian to ensure fatality. Scene staged as hit-and-run. Police Contact #7 notified to ensure minimal investigation. Mobile device recovered and destroyed.
Status: RESOLVED. Witness eliminated. No complications expected.
Authorization: Theodore Ashford
The papers slipped from my hands.
My father. My father had ordered someone killed. A young woman. A nurse walking home from work.
Emma was twenty-two, Damian said, his voice flat and terrible. She worked night shifts at Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. She walked home the same route every night because she couldn't afford a car.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
She texted me that night, he continued, picking up the file with shaking hands. Said she saw something weird. Two men exchanging briefcases by a fancy car. She thought maybe it was drugs, so she took a picture to show me. She was laughing about it. Thought it was exciting.
His voice cracked on the last word.
Thirty minutes later, she was dead. Run over. Twice. The police said it was a drunk driver who panicked and fled. The case went cold in a week. He looked at me, and his eyes were full of so much pain and rage I couldn't stand it. But it wasn't an accident. It was your father. He had my sister murdered because she took a picture of him doing business with some criminal.
Damian, I didn't know
Of course you didn't know! He slammed his hand on the desk, making me jump. You were living in your penthouse, going to charity galas, playing princess while my sister was being murdered to protect your family's secrets!
Tears burned my eyes. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry
Don't apologize for things you didn't do. His voice turned cold again. Controlled. Which was somehow worse than the anger. You want to know why I took this job? Why I agreed to protect you?
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it.
Because I've spent five years investigating Emma's death. Following every lead. Calling in every favor. The trail kept going cold until six months ago when I got an anonymous tip about the Ashford connection. He laughed bitterly. I thought protecting you would get me close to your family. Let me find proof. Get justice for Emma.
And now you have it, I whispered. You have proof.
Yes. He stared at the file. Your father ordered my sister's murder. Had it covered up. Paid off police to make sure no one investigated. And then he just... lived his life. Had fancy dinners. Donated to charity. Played the respectable businessman.
I felt sick. My father, the man who taught me to ride a bike, who came to every school play, who told me I could be anything, was a murderer.
So what happens now? My voice shook. You have what you came for. Proof that my family destroyed yours.
Damian looked at me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression anymore.
I don't know, he said finally.
Before I could respond, we heard voices from downstairs. Loud. Angry. Getting closer.
told you to destroy everything in that study years ago! Marcus's voice echoed up the stairs. Why the hell is it still locked?
I tried! Patricia shot back. Theodore had custom locks installed. I needed to hire a specialist, and I didn't want to attract attention!
Well someone's attracted attention now! The alarm system logged an unauthorized entry ten minutes ago!
My heart stopped. We'd been so careful. Damian disabled the visible alarms, picked the locks silently.
They have a silent alarm system I didn't detect, Damian said quietly, already moving toward the window. We need to leave. Now.
But the files
Take what we have. Move! He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the study's bay window.
I snatched up the file about Emma and two others that looked important. Damian was already opening the window, checking the ledge outside.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
The study door is open! Marcus shouted. Someone's inside!
GO! Damian pushed me toward the window.
I climbed out onto the narrow stone ledge. We were on the second floor, but it was still a twenty-foot drop to the garden below. One wrong step and I'd break my neck.
Damian climbed out after me, pulling the window closed behind us just as the study door burst open.
We pressed flat against the wall in the shadows. My heart hammered so loud I was sure they'd hear it.
Through the window, I saw Marcus storm into the study. Patricia right behind him. They were both dressed in expensive clothes, looking like they'd just come from dinner.
I don't see anyone, Patricia said, looking around. Maybe it was a system malfunction?
The desk drawers are open. Marcus walked over, his face darkening. Someone's been through Father's files.
He started checking the drawers frantically, pulling out folders, counting them.
Damn it! He slammed a drawer shut. The insurance folder is missing. And the incident reports.
What? Patricia went pale. Those were supposed to be destroyed!
Well they're GONE now! Marcus spun around. Someone has them. Someone knows—
He stopped. His eyes locked on the window.
The window we'd just closed.
My breath caught in my throat.
Marcus walked slowly toward us. Damian's hand moved to his gun.
Please don't look out, I prayed silently. Please don't see us.
Marcus reached for the window latch.
Then his phone rang.
He cursed and answered it. What? ...Yes, I'm at the house now. ...Someone broke in. ...I don't know who! He listened, his face getting darker. Are you sure? ...When? ...Fine. I'll handle it.
He hung up and looked at Patricia. That was our contact at the FBI. Vivienne escaped federal custody this morning. They think she's coming here.
She knows, Patricia whispered. She must know something. That's why she ran.
Then we need to find her before she talks to anyone. Marcus headed for the door. Call Volkov. Tell him the situation has changed. We need to move up the timeline.
They left the study, still arguing.
Damian and I stayed frozen on the ledge for another minute, making sure they were really gone.
Who's Volkov? I whispered.
No idea. But we're about to find out. Damian started moving along the ledge toward a drainpipe. Come on. We need to get off this property before they lock it down.
We climbed down the drainpipe—me much slower and clumsier than Damian—and ran across the dark garden toward the back wall.
We were almost at the wall when motion-sensor lights flooded the yard.
RUN! Damian shouted.
We sprinted. I heard shouting behind us, then a gunshot.
Damian threw me against the wall, covering my body with his as another shot rang out.
They're shooting at us, I gasped.
No. His voice was grim. They're shooting at you.
He boosted me over the wall. I landed hard on the other side, my shoulder screaming in pain. Damian vaulted over a second later.
We ran through the neighboring property, over another wall, through a hedge, until finally we reached the street where Damian had parked his car three blocks away.
We threw ourselves inside. Damian started the engine and peeled away from the curb.
Only when we were ten blocks away did he finally slow down.
I sat in the passenger seat, breathing hard, my hands shaking, still clutching the stolen files.
They tried to kill me, I said. My own brother and stepmother just tried to kill me.
Yes. Damian's hands were white on the steering wheel.
And this Volkov person—they're working with him. Marcus said they need to 'move up the timeline.' What timeline?
I don't know yet.
I looked down at the file in my lap. The one about Emma. About my father murdering an innocent young woman to protect his secrets.
I'm sorry, I said again. About your sister. About my father. About everything.
Don't apologize for him. Damian's voice was still cold. He made his choices. They got Emma killed.
But you hate me now. You must. My father destroyed your family—
I don't hate you. He cut me off, his jaw tight. I want to. It would be easier if I could. But you're not him. You didn't know. You're a victim of his choices too.
We drove in silence for a few minutes.
Where are we going? I finally asked.
Somewhere safe. I have a friend who
His phone rang. He checked the screen and his face went hard.
It's Agent Marks. He put it on speaker. Cross here.
Mr. Cross, where is Vivienne Ashford? Marks's voice was sharp. She's now officially a federal fugitive. If you're helping her evade custody, you're committing a felony.
She's not with me, Damian lied smoothly.
Don't insult my intelligence. We have traffic cameras showing your vehicle leaving her building with two passengers right before my agents arrived. She paused. You need to bring her in. Now. For her own safety.
Someone just tried to kill her at the Ashford mansion twenty minutes ago, Damian said. Her own family. You think she's safer in FBI custody?
Silence on the other end.
What are you talking about? Marks asked slowly.
Patricia and Marcus Ashford. They're working with someone named Volkov. They know Vivienne has evidence of their crimes. And they just tried to kill her to keep her quiet.
More silence. Then: Nikolai Volkov?
You know him?
He's the head of the most dangerous crime organization in New York. Marks's voice was tight. If the Ashfords are working with him
A different phone rang. Mine.
I pulled it out with shaking hands. Unknown number. Again.
Don't answer that, Damian warned.
But I was tired of running. Tired of being afraid.
I answered and put it on speaker. Hello?
A man's voice came through. Smooth. Accented. Pleasant.
Ms. Ashford. My name is Nikolai Volkov. I believe you have something that belongs to me.