The stale air inside the shipping container pressed down on Ann's shoulders like an iron weight. She could still feel Ethan's father's cold eyes pinned to her every movement, like a predator sizing up prey that had dared to bare its teeth. But Ann didn't flinch. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
Victor Hale — or Jonathan Knight, as he had once been known — leaned back in his battered chair, the faint glow of the single bulb overhead throwing shadows across his sharp features. He tapped the ashes from his cigarette onto the metal floor, a smirk playing at the corners of his thin lips.
"Tell me, Mrs. Knight," he drawled, voice smooth and poisonous. "Do you honestly think you can threaten me? A sweet little thing like you?"
Ann's spine went rigid, but her voice was calm. "No, I'm not threatening you. I'm telling you how this ends. You don't get to come back from the dead and destroy him. Not while I'm here."
He laughed, the sound echoing through the cold steel walls. "Ah. Love. So naïve. So reckless." He crushed the cigarette against the desk and lit another without breaking eye contact. "Let me give you a piece of advice, girl. Love is the first thing a man like Ethan will sacrifice when he needs to win. He learned that from me."
Ann's pulse spiked, but she forced herself not to look away. "No. He learned how not to be you."
Victor's eyes glinted dangerously, and he leaned forward. The acrid smoke curled between them. "Is that what he tells you when he's lying beside you? That he's better than me? That he's good enough for your soft heart? Don't fool yourself, Ann. There's no line between us. He is me. My blood. My mind. My instincts."
Ann stepped closer, so close she could see the deep lines etched into the man's face — lines of power, of betrayal, of secrets that never stayed buried. Her fear trembled in her ribs, but her rage swallowed it whole.
"He is nothing like you," she hissed. "Because unlike you, Ethan doesn't run. He doesn't hide. And he sure as hell doesn't abandon the people he claims to love."
Something flickered across Victor's face — annoyance, maybe even a sliver of shame — but it vanished as quickly as it came. He chuckled instead, cold and low.
"You're bold," he said. "I'll give you that. But you're foolish if you think you can protect him from me."
Ann tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "You think you know him so well. Tell me, then — if you're so powerful, so feared, why are you sitting in a rotting box like a rat? If you were half the man Ethan is, you wouldn't be hiding in the dark like a ghost."
Victor's smile faltered. The smoke from his cigarette curled tighter around his fingers, as if even the flame feared his temper.
"Careful, Ann."
She ignored the warning. "You think I'm weak. That's your mistake. Because a woman like me? I'm the reason Ethan hasn't drowned in your darkness. And I swear to you — if you come near him again, if you make him bleed even a drop, I will drag every piece of your rotting legacy into the light. I will burn it all down, and I will watch you beg for the mercy you never gave your own family."
Victor's eyes hardened into chips of flint. He stood slowly, and the chair scraped harshly against the metal floor. He was taller than Ethan — broader, older, the same ruthless presence but without the sharp control his son wielded like a blade. His steps were deliberate as he closed the distance between them.
When he stood inches from her, Ann's body screamed to back away — but her feet stayed rooted.
He lowered his head, his breath warm and rancid with smoke. "You think you frighten me, girl?"
Ann's eyes didn't waver. "No. I think I disgust you. Because deep down, you know I'm right."
His jaw twitched. Then, to her shock, he laughed again — a broken, harsh sound that scraped the walls.
"You're wasting your courage on the wrong enemy, Ann. I'm not your real threat."
Ann clenched her fists. "Then what is?"
He tilted his head. "Your husband."
Before she could answer, there was a sharp noise behind her — Marcus, the investigator, clearing his throat nervously from the doorway. Ann didn't look away from Victor's cold eyes.
"I have what I need," she said to Marcus, her tone steely. "Let's go."
Victor watched her turn her back on him — the ultimate insult for a man like him — and said nothing. But his voice cut through the darkness just as she stepped out into the night.
"Tell my son I said hello. And tell him the next time he sends his wife to do his work, I won't be so… hospitable."
Ann paused at the threshold, the wind tugging at her hair as she glanced back.
"He didn't send me," she said. "I sent myself."
Outside, the night air was a slap of cold relief. Ann sucked in a shaky breath as Marcus hustled her back to the car.
"Are you insane?" Marcus hissed. "You shouldn't have provoked him like that. Do you know who he is?"
Ann climbed into the back seat, her heart still pounding in her ears. "Yes. And now he knows who I am too."
Marcus stared at her for a beat, then let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to cross you, Mrs. Knight."
Ann didn't answer. She stared out the window as the car rattled away from the abandoned yard. The city lights blurred as they sped back toward the safe, suffocating luxury of the penthouse.
She had done it. She had looked the monster in the eye and didn't flinch.
But the real monster — the one Victor claimed she should fear — was waiting at home.
When she stepped back into the penthouse an hour later, the marble floors seemed to echo louder than usual. She could feel the security team's eyes tracking her every step. They knew she had slipped away. They knew Ethan would be furious.
She found him standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. His back was to her, hands clasped behind him, his reflection blending with the lights of the city spread out like a galaxy at his feet.
"Where were you?" His voice was calm, too calm.
Ann swallowed, dropping her purse on the couch. "I went to see him."
Slowly, Ethan turned. The shadows under his eyes were darker than she'd ever seen. His jaw was so tight she could see the muscle twitching.
"Tell me you're lying."
Ann stepped forward, her heartbeat thudding painfully. "I'm not."
In a flash, he closed the distance, his hands gripping her arms so hard it almost hurt — but his eyes, his eyes were what truly frightened her. Not because they were cold — but because they were blazing with fear.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he rasped. "You went to him alone?"
Ann's breath caught. "I had protection—"
"Protection? Ann, he could have killed you. You think Marcus could stop him? Do you have any idea what that man has done?"
She pressed her palms to his chest, trying to calm the wild heartbeat pounding beneath her fingertips. "I know. I know exactly what he is, Ethan. That's why I went."
He recoiled as if she'd slapped him. "Why? Why would you risk your life like that?"
"Because you wouldn't tell me the truth!" she shot back. "You shut me out — you always shut me out. But I'm not your secret to keep safe in a glass box, Ethan. I'm your wife. If you fight him, I fight him too."
His hands fell away from her arms as if he couldn't bear to touch her. He turned his back, bracing his palms on the glass window. His shoulders trembled.
"He could have hurt you," he said again, voice raw. "He could have taken you from me."
Ann stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. He flinched, but didn't pull away.
"But he didn't," she whispered. "Because he knows something you refuse to believe — that I'm not afraid of him. I'm not afraid of what you are either."
Ethan let out a bitter laugh, his head dropping forward. "You should be."
Ann pressed her forehead to his back. "I'm only afraid of losing you to him. To the monster you think you have to become to stop him."
For a moment, they stood like that — a storm raging in silence.
Then Ethan turned, catching her face in his hands. His eyes were wet, though no tears fell.
"You don't understand," he murmured. "You think you've seen what I'm capable of, but you haven't. If you stay too close when I face him — you'll see the parts of me you can't love."
Ann lifted her chin. "Try me."
He stared at her — this woman who refused to break. The woman who kept dragging him back from the edge every time he was ready to jump.
He kissed her then — not softly, but like a man trying to anchor himself to the only thing that mattered. Ann clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her fear burning away in the heat of his mouth.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.
"You've started something you can't undo," he whispered.
Ann smiled through her tears. "Good."
Outside, thunder rumbled — the promise of a storm neither of them could outrun.