"Let's have a more… intimate talk." Dave's voice was low and cruel. He pressed his mouth to Mirabel's neck; his hands moved where they had no right to go. Mirabel choked a sound between a sob and a plea. "D-Dave, please—stop."
Lucian came in then, and the sight stopped him cold. Mirabel's wrists were bound with a belt; tears streaked her face. Dave's mouth was on hers, heavy and violent. For a second Lucian felt the world tilt — then the tilt snapped into a single, animal motion.
He hit him. Once, twice, again. His fists found Dave's jaw and face, blows driven by a feeling that had nothing to do with reason. Dave staggered back, cursing, clutching at his face. Lucian didn't stop until Dave dropped against the dresser, bleeding and stunned on the carpet.
Mirabel fumbled at the belt with shaking fingers. It cut red bruises into her skin, but she worked until the knot loosened and the leather slid free. She pushed Lucian away gently, then dropped to her knees and rested her forehead against his chest, trembling as if the small, steady beat beneath her ear could hold the world together. He kept his hands loose at his sides, breath coming hard, every muscle ready for another fight.
When Mirabel drew back, Lucian's eyes tracked to the open suitcase, the scattered clothes, the overturned chair. "Where are you going?" he asked, voice flat and raw.
"Back to Las Vegas." She didn't look at him as she shoved another sweater into the bag. "You saw the headlines."
He stared at her. "Why? We can—"
"No." She closed the zipper with a hard shake of her head. "You saw the newscycle. My kids are exposed. Stalkers, obsessive fans — they'll come after us. I can't risk them."
He watched her for a long time. He'd thought he could fix drama with money, lawyers, silence. This was different — this was about safety. He felt the answer settle in his chest before he'd finished thinking it. "Okay," he said. "We'll go."
Mirabel changed quickly into a hoodie and joggers, pulling the hood up, then fitting a cap low and sliding a mask over her face. When she returned, she lingered a second and pulled the mask down just enough. "I'm sorry, Lucian. I'll explain. I'll call you." She kissed him—brief, almost businesslike—and then lifted her bag.
She went to the children's room. "Mummy!" Cherry launched herself into Mirabel's arms. Mirabel hugged her back like a lifeline.
"Why the masks, mummy?" Cherry asked, confused.
"Because sometimes people who follow you don't understand boundaries," Lucian said, crouching to Charlie's level and forcing a small, bright smile. "You're famous now too, okay? We have to be careful."
"Dad, really? I'm famous?" Cherry's eyes were wide with innocent excitement.
"Yes, sweetheart. That goes for your brother too." Lucian rubbed Charlie's hair and watched Mirabel's face — pale, guilty. She looked smaller somehow, as if some of her armor had been taken from her.
"You don't have to blame yourself," he told her quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. "It's not your fault. I'll find whoever did this."
She nodded and put Cherry down, managing a shaky smile. Lucian pressed another quick kiss to her temple, then turned for the door. In the corridor Mike waited with twenty bodyguards, a human wedge between them and the crowd below.
"Okay. Let's move," Mike said, voice steady, eyes scanning the lobby like a hawk.
They stepped out together — guarded, rattled, and suddenly acutely aware that nothing about their lives would be the same.
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