Damien's POV
The mysterious contact hangs up after promising to destroy Marcus by midnight. Ivy stares at me like I've just summoned a demon from hell.
"Who was that?" Her voice shakes.
I don't answer right away. Instead, I pull up my security system on my phone. If Marcus planted cameras in my library, there might be others. I start checking feeds, room by room, looking for anything out of place.
"Damien, you're scaring me." Ivy touches my arm. "Who did you just call?"
"Someone who owes me a favor," I say quietly. "Someone very good at making problems disappear."
Her eyes widen. "You mean like... hurting people?"
"No. Not like that." I find what I'm looking for—a tiny camera hidden in the bookshelf, pointed directly at the couch. My blood boils. "I mean destroying reputations. Exposing secrets. Making someone wish they'd never crossed me."
I save the footage showing the camera's location, then keep searching. Two more cameras. One in the hallway. One near the front door. Marcus has been watching us for days, maybe weeks.
"He's been spying on us," Ivy whispers, seeing the feeds. "Oh God, what else did he record?"
That's when my phone buzzes with another email.
This one has three video files attached.
The first shows Ivy and me kissing in the kitchen three days ago.
The second shows us on the terrace last week, my arms around her waist, her head on my shoulder.
The third shows tonight—Ivy crying, me holding her, both of us vulnerable and raw.
The email message is short: Five million by midnight, or all three videos go public. Your choice.
"He has everything," Ivy says, her face gray. "Every private moment we've had. He's going to release it all and destroy us."
"No, he's not." I forward the emails to Elena with a single instruction: Get our lawyers ready. We're going to war.
Then I call my head of security. "I need you at the estate. Now. Bring your team. We've been compromised."
Within twenty minutes, my property is crawling with security professionals. They find six cameras total—library, kitchen, terrace, hallway, my bedroom, and Ivy's usual guest room. Someone has been watching us for at least two weeks.
"How did he get in?" Ivy asks, hugging herself. "Your security is supposed to be the best."
My security chief, a former Secret Service agent named David, looks grim. "The gate code was used. The same one Miss Monroe has. Someone either stole it or she gave it to someone."
Ivy's face goes white. "I never gave it to anyone. I swear."
"Marcus was your boyfriend for eight months," David says carefully. "Did he ever use your phone? Your laptop? Anything with the code saved?"
She thinks back, then gasps. "My phone. Two months ago, when we broke up, he grabbed it during an argument. He had it for maybe five minutes before I got it back. I thought he was just reading my messages, but..."
"He copied everything," I finish. "Gate codes, passwords, probably cloned your access entirely."
"This is all my fault." Ivy's voice cracks. "I brought him into your life. I gave him the way to hurt you."
"Stop." I pull her against my chest. "This is not your fault. Marcus is a criminal who broke into my home and violated our privacy. That's on him, not you."
My phone rings. The mysterious contact.
"Cross. We have a problem."
My stomach tightens. "What kind of problem?"
"Your boy Marcus is smarter than I thought. He's not working alone. The videos are stored on a server with a dead man's switch. If he doesn't check in every six hours, everything automatically uploads to every major news outlet and social media platform."
"Can you disable it?"
"Working on it, but I need more time. I'd say twelve hours minimum."
I check my watch. It's six o'clock. Midnight is six hours away. "You have until eleven. After that, I pay the ransom."
"Don't pay. The moment you do, you admit guilt. The videos lose their blackmail value but become evidence of wrongdoing. He'll release them anyway and claim you tried to cover it up."
He's right. Paying makes everything worse.
"Then what do we do?" Ivy asks when I explain the situation.
"We go on offense." I pull up Marcus's social media, his business connections, everything I can find about him in thirty seconds. "If he wants to destroy us, we destroy him first."
Elena calls. "Lawyers are standing by. But Damien, there's something else. I did some digging on Marcus Chen. His trust fund isn't as secure as everyone thinks. His father cut him off three months ago after Marcus racked up gambling debts. He's been living on credit cards and borrowed money."
"How much does he owe?"
"Seven million. To some very dangerous people."
Pieces click into place. "He doesn't just want to hurt us. He needs that five million to pay his debts."
"Exactly. And if he doesn't pay by tomorrow night, his creditors are going to make him disappear."
I smile, cold and sharp. "Then we make sure he doesn't get our money. Let his creditors handle him."
"Damien, those are the kind of people who hurt families," Elena warns. "They might go after Ivy to get to him."
My blood turns to ice. I look at Ivy, who's watching me with worried eyes, completely unaware that she's now a target for more than just a jealous ex-boyfriend.
Before I can respond, every light in the house goes out.
The backup generators should kick in immediately, but they don't. We're plunged into complete darkness.
David's voice cuts through the black: "Someone's breached the perimeter. Multiple targets. They're coming toward the house."
I grab Ivy and pull her behind me. "How many?"
"At least four. Armed. Moving fast."
Glass shatters downstairs. Heavy footsteps echo through the marble hallway.
A voice calls out—not Marcus's voice, but someone else's. Someone with an accent I can't quite place.
"Mr. Cross, we know you're here. We know the girl is here. Come out, and nobody gets hurt."
Ivy's fingernails dig into my arm. I can feel her terror.
These aren't Marcus's creditors. They're here too fast, too organized. This is something else entirely.
My mysterious contact's words echo in my head: Your boy Marcus is smarter than I thought.
What if Marcus isn't working with creditors?
What if he's working with someone much, much worse?
The footsteps grow closer. I hear safeties clicking off guns. David and his team are somewhere in the house, but in the dark, with intruders already inside, we're sitting targets.
I pull Ivy toward the hidden panic room behind the bookshelf, but before I can open it, a flashlight beam pins us against the wall.
A man steps into view. Tall, muscular, holding a gun pointed directly at my head.
But he's not looking at me.
He's looking at Ivy.
"Hello, Ivy," he says softly. "Your father sends his regards."
Ivy's entire body goes rigid. "My father is dead."
The man smiles. "Is he?"