SERAPHINE POV
The black sedan isn't taking me to the airport.
I realize this too late—when the driver passes the highway exit and heads toward the industrial district instead.
"Excuse me," I lean forward, voice shaking. "You missed the turn. The airport is—"
"Change of plans, Miss Aldric." The driver's voice is flat, emotionless.
Ice floods my veins.
"Stop the car. Right now."
He doesn't respond. Just keeps driving toward the dark warehouses along the docks.
I grab my phone. No signal.
Of course not.
My hands fumble with the door handle. Locked. Child safety locks engaged from the front.
I'm trapped.
"Who are you?" I demand, trying to keep the panic from my voice. "Who sent you?"
The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes are cold.
"Someone who's very interested in meeting Senator Harwick's daughter."
My blood turns to ice.
Harwick. My biological father. The man who paid to make me disappear.
"He doesn't know I exist," I whisper.
"He does now." The driver pulls into an abandoned warehouse, stops the car. "And he wants to make sure you stay disappeared. Permanently this time."
The door locks click open.
Two men in black suits appear outside, opening my door.
I try to run.
They grab me before I can take two steps. Strong hands on my arms, dragging me toward the warehouse entrance.
"LET ME GO!" I scream, kicking, fighting.
One of them covers my mouth with his hand. "Senator's orders. You're a liability. Can't have bastard children ruining his presidential campaign."
Presidential campaign.
Harwick's running for president.
And I'm the scandal that could destroy him.
They drag me inside. The warehouse is empty except for a single chair in the middle—metal, cold, with zip ties ready on the seat.
This is where I die.
"Please," I beg, voice muffled against the hand. "Please, I won't tell anyone. I'll disappear. I'll go to London and never come back—"
"Too late for that." The man shoves me toward the chair. "Senator wants this handled tonight. Clean. No witnesses."
They force me into the chair. My wrists scream as they zip-tie them behind my back.
Tears stream down my face. "Someone will find me. My brother—"
"Theron Aldric?" One of them laughs. "We're counting on him showing up. Senator wants him handled too. Can't have him making noise about the baby swap."
They're going to kill both of us.
"Why are you telling me this?" My voice shakes.
"Because dead girls don't talk." He pulls out a phone, makes a call. "We have the package. Bring the cleaning crew."
Cleaning crew. That's what they call assassins.
I'm going to die in this warehouse. And no one will ever know what happened to me.
The man hangs up, looks at his watch. "Twenty minutes. Make peace with whatever god you believe in."
They walk away, leaving me alone in the chair.
Twenty minutes to live.
I yank at the zip ties. They dig into my wrists, cutting skin. Blood makes them slippery but they don't break.
Think, Seraphine. THINK.
My phone. They didn't take my phone.
It's in my jacket pocket. If I can just reach it—
I twist my body, trying to angle my bound hands toward my pocket. My shoulder screams in protest. The zip ties cut deeper.
Almost there.
My fingers brush the edge of my phone.
Come on. Come ON.
I grab it. Pull it out. It slips, nearly falls.
I catch it between my palms.
Now what? I can't see the screen. Can't unlock it with my hands behind my back.
But I can activate voice commands.
"Call Theron," I say desperately. "Emergency call Theron Aldric."
The phone rings.
Once. Twice.
Please answer. Please, please answer.
"Seraphine?" His voice is sharp, alert. "Where are you?"
"Warehouse. Docks. They're going to—" My voice breaks. "Harwick sent people. They're going to kill me. Kill both of us if you come—"
"I'm already here."
What?
"I tracked your phone ten minutes ago. I'm outside the warehouse."
Hope explodes in my chest. "Theron, don't come in! They're waiting for you. It's a trap—"
Gunshots shatter the night.
I scream.
The warehouse door explodes inward. Men shouting. More gunshots. The sound echoes off metal walls, deafening.
"THERON!" I scream his name. "THERON!"
Footsteps running. Someone's coming.
The man from before appears, gun in hand. His face is bloody. He looks panicked.
"You weren't supposed to have backup," he snarls at me. "Who else did you call?"
"No one! Just him—"
He grabs my hair, yanks my head back. Presses the cold barrel of his gun against my temple.
"Then he brought friends. And now you're my way out."
He drags the chair backward toward a side exit. The metal legs screech against concrete.
"THERON!" I scream again. "HELP!"
The man's hand clamps over my mouth. "Shut up or I'll shoot you right now."
We reach the side door. He kicks it open.
A figure stands in the doorway.
Not Theron.
Dashiell.
My boyfriend stares at me—at the gun pressed to my head—and his face goes pale.
"Let her go," he says quietly.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demands.
"Her boyfriend. The one she called before this nightmare started." Dashiell's hands are raised, non-threatening. "I followed the car. Called the police. They're on their way."
The man's grip on my hair tightens. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Dashiell tilts his head. "Then why do I hear sirens?"
We all fall silent.
In the distance—faint but growing louder—sirens wail.
The man curses. His gun wavers.
That's when Theron appears behind Dashiell.
He moves like a shadow—fast, silent, deadly.
One moment he's not there. The next, he has a gun pressed to the back of the man's head.
"Drop it," Theron says softly. "Or I paint the walls with your brain."
The man freezes.
"I said DROP IT."
The gun falls from his hand. Clatters on concrete.
Theron kicks it away. Then he pistol-whips the man so hard he crumples unconscious.
Theron is across the room in two strides. He cuts my zip ties with a knife I didn't see him draw. My wrists are bleeding, bruised, but I don't care.
I throw my arms around him.
"You came," I sob into his chest. "You actually came."
"Always." His arms wrap around me, crushing me against him. "I will always come for you."
I pull back to look at him. Blood spatters his face. His knuckles are raw.
"Did you kill them?"
"No. But they'll wish I had." His storm-blue eyes search my face. "You're bleeding."
"I'm okay. I'm—" I look past him. "Dashiell?"
My boyfriend stands in the doorway, staring at us. At how I'm clinging to Theron. At how Theron's holding me like I'm the only thing keeping him sane.
"Sera," Dashiell says slowly. "What's going on? Who is this?"
"Her brother," Theron answers before I can. "And the man who just saved her life while you were playing hero."
"Theron, don't—" I start.
"No." Dashiell's voice hardens. "I saw how you're holding her. That's not how brothers hold sisters."
Silence falls.
The sirens are getting closer.
"Dash, I can explain—"
"Are you in love with him?" Dashiell asks quietly.
The question hits like a bullet.
"I—"
"Answer him," Theron says. His hand slides possessively to my waist. "Tell him the truth, Seraphine."
I look between them. Dashiell—kind, normal, safe. Everything I thought I wanted.
And Theron—dangerous, obsessive, the man who just killed for me.
"I don't know," I whisper.
Dashiell flinches like I slapped him. "You don't know."
"It's complicated—"
"It's really not." He steps back. "You're either in love with your brother—"
"He's NOT my brother!" The words explode from me. "We're not related. We never were. The DNA tests—everything—it was all a lie!"
Dashiell stares. "What?"
"She's not an Aldric," Theron explains coldly. "Never was. Which means there's nothing wrong with this." He pulls me closer against him. "Nothing stopping me from claiming what's mine."
"She's not PROPERTY!" Dashiell shouts.
"No. She's everything." Theron's eyes burn into mine. "And she's finally starting to understand that."
Police burst through the main door. Flashlights. Shouting. Orders to put our hands up.
In the chaos, Theron leans close to my ear.
"Choose, Seraphine. Right now. Him or me."
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out with shaking hands.
A message from an unknown number:
"Senator Harwick requests a meeting. Tomorrow. 10 AM. The Grandel Hotel. Come alone, or I release proof to the media that you exist. Your choice. — K.H."
Below it, an attachment.
A photo of me as a baby. Held by a man I've never met.
Senator Kaelen Harwick. Smiling at the camera like a proud father.
The timestamp: twenty-seven years ago.
Proof that he knew about me all along.
Proof that he wanted me dead tonight.
And now he wants to meet?
I look up at Theron. "He wants to see me. Tomorrow."
Theron's jaw clenches. "Absolutely not."
"If I don't go, he'll expose everything. Destroy both families."
"Let him try. I'll destroy him first."
The police reach us. Start asking questions.
But all I can think about is the message.
And the second text that arrives as they're handcuffing the unconscious men:
"P.S. — Bring Theron. I have a proposition for both of you. Refuse, and you'll both be dead by midnight. — K.H."