CELESTE
My heart wasn't just beating; it was thundering. I scooped Gabriel up from the rug, my hands trembling as I ducked into the small bedroom behind the kitchen. I pressed my back against the wall, holding Gabriel so tight he let out a small, confused whimper.
"Shh, baby. It's okay. Just a game," I whispered, though my voice was thick with a terror I couldn't hide.
In the living room, I heard the heavy thud of Allen's boots as he moved toward the door. I heard the metallic snick of the fireplace poker being lifted—the only weapon he had in this low-tech sanctuary.
The front door groaned on its hinges.
"Step back," Allen's voice was a low, lethal snarl. "One more inch and you won't walk out of here."
"Always the dramatist, Allen. You really need to work on your hospitality."
The voice wasn't my father's or a Lawson goon's. It was female. It was melodic, weary, and carried a thick, unmistakable British accent.
I peeked through the crack in the door. Standing in the entryway was a woman who looked like she had just walked off the cover of a high-fashion magazine, despite the muddy Maine woods. She wore a trench coat that cost more than my first car, and her dark hair was windswept.
Allen didn't lower the poker. "Sloane? What the hell are you doing in Maine?"
"Saving your neck, apparently," the woman said, stepping into the light of the fire. She looked around the cottage with a look of profound pity. "A cottage, Allen? Really? You've gone full 'tortured hero.' It's a bit cliché, don't you think?"
"Sloane Vance," Allen said, finally lowering his weapon but not relaxing his guard. He looked at me and gestured for me to come out. "Celeste, it's okay. She's Leo's sister. The 'Black Sheep' of the Vance family."
I stepped into the room, still holding Gabriel. Sloane Vance turned her gaze toward me. Her eyes were sharp, analytical, and surprisingly kind.
"So, you're the woman who broke the Ice King," Sloane said, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "I must say, I expected someone with... well, more armor. You look entirely too human for this world, Celeste."
"I am human," I replied, my voice returning to me. "Which is more than I can say for the people currently hunting us."
ALLEN
Sloane Vance was the last person I expected to see. While Leo was my business partner and a pillar of the community, Sloane was a ghost. She spent her time in the shadows of international finance, moving money where the sunlight didn't reach.
"Leo sent me," Sloane said, tossing a thick manila envelope onto the kitchen table. "He couldn't come himself. The board has him under twenty-four-hour surveillance. They're waiting for him to lead them to you."
"And you weren't followed?" I asked.
"I switched cars three times and took a fishing boat from Portland," she said, tapping her temple. "I don't play amateur hour, Allen. Now, listen. Your father hasn't just frozen your assets. He's filed a 'Mental Incompetency' petition against you. He's claiming the stress of the scandal caused a psychotic break and that your resignation was a symptom of a manic episode."
I felt a surge of cold fury. "He's trying to place me under a conservatorship."
"Exactly," Sloane said. "If he wins, he becomes the legal guardian of your estate—and your son. He won't need to sue for custody; he'll simply be the 'responsible' head of the family taking over for a broken man."
Celeste gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Can he really do that?"
"In this state? With his judges? Yes," Sloane said. "But he made one mistake. He thinks you're going to fight him in court. He thinks you're going to hire lawyers and play the long game."
I looked at the envelope on the table. "What's in there, Sloane?"
"A new identity for the 'project' you mentioned to your coder friend. And a set of keys to a warehouse in South Boston," she said, her eyes gleaming. "If you want to beat Doncan Cross, you have to stop being a 'Cross.' You need to become a ghost. Just like me."
CELESTE
I looked at Allen. He was staring at the keys as if they were a lifeline. I knew what this meant. This wasn't just a hiding spot anymore; it was the start of a shadow war.
"Allen," I said softly, walking over to him. "If we do this... if we go to Boston... there's no turning back. We won't be 'Celeste and Allen' anymore. We'll be fugitives."
Allen reached out, his hand cupping the back of my head. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "We've been fugitives since the day Gabriel was born, Celeste. The only difference is, this time, we're the ones doing the hunting."
He turned to Sloane. "Tell Leo I'm in. But I need one more thing."
"Anything," Sloane said.
"I need the Lawson family's private debt ledger," Allen said, a dark, calculated look in his eyes. "If I'm going to take down my father, I'm going to start by cutting off his supply lines. I'm going to bankrupt the Lawsons before the week is out."
Sloane smiled, and for the first time, I realized why she was the most feared Vance. "Now that is the Allen Cross I remember. I'll have it for you by sunrise."
As Sloane disappeared back into the night, the cottage felt different. It was no longer a refuge; it was a war room. I looked at Gabriel, who had fallen back asleep in his chair.
We were about to trade the Maine woods for the Boston underground. The "Secret Baby" was no longer a secret, but he was the prize in a game that was getting deadlier by the hour.