The red dot on Clara's chest was a death sentence. It sat perfectly still, a tiny, glowing eye that signaled a sniper perched somewhere in the clock tower across the garden.
Ren's brain, enhanced by the Origin Pulse, accelerated. The world turned to syrup. He could see the individual bubbles in Serafina's drink as they rose to the surface. He could see the vibration of the balcony's iron railing.
He had two choices:
* Dive for Clara, exposing his inhuman speed and revealing his identity to both women.
* Use Serafina.
"Down!" Ren roared, but he didn't move toward Clara.
Instead, he grabbed Serafina's waist and spun her with violent force. To a normal observer, it looked like he was panicked, clumsily knocking her over. In reality, he used her body as a living shield while simultaneously kicking the heavy oak balcony table.
The table flipped, its thick surface interposing between the sniper and Clara just as the thwip of a suppressed high-caliber round hissed through the air.
CRACK.
The bullet splintered the wood, missing Clara's head by inches.
"Ren!" Clara screamed, hitting the floor as the glass doors behind her shattered.
The time-dilation snapped back to reality. Ren was on the floor, pinning Serafina beneath him. He looked like a man who had just tackled someone in fear, but his hand was secretly reaching into his waistband, clicking a remote detonator he'd planted in the garden earlier that evening.
BOOM.
A series of flash-bangs erupted in the rose bushes below, blinding the sniper and filling the gala with white light and smoke.
Panic erupted. The elite guests scrambled like ants. In the confusion, Ren grabbed Clara, pulling her into a recessed alcove. He checked her over with hands that were steady, though he forced his voice to shake.
"Are you hurt? Clara, look at me. Are you hit?"
"I'm... I'm okay," she gasped, her eyes darting to Serafina, who was standing up and smoothing her gold dress, looking more exhilarated than terrified. "Ren, you... you saved her first. You tackled her."
The sting in Clara's voice was sharp. Even in the middle of an assassination attempt, the image of her husband over Serafina was burned into her mind.
"She was closer," Ren lied easily, his eyes scanning the perimeter. "I just reacted."
"Did you?" Serafina stepped toward them, her violet eyes dark with a new, dangerous hunger. She knew exactly what Ren had done. She had felt the sheer, impossible strength in his hands when he'd spun her. He hadn't been panicking; he'd been calculating. "You have very... interesting instincts, Ren."
Ren didn't take Clara home. He took her to a secondary "secure" apartment Miller Tech maintained. He spent the next hour sweeping for bugs and reinforcing the locks while Clara sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, watching him.
"Who are they, Ren?" she asked suddenly. Her voice was quiet, devoid of its usual CEO authority. "The shooters. The woman in red. Serafina's obsession with you. It doesn't add up. You're a baker. You're a handyman."
Ren paused, a wrench in his hand. He looked at the reflection of the woman he loved in the window. He could see the cracks forming in her world.
"The world is bigger than we think, Clara," he said, turning to face her.
He walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table, taking her hands in his. This was the "intimacy" he'd missed—the quiet, heavy truth of their bond. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.
"I have secrets. Things I did before I met you. Things I'm not proud of."
"Tell me," she whispered, her breath hitching. She reached out, her fingers tracing the corded muscles of his neck, feeling the heat radiating from him. "No more lies, Ren. I can handle the truth. Just... don't leave me in the dark."
The tension in the room shifted. It wasn't about the snipers anymore. It was about the two of them. Ren's Origin Pulse began to thrum, a low vibration that made Clara's skin tingle. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing hers.
"I can't tell you everything yet," he murmured against her mouth. "But I can show you how far I'll go to keep you safe."
He kissed her then—not the "husband" kiss, but something deeper, more possessive and raw. Clara responded with a desperate hunger, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him onto the sofa with her. For a moment, the danger outside didn't matter.
They didn't hear the window open.
"How touching," a voice hissed from the shadows of the kitchen.
Ren was on his feet in a heartbeat, shielding Clara.
Viper was perched on the kitchen counter, her crimson leather suit damp with rain. She was holding a suppressed pistol, but it was pointed at the floor. Behind her, Serafina walked through the open window, stepping off the fire escape like she owned the place.
"We have a problem," Serafina said, ignoring Clara's gasp of outrage. "The Syndicate isn't just sending a team. They've activated the Harvester. He's already in the building."
Viper looked at Ren, her eyes filled with a mix of jealousy and fear. "He's coming for your 'First Wife,' Zero. And he doesn't miss."
Viper stepped forward, her gaze sliding over Clara's disheveled state. "Move over, CEO. If we're going to survive the night, this bed is going to get a lot more crowded. We're staying here."
Ren looked at the three women—his wife, his former student, and his rival. The "Slow ride" was officially over. The war for his house had begun.