They don't go far.
Damien had planned a trip to Greece – Santorini, white buildings, blue water, sunsets that people write poems about. But Eleanor had a scare the morning after the wedding, a flutter in her chest that sent everyone rushing to the hospital, and Lena refused to leave.
"We can go later," she said, sitting beside Damien in the waiting room. "Your grandmother comes first."
"She would want us to go."
"Then she should stop having scares."
Damien laughed – a tired, relieved laugh, because Eleanor was fine, just dehydrated and dramatic. But he didn't argue. He canceled the flights, booked a suite at a resort on the Olympic Peninsula instead, and promised Lena they would have a honeymoon worth remembering.
Three days. Just the two of them. No phones. No contracts. No family.
Just the rain and the ocean and each other.
---
The drive takes two hours.
Damien drives – a black SUV, comfortable and quiet – while Lena watches the landscape change from city to suburbs to forest. The trees grow taller, the air grows fresher, and the sky opens up into a canopy of green and gray.
"I've never been here," Lena says.
"Neither have I."
"Then why did you pick it?"
Damien glances at her. "Because you said you wanted to see the ocean. And because no one knows me here. No cameras. No reporters. Just us."
Lena reaches over and takes his hand. His fingers are warm on the steering wheel.
"Just us," she agrees.
---
The resort is hidden at the end of a winding road, tucked between the forest and the sea.
It's small – maybe twenty cabins, scattered along the shore, each with its own hot tub and fireplace and view of the water. The main lodge is made of stone and wood, with a restaurant that serves local seafood and a deck that overlooks the waves.
Lena stands at the edge of the deck, breathing in the salt air, and feels something loosen in her chest.
"This is perfect," she says.
Damien comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist. "You're perfect."
"I'm salty."
"You're salty and perfect."
She leans back against him. The waves crash below. The gulls cry overhead. And for the first time in months, Lena isn't thinking about hospitals or contracts or threats.
She is just... here.
---
Their cabin is the largest on the property.
A king bed with a quilt that looks handmade. A stone fireplace with wood stacked beside it. A hot tub on the private deck, steaming in the cool air. And a window that faces the ocean, wide and clear, so you can watch the waves from the pillows.
Lena walks through the space like she's in a dream.
"This is too much," she says.
"It's not enough."
"Damien—"
"You deserve the world, Lena. I'm just starting with a cabin."
She turns to face him. He is standing by the fireplace, his hands in his pockets, looking at her like she's the only thing in the room.
"I don't want the world," she says. "I want you."
"You have me."
"Then I have everything."
She walks toward him, takes his face in her hands, and kisses him. Slow and deep and full of promise.
The fire crackles. The waves crash. And the world outside disappears.
---
The first day, they do nothing.
They sleep late, eat breakfast in bed (pancakes, bacon, coffee that arrives in a carafe), and walk along the beach with their shoes off. Lena collects shells. Damien watches her.
"You're staring again," she says.
"I'm allowed. You're my wife."
"Wife." She tests the word. "That's going to take some getting used to."
"You have the rest of your life."
She smiles and tucks a shell into her pocket. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"
"Whatever you want."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." He takes her hand. "I spent thirty-five years doing what I wanted. Now I want to do what makes you happy."
Lena's heart swells. "You make me happy."
"Then I'm doing my job."
---
The second day, they hike.
There's a trail that leads from the resort into the forest, past waterfalls and moss-covered rocks and trees that have stood for centuries. Lena leads the way, her hiking boots splashing through puddles, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Damien follows, less gracefully, his expensive boots slipping on the mud.
"I should have warned you," Lena says. "I grew up hiking. My mother took me every summer."
"I grew up in foster care. We didn't hike."
"Then I'll teach you."
She holds out her hand. He takes it.
And they walk together through the green and the quiet, the only sounds their breathing and the birds and the distant rush of water.
---
At the top of the trail, there is a waterfall.
It pours over a cliff into a pool of blue-green water, surrounded by ferns and wildflowers. The spray is cool on Lena's face. The sunlight filters through the trees like gold.
"Wow," Damien says.
"Yeah."
"This is... I've never seen anything like this."
"Neither have I." Lena turns to look at him. His face is soft, unguarded. "Thank you for bringing me here."
"Thank you for coming."
"I'll always come with you. Anywhere."
He pulls her close, kisses her forehead. The waterfall roars behind them.
"I love you, Lena Blackwood."
"I love you too, Damien Blackwood."
---
The third day, they stay in bed.
The rain returns, pounding against the roof, blurring the window. The fire crackles. The sheets are soft. And they don't get dressed until noon.
"This is nice," Lena says, sprawled across Damien's chest.
"Nice?"
"Really nice. No hospitals. No boardrooms. No family. Just us."
"Just us," he agrees. His hand traces patterns on her back. "We should do this more often."
"We should. But we won't. Because you're a workaholic and I'm a nurse and we have mothers who need us."
"Let me pretend."
She laughs and kisses his jaw. "Okay. Pretend."
---
On the last night, they have dinner at the lodge.
The restaurant is almost empty – just an elderly couple in the corner and a family with two small children. Lena orders salmon. Damien orders steak. They share a bottle of wine that costs more than her first car.
"To us," Damien says, raising his glass.
"To us."
They clink. The wine is smooth and dark. The candle flickers between them.
"I've been thinking," Lena says.
"Always dangerous."
"About the future. About what comes next."
Damien sets down his glass. "Tell me."
"I want to go back to work. Full time. Not three nights a week – full time. The hospital needs me, and I need it."
"I never asked you to stop working."
"I know. But I wanted to make sure you were okay with it."
Damien reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Lena, I fell in love with a nurse. Not a socialite. Not a CEO's wife. A nurse. If you stopped working, you wouldn't be you."
She smiles. "And you? Are you going to stop working?"
"Eventually. Not yet. There's still so much to do."
"Like what?"
He hesitates. "I've been thinking about starting a foundation. For foster kids. College scholarships, mental health services, something to make the system less... broken."
Lena's heart melts. "That's beautiful."
"It's your fault. You made me want to be better."
"I didn't make you do anything. You were already good. You just needed permission to show it."
---
They walk back to the cabin along the beach, hand in hand.
The moon is full, casting silver light on the water. The waves are gentle, lapping at the shore like a lullaby.
"I'm scared," Damien says quietly.
"Of what?"
"Of going back. Of the real world. Of losing this."
Lena stops walking. Turns to face him.
"You're not going to lose this," she says. "Because this isn't a place. It's us. And we're not going anywhere."
He pulls her close, rests his chin on her head.
"I know. But I'm still scared."
"Good." She wraps her arms around him. "Fear means you have something to lose. That's not weakness. That's love."
---
They leave the next morning.
The drive back to Seattle is quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lena watches the forest give way to suburbs, the suburbs to city. The rain returns, soft and steady.
When they pull up to the penthouse, Helen is waiting with news.
"Your mother is doing well," she tells Lena. "She's in the garden with Eleanor. And Mr. Blackwood – there's a message from your lawyers. Marcus has been denied bail. He's staying in jail until the trial."
Damien nods. "Good."
"And there's something else." Helen hesitates. "A woman came by yesterday. She said she needed to speak with you. With both of you."
"Who?"
"She wouldn't give her name. But she said she knew about the contract. And she said she could help."
Lena's blood runs cold.
Damien's jaw tightens. "Did you let her in?"
"Of course not. But she left this." Helen holds out a business card.
The card is plain white, with only a name and a phone number:
Victoria Hayes.
---
Lena stares at the card.
Victoria Hayes. Damien's ex. The woman he paid to leave.
"Why would she come here?" Lena asks.
"I don't know." Damien's voice is tight. "But I'm going to find out."
He takes the card, pulls out his phone, and dials the number.
Lena watches him pace the living room, his back to her, his voice low. She can't hear the conversation, but she can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand clenches and unclenches.
When he hangs up, he turns to face her.
"She wants to meet. Tomorrow. At a coffee shop in the city."
"Are you going?"
"I think we both should."
Lena's stomach knots. "Why?"
"Because she says she has information about Marcus. Information that could put him away for a long time."
"And you believe her?"
Damien walks toward her, takes her hands. "I don't know. But I'm not afraid of her anymore. And neither should you be."
Lena looks at the card. At the name. At the phone number.
"Okay," she says. "Tomorrow."
---
That night, Lena lies awake.
Damien is asleep beside her, his breathing even, his arm draped across her waist. But she can't stop thinking about Victoria. About what she wants. About why she's here now.
Her phone buzzes on the nightstand.
A text from an unknown number: I'm not your enemy, Lena. I just want to help.
Lena stares at the screen. Then types back: Why should I trust you?
The response comes quickly: Because I know what it's like to be used by Marcus. And I know what it's like to be paid to disappear.
Lena's heart pounds.
Tomorrow, she types. Ten o'clock. The coffee shop on Fourth.
I'll be there.
Lena sets down her phone. Beside her, Damien stirs.
"Everything okay?" he murmurs.
"Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."
He pulls her closer, kisses her shoulder, and drifts off again.
But Lena lies awake until dawn, watching the rain streak down the windows, wondering what tomorrow will bring.