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Axel nods, his jaw clenched. "I'll lead the team myself. We'll be in position, ready to strike."
I feel a surge of pride at the determination in his voice. This is the Axel I know, the warrior ready to fight for what's right.
As they continue to plan, I let my gaze wander around the room. The walls are lined with photographs, snapshots of Damian's handiwork. Each one is a reminder of the terror he's inflicted, the lives he's shattered.
But amidst the chaos, there's a glimmer of hope. A photo of me on stage, my face alight with joy as I sing to a sea of fans. It's a reminder of why I'm fighting, of the dream I refuse to let Damian destroy.
My gaze drifts to Axel, taking in the strong lines of his profile. He's been my rock through all of this, my safe harbor in the storm. But there’s more than just gratitude that draws me in.
The planning continues, the hours ticking by in a blur of logistics and contingencies. But through it all, there's an undercurrent of something else. A sense of unity, of common purpose.
"Let's recap what we know," Axel says, his voice commanding attention. "Damian's escalating. The messages, the package at Sasha's house, the letter at the diner—he's getting bolder."
I suppress a shudder, remembering each unsettling incident.
As they dive into the tactical details—camera placements, sight lines, potential choke points—I feel a flicker of fear. But it's overpowered by the determination I see in each of their faces.
Sophia, with her keen insight into the human psyche, helps craft a message to bait Damian. Her words are carefully chosen, designed to appeal to his delusions while luring him into our trap.
Derek's military precision shines as he maps out the warehouse district, identifying the best location for our confrontation. He's already compiling a list of equipment we'll need—cameras, comms, and weapons.
And Axel... Axel is the unshakeable core of this operation. His unwavering protection, his tactical brilliance, his sheer force of will—it's the glue that holds us all together.
As I watch them work, I'm struck by the depth of their commitment. They're not just here because it's their job. They're here because they care, because they believe in me, in us.
Sophia catches my eye, her gaze warm and reassuring. "We're going to get through this, Sasha."
I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer force of their support. "I don't know what I did to deserve you all," I manage, my voice thick with emotion.
"You don't have to do anything to deserve us," Axel says fiercely. "We're here because we want to be. Because you're worth fighting for."
"We've got this," I say, my voice ringing with conviction.
Axel squeezes my hand, a silent affirmation. "Damn right we do."
Damian has no idea what's coming for him. He thinks he's been hunting me, stalking me, terrorizing me. But what he doesn't realize is that he's not the predator anymore.
He's the prey. And we're the hunters, ready to take him down.
18
AXEL
Istare at the photographs scattered across my desk, each one a chilling reminder of the threat looming over Sasha like a dark cloud. The images are grainy but unmistakable—candid shots of her going about her daily life, unaware of the lens that stalked her every move. My stomach churns as I flipped through them, the weight of my secrecy pressing down on me like a physical force.
I had intercepted the photos weeks ago, along with a series of cryptic messages from Damian. The taunts, the promises of retribution—they were all there in black and white, a twisted game of cat and mouse that had become increasingly personal. But I had chosen to keep them from Sasha, to bear the burden of knowledge alone. I told myself it was to protect her, to spare her the fear and paranoia that came with knowing just how close her stalker had gotten.
But now, as I sit in the suffocating stillness of the safe house, I’ve realized the magnitude of my mistake.
The creak of the floorboards alerts me to Sasha's presence, and I look up to see her standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.
"Axel," she whispers, her voice trembling. "What is this?"
In her hands, she clutches a stack of the photographs I had so carefully hidden away. My heart sinks, the air rushing from my lungs as if I had been sucker-punched.
"Sasha, I can explain," I start, rising from my chair, but she holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks.
“How long did you know about this?” She asks, her voice growing stronger, tinged with hurt and anger. “When were you going to tell me?”
