One problem at a time, I tell myself.
Tonight, I'll take a shower and eat dinner and sleep in a bed where no one will hurt me.
Tomorrow, I'll figure out the rest.
Tomorrow, I'll start becoming whoever Belle Hart is supposed to be when she's finally, actually free.
Chapter 2 - Richard
I make it exactly three steps down the hallway before I have to stop and brace myself against the wall.
My hands are shaking.
Richard Kane, who's negotiated billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, who's stared down corporate raiders and hostile takeovers with perfect composure, who built an empire on the foundation of never showing weakness, is shaking like a teenager after his first kiss.
Except this is nothing like that innocent rush of adolescent hormones. This is darker, more complicated, wrapped in layers of guilt and protective rage that threatens to choke me.
She's here. Belle is here, in my house, wearing that goddamn wedding dress that was supposed to seal her fate to my son.
Ex-son, I correct mentally. Nathan stopped being my son the moment I saw the fingerprint bruises on Belle's arm eighteen months ago and he looked me in the eye and lied about them.
I push off the wall and force myself to keep walking, down the stairs, through the main living area with its floor-to-ceiling windows that currently show nothing but my own reflection against the darkening forest beyond. I look haunted. Drawn. Like a man who's been living in self-imposed exile and just had the one thing he was hiding from delivered directly to his doorstep.
The one person, I amend.
God, even my thoughts are dangerous where she's concerned.
My office is on the first floor, tucked into the corner of the house with views of the forest on two sides. I close the door behindme: solid wood, soundproofed, one of the few rooms in this glass fortress where I can truly be alone, and pull out my phone.
Marcus answers on the second ring. "Sir?"
"The woman who just arrived," I say, keeping my voice level and professional. "I need a full security brief. Who saw her come in, what condition she was in, whether she was followed. Everything."
"Already compiled." Because of course it is. Marcus has been my head of security for five years, and the man is nothing if not efficient. "I'll send it to your encrypted email in the next ten minutes. But the short version is that she arrived alone, on foot, no vehicle in pursuit or waiting nearby. Appeared distressed but uninjured. No weapons, no surveillance devices. The nearest bus stop is two miles from your main gate, so she likely walked from there."
Two miles. In a wedding dress and heels. The image makes something twist in my chest.
"Local police activity?"
"Nothing unusual. Sheriff’s department has been quiet all day. No APBs, no missing person reports that match her description."
Which means Nathan hasn't gone public yet. He's looking for her privately, through his own channels. Probably trying to avoid the embarrassment of admitting his bride ran away at the altar.
Good. That buys us time.
"Increase perimeter security," I tell Marcus. "I want someone on each checkpoint twenty-four-seven, not just during shift changes. Install additional cameras on the access road. And I want to know the moment anyone comes within a mile of this property who isn't on the approved list."
"Expecting trouble, sir?"
I think about Nathan's cold eyes, his entitled rage, the way he treats people like possessions to be owned and controlled. My son inherited his mother's narcissism and combined it with my intelligence and ruthlessness, creating something I barely recognize as human.
"Yes," I say quietly. "I'm expecting trouble."
"Understood. I'll implement the changes immediately."
I end the call and move to the bar cart in the corner. Waterford crystal decanters filled with liquor that costs more than most people's monthly rent. I pour two fingers of eighteen-year-old scotch and down it in one swallow, relishing the burn.
It doesn't help.
