29

“Hi… Ellie. We need to talk.”  

I blinked, startled by the voice as I opened my bedroom door. Dane stood there, shuffling awkwardly on the balls of his feet. His face was bright red, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of him like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t.  

I hesitated, my grip tightening on the edge of the door. I hadn’t expected to see him so soon after last night. Not like this.  

“Dane,” I said softly, tilting my head to the side. “What’s wrong?”  

He didn’t meet my eyes, his gaze darting to the floor and then back up again. “You’re… wearing Dominic’s shirt,” he muttered, almost inaudibly.  

I glanced down at myself, the oversized plaid shirt hanging loosely over my jeans. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice with what to wear right now, but I suddenly felt exposed under his scrutiny.  

“Yeah, well…” I tried to brush it off, tugging the hem awkwardly. “I didn’t exactly come prepared.”  

Dane shifted uncomfortably, his hands still fumbling. “It’s not that,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just... last night. You and Dom. The yelling. I—I don’t like it when you fight.”  

My chest tightened, guilt flooding me all over again. I looked up to match his gaze, forcing a small, reassuring smile. “I’m sorry, Dane. It won’t happen again, okay? I promise.”  

He nodded hesitantly, but his eyes still looked unsure. Then, with a deep breath, he dropped the bombshell. “I’m leaving today.”  

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My eyes widened, and I stepped out of the room completely, closing the door behind me. “What do you mean? I just got here. You can’t just... leave.”  

I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but the tightness in my throat betrayed me, and my eyes stung with the threat of tears. My stomach let out a loud growl, but I barely noticed. From the kitchen came the familiar clatter of pans and the soft shuffle of movement—Dominic was cooking. The smell of pancakes hung heavy in the air, taunting me, but all of that faded into the background.  

What mattered now was Dane. I really looked at him—took him in. His hair was neatly combed, and he was dressed like he had somewhere important to be, in a plaid shirt and tailored black pants that seemed almost too formal. He looked different, more put together, and yet there was something in his posture, in the set of his mouth, that told me he wasn’t budging. He’d made up his mind.  

“I just got here,” I repeated, my voice trembling. “Where are you going? There’s no... no home left to go back to.”  

“Uncle Alaric’s. In Paris,” Dane said matter-of-factly.  

I blinked, stunned. “Alaric’s alive?”  

Dane nodded earnestly, like a child confessing to breaking a vase. “Yes, he’s alive. I had to come to America to get you because we heard... news. News that you’re alive.”  

I nodded slowly, the weight of his words not fully sinking in, but I played along. “You heard I was alive?”  

“Yes,” Dane said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Alaric did. And then we found out Vaughn’s out to get you.” He hesitated before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Us.”  

I stared at him, my mind spinning with questions. “How did Alaric even know I was alive?”  

Dane shrugged slightly, his answer simple. “He just... did.”  

That didn’t sit well with me, but before I could form a protest, I saw Dominic stepping out of the kitchen, the clattering of pans having long since stopped. His eyes met mine over Dane’s shoulder, a flicker of something that might’ve been regret shadowing his face. His expression was carefully controlled, devoid of emotion, but the smear of white pancake mix on his cheek betrayed the cracks in his stoic facade.  

“You know Dane’s leaving?” I asked, ignoring the flash of disappointment that crossed my brother’s face. My voice carried more bitterness than I intended. “How can he leave? I just got here.”  

Dominic leaned casually against the doorframe, his shoulders rising in a slow, indifferent shrug. “Breakfast’s ready,” he said simply, his tone clipped. Then he turned and disappeared back into the kitchen without another word.  

He was mad at me for last night—fine. But I was madder at him.  

“Breakfast!” Dane’s voice chimed with the enthusiasm of a child. He grinned and headed toward the kitchen, tugging me along with him.  

With every step closer to Dominic, my chest tightened, my heart pounding louder and harder against my ribs. As I entered the kitchen, the warm, sweet aroma of pancakes and syrup wrapped around me like a taunt, but it didn’t calm me—it only made the tension thicker.  

Dominic was standing at the counter, two plates of pancakes in his hands. One had a modest stack, the other a towering pile, clearly meant for me. Dane grabbed the smaller plate with a happy hum and wandered back to the living room, leaving the two of us alone.  

Dominic held the larger plate out to me. “Made them just how you like.”  

“Thanks,” I said stiffly, reaching for the plate. But just as my fingers brushed it, he pulled it back, setting it down on the counter with a deliberate clink.  

My frown deepened as I looked up at him. “What now?”  

“Eleanor,” he said, his voice low.  

“What?”  

He stepped closer, his hand wrapping gently around my wrist. His touch was warm, firm, but it sent a jolt through me that I wasn’t ready for. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t read his expression—sorrow, anger, something else altogether.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.  

I didn’t respond. The words hung in the air, heavy and unsteady, like they might break apart under their own weight.  

He was too close. My pulse raced, my heart hammering in my chest. His scent—woodsy, clean, and maddeningly familiar—filled the space between us, overwhelming my senses. My stomach twisted, dipping in endless waves.  

“I don’t like arguing with you,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving mine. “But I’ve been meaning to ask... I didn’t want to overstep, but—” He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he forced the words out. “You didn’t keep the baby?”  

The air left my lungs in a rush. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. The disbelief coursing through me was so strong, I could barely find my voice. “What?”  

I yanked my wrist from his grip, taking a step back as if the distance might lessen the sting of his question. My voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and cutting. “You really thought I was in a place to keep a baby?”  

His face fell, guilt etched into every line of his features. “I—”  

I didn’t let him finish. “I couldn’t even take care of myself, Dominic!” My voice cracked, and I darted a glance at the door to ensure Dane wasn’t near. “Do you think I had the capacity to raise a child?” My hands trembled as I clenched them into fists at my sides. “I made a promise to Dane. Until he leaves, don’t talk to me. Do you understand me?” My voice broke again, lower this time, barely above a whisper. “The sight of you... it makes me sick.”  

His lips parted, but no words came. He just stood there, shoulders slumped, regret flooding his expression. “Right,” he murmured softly, the single word carrying more weight than I could bear.  

I glared at him one last time before grabbing the plate of pancakes and storming out of the kitchen. My chest felt tight, my heart pounding so loud it echoed in my ears. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and relentless, threatening to spill.  

I made it to the living room, setting the plate down on the coffee table with trembling hands. Dane was already engrossed in his food, his fork scraping softly against the plate as the sound of the morning news droned from the corner of the room. The words felt like they were underwater—muffled and distant, drowned out by the storm in my head.  

Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless, threatening to spill. My chest tightened, the ache building until the first tear slipped down my cheek. Then another, and another, until the floodgates opened, and I was sobbing uncontrollably. My breaths came in short, ragged bursts, each sob heavier than the last. I shoved a forkful of pancakes into my mouth, then another, swallowing them in painful gulps as though filling the hollow ache inside me with food might somehow stop the hurt.  

Across the table, Dane paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. His smile faded, replaced by wide, concerned eyes. “Why cry, Ellie?”  

I tried to answer but only managed a garbled, stuttering response between mouthfuls and choked sobs. “D-Dane... d-don’t leave me.”  

He pouted like a child, his lips curving downward in a way that made my heart ache even more. “Silly you.” His tone was light, as though he was trying to cheer me up. “I’ll be back. With Uncle Alaric. We have plans, Ellie. Big plans. Gonna take Vaughn down.”  

He mimicked throwing a punch, his fist swinging through the air. “Take him down. Revenge.”  

A laugh bubbled up through my sobs, weak and watery, but it was something. I sniffled and wiped my face with the back of my hand, shoving another chunk of pancake into my mouth. Dane grinned, encouraged by the sound of my laughter, and continued his exaggerated demonstration of how he would fight Vaughn.  

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement—Dominic walking into the room. He hesitated, his gaze locking onto me for a beat too long. I knew he’d seen the tears streaking down my face, the red puffiness around my eyes, but I refused to meet his gaze.  

He said nothing, simply stepped further into the living room, his movements deliberate and focused. I watched as he crossed to the couch, flipping over one of the pillows in what seemed like a search for the remote. Finding it, he pointed it at the television, his thumb pressing the button with a sharp click.  

The muffled news came into sharp focus, the voice of a female newscaster filling the small room.  

"...a million-dollar condo burned to a crisp in Manhattan..."  

The words froze me mid-bite. My fork hovered halfway to my mouth, syrup dripping back onto the plate.  

Dane stilled across the table, his animated chatter silenced as he turned to glance over his shoulder at the screen. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with an unbearable tension.  

Dominic stood directly in front of the television, his broad frame blocking part of the image, but his posture said everything. His body was rigid, his shoulders squared, and his gaze was fixed on the screen with an intensity that made my stomach churn.  

For the first time since last night, he looked completely focused—every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, every flicker of his expression carefully masked. But I could see it. Beneath the stoic facade, there was something brewing.  

The newscaster’s clipped, professional voice cut through the tension. “The fire, believed to be an act of arson, has left authorities scrambling for answers. Witnesses report seeing a suspicious figure leaving the scene shortly before the flames erupted. Investigators are working to identify the individual captured on nearby surveillance...”  

A photo flashed on the screen—a grainy, distorted image of a man’s face partially obscured by shadows and smoke.  

My heart dropped.  

Vaughn’s face. I would recognize that bastard even in a thousand years. 

I sucked in a sharp breath, panic clawing at my chest. Across the table, Dane’s head snapped back to the television, his brows furrowed in confusion.  

“Ellie,” he whispered, his voice low, almost childlike. “Isn’t that—”  

“Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off, my voice sharper than I intended.  

Dominic didn’t flinch. His eyes flicked to me, locking onto mine. For a moment, we just stared at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between us.  

My apartment.  

The realization hit me. My stomach twisted violently. That was my apartment, my so-called safe haven.

The newscaster continued, her words relentless. “The owner of the property, identified as Mary Sylvia, remains unaccounted for. Authorities suspect the individual may have been present during the fire, but this has yet to be confirmed...”  

My name—my fake name. Mary Sylvia. The life Dominic had constructed for me, now reduced to ashes.  

Vaughn.  

The thought shot through me like an electric current. He was closer than we thought.  

Dominic’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. He knew it too. Vaughn wasn’t just hunting us—he was sending a message.  

Before I could say anything, a piercing sound shattered the silence.  

A phone.  

The sharp, shrill sound of a ringtone pierced the tense silence, cutting through the room like a blade.  

I flinched, my breath hitching in my throat as the noise reverberated through the small space. The air around me felt heavy, pressing down on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.  

Dominic’s head snapped toward the coffee table, his body taut as a coiled spring. Dane froze in place, his fork clattering against his plate as he stared wide-eyed at the glowing screen of the phone.  

An unknown number.  

The ringtone continued to blare, each shrill note slicing through the suffocating quiet. My pulse raced, my heart pounding in my ears, drowning out every other sound.  

Dominic took a step toward the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovered near his weapon.  

I couldn’t breathe.  

The phone rang again, louder this time—or maybe it was just the fear amplifying everything around me.  

Dominic’s gaze flicked to mine, his dark eyes filled with something raw and unreadable.  

And then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for the phone.