Follow the story into the next chapter and see what happens next.

-6-

The speedboat tore down the Connecticut River, its hull violently slamming against the choppy, storm-tossed waves. The freezing rain felt like needles against Nora’s skin, but she didn’t dare move from the floorboards until the lights of Alderwyn Manor faded entirely into the suffocating darkness behind them.

Julian stood at the helm, his face a mask of iron concentration, navigating the treacherous waters with the instinct of a man who had grown up on this river. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his dinner shirt soaked and stained with grease and rain. He looked nothing like the untouchable billionaire she had known a day ago; he looked like a warrior fighting for survival.

After an hour of punishing travel, Julian abruptly cut the engine, steering the boat into a hidden, overgrown inlet heavily shadowed by weeping willows. The boat bumped gently against a muddy embankment, completely concealed from the main river traffic.

Julian slumped against the console, his chest heaving as he finally let out a long, ragged breath. He looked down at Nora, extending a hand to help her up.

“Are you hit?” he asked, his voice rough with anxiety, his eyes scanning her for blood.

“No,” Nora said, taking his hand. His skin was freezing, but his grip was strong and deeply reassuring. “I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though she noticed a deep graze on his left bicep where a bullet had torn through his shirt, leaving a streak of angry red blood.

Nora immediately reached for it. “You’re bleeding, Julian.”

“It’s just a scratch,” he dismissed, but he didn’t pull away when she gently tore a strip of dry fabric from the hem of her sweater and tied it tightly around his arm to staunch the bleeding.

They sat in the damp silence of the boat, the reality of their situation crashing down on them. They were fugitives. Arthur Prescott had effectively taken over Alderwyn, corrupted the local police, and sent assassins to kill them. They had no phones, no security detail, and nowhere safe to go.

“What do we do now?” Nora asked, staring at the black leather journal resting on the console. “We have the evidence. We can go to the FBI. We can give it to the authorities.”

“We can’t just walk into a federal building,” Julian warned, shaking his head. “Arthur Prescott has politicians in his pocket all the way up to the Senate. If we hand this journal to the wrong federal agent, it will disappear into an evidence locker, and we will both turn up dead in a holding cell. We need someone incorruptible. Someone who has the power to destroy the Prescotts without relying on the system they control.”

Julian picked up the journal, carefully opening the water-damaged cover. He flipped to the back pages, where his mother had written a list of names and contact numbers in a complex, alphanumeric cipher.

“My mother didn’t work alone,” Julian explained, tapping a specific line of code. “Before she was killed, she was working with an independent investigative journalist in New York. A man named Elias Thorne. He’s a legend in the underground press, known for taking down corrupt corporate empires. If Elias is still alive, he’s the only one who can decode these final pages and publish the evidence simultaneously across global networks. Once it’s public, Arthur won’t be able to buy his way out.”

“New York,” Nora breathed. “How do we get to New York without Prescott’s men tracking us?”

“We ditch the boat here,” Julian decided, stepping onto the muddy bank and securing the mooring line to a thick tree root. “We walk three miles west to the interstate. I have a safehouse in New Haven that’s off the books, registered under a shell corporation. We can get dry clothes, cash, and a clean car there. Then, we drive to the city.”

Nora nodded, steeling herself for the grueling trek ahead. As she climbed out of the boat, she slipped on the slick mud. Before she could fall into the freezing water, Julian caught her, his strong arms wrapping securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

For a moment, they just stood there in the pouring rain, breathing heavily, their faces inches apart. The absolute terror of the night melted into something entirely different—a raw, electric tension that made Nora’s heart pound faster than the gunfire had. Julian looked down into her eyes, his intense gaze stripping away all the boundaries of their past. She wasn’t a maid, and he wasn’t a billionaire. They were just two people, bound together by tragedy, fighting for the truth.