Read on to discover the shocking twist that comes next.

9 - 15

The sun dipped below the rugged silhouette of the Hudson Valley Hills, painting the sky in violent shades of violet, burnt orange, and deep charcoal. As darkness settled over the estate, the ancient oak trees cast long, writhing shadows across the manicured lawns.

Inside the staff cottage, the atmosphere had shifted from one of historical revelation to quiet, charged intimacy. Mia had finally fallen asleep on the living room sofa, curled up with her newly painted cloud dog cradled in her arms.

Damian stood by the front window, looking out across the dark expanse toward the main house, his mind racing through the logistics of the fallout. Vanguard Group had been neutralized in the boardroom, but men like Marcus Sterling didn't simply pack their briefcases and disappear into the night. Desperation was a dangerous currency, and a cornered wolf was at its most lethal when it had nothing left to lose.

"You should go back to the main house, Mr. Cross," Elena said quietly, breaking the silence as she stepped out of Mia’s bedroom, pulling the door closed with infinite care. "It's getting late, and the staff will be wondering."

Damian turned away from the window, his dark eyes fixing on her. "Let them wonder. For the first time in four years, I don't care what the staff says."

Elena offered a faint, tired smile, walking over to the kitchen counter to tidy up the remaining apple peels. Her hands moved mechanically, but her mind was still reeling from everything Damian had revealed about the 1952 land covenant.

"You didn't have to do that," she murmured, not looking up. "Returning the land rights... it's worth tens of millions of dollars, Mr. Cross. You could have fought the legal claim in court and won. My family hasn't held a stake in this property for over half a century."

"Stop calling me Mr. Cross," Damian said, his voice dropping into a gentle, commanding tone as he closed the distance between them, stopping just a few feet away from the kitchen island.

Elena paused, finally looking up. The dim, warm light of the overhead pendant cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the intense, unwavering focus in his dark eyes.

"It's just habit," Elena whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs with a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the overwhelming gravity of his presence.

"Habits can be broken," Damian replied softly, taking another step closer until he was standing right across the counter from her. He reached out, his hand gently covering hers where she rested against the marble surface.

His touch was warm, grounding, and entirely inescapable. Elena didn't pull away. Instead, she let out a slow, trembling breath, her gaze locked onto his.

Before either of them could speak, a sharp, metallic sound shattered the quiet serenity of the night.

Crack.

It wasn't the sound of snapping wood from the wind. It was the distinct, sharp snap of dry gravel under the heavy tread of a boot—coming from just outside the cottage porch.

Damian’s body went rigid instantly. The corporate billionaire melted away in a fraction of a second, replaced by the hyper-vigilant predator who had spent a decade navigating high-stakes corporate warfare. His eyes darted toward the front window, his hand instantly dropping from Elena's to grip the edge of the counter.

"Stay here," Damian ordered in a harsh, barely audible whisper.

"Damian—" Elena started, panic flaring in her chest.

"Stay behind the counter. Do not move."

Moving with silent, explosive speed, Damian crossed the small living room, bypassed the sleeping child on the sofa, and reached the front door. He didn't turn on the porch light. Instead, he unlatched the heavy wooden lock with practiced stealth and pulled the door open just wide enough to slip outside into the dark.

The night air was freezing. The wind whipped through the pine trees, rustling the dry leaves along the pathway.

Damian stepped off the wooden porch onto the gravel driveway, his eyes scanning the absolute darkness of the treeline. At first, he saw nothing—only the looming shadows of the ancient oaks and the distant, twinkling lights of the main house across the lawn.

Then, a faint flash of silver light glinted off the metal housing of the security transformer box located twenty yards down the path toward the estate gates.

Someone had just tampered with the main power grid junction.

Damian surged forward, his boots crunching loudly on the gravel as he broke into a sprint toward the transformer box. But as he rounded the corner of the dense lilac bushes, a dark figure darted out from the shadows, sprinting frantically toward the perimeter fence where a sleek, black sedan waited with its engine idling.

"Hey! Stop right there!" Damian shouted, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

The fleeing figure didn't stop. Instead, as they reached the perimeter fence, they threw something heavy toward the ground right in front of Damian’s path.

A sharp, hissing sound cut through the wind.

Hssssss.

A thick, blinding cloud of chemical smoke erupted instantly from a tactical canister, billowing out across the gravel path and swallowing the night in an impenetrable grey fog. Damian coughed, shielding his face with his sleeve as he fought through the stinging smoke, but by the time he cleared the cloud, the black sedan’s tires had already shrieked against the asphalt, vanishing into the dark Hudson Valley night without a trace.