Killian’s face transforms in an instant. The man who was smiling moments ago vanishes, replaced by someone I barely recognise—all hard edges and cold calculation. His jaw sets like granite as he touches his earpiece.
‘Execute Protocol One,’ he barks at whoever’s listening on the other end. Then he turns to his father. ‘Get everyone to the panic room. Now.’
Alexander Beckett doesn’t waste time with questions. He simply nods, placing a protective arm around Vivienne’s shoulders.
‘What’s happening?’ I whisper, but Killian’s already gripping my elbow, steering me toward the door.
‘We need to leave.’ His voice is low, controlled, but I hear the urgency beneath it. ‘Right now.’
The rest of the family moves with practiced efficiency. James shepherds Scarlett and the kids toward what looks like an ordinary bookcase, while Caelon and Ivy each have Orla and Owen by the hand and are already disappearing through another doorway. Zara, Sean and Rian flank their backs, all trace of Rian’s earlier joviality gone. They’ve drilled for this.
‘But your family—’ I start to protest.
‘The panic room is state-of-the-art. They’ll be fine. My men will close in around them. They’ll be protected.’ His fingers tighten around my arm. ‘You’re the target. And while we’re here, we’re putting one on them too. We need to draw him away.’
The Christmas warmth evaporates around us as Killian guides me through the grand house with military precision. No longer a family home, but a tactical environment. I catch a glimpse of the Christmas tree in darkness as we pass, presents still nestled beneath it. The watch he gave me this morning feels suddenly heavy on my wrist.
‘Is it him?’ I don’t need to specify who ‘him’ is.
Killian doesn’t answer, just pulls me closer as we reach what looks like a servant’s corridor.
‘Stay exactly two steps behind me,’ he instructs, drawing a gun from somewhere inside his jacket. ‘Move when I move. Stop when I stop. Don’t speak unless I ask you a direct question.’
The Killian who whispered sweet nothings in my ear this morning has disappeared completely. This is the man I first met—the controlled, lethal professional who sees threats in every shadow. But as we slip through the darkened corridor, I catch the slight tremor in his hand as he reaches back to take my clammy hand in his.
We emerge through what looks like an ordinary pantry door into the crisp winter air. The contrast between the festive warmth inside and the cold reality outside makes me shiver—or maybe it’s the sight that greets us.
Sterling is struggling to lift Thomson into the back of a black SUV, his hands slick with crimson blood. So much blood. It’s pooled on the gravel driveway, dark and viscous against the pale stones. The champagne churns in my stomach. Thomson’s face is ghostly white, his crisp white shirt soaked to a shocking shade of scarlet. The sweet, strong man who always smiles at me, who asks about my day with genuine interest, looks like a broken doll.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, my hand covering my mouth. This is all my fault.
‘Get in the car,’ Killian orders, but I’m frozen in place.
‘Is he…?’
‘Still breathing. Sterling’s taking him to hospital.’ Killian’s voice is clipped, cold, and professional, but I hear the undercurrent of rage. ‘We need to move, Avery.’
That’s when I see it—something dark against the blood-stained gravel. Another black lily, its elegant curve obscenely beautiful amid the horror. But there’s something else. Something glinting in the winter sunlight.
I step closer, despite Killian’s warning hand.
‘Avery, don’t— ’
But I’m already bending down, my eyes fixed on the object wrapped around the lily’s stem. A ring. For a sickening moment, I think it’s meant for me—some twisted proposal from my stalker. But as I look closer, recognition hits me like a physical blow.
It’s my father’s signet ring. The one his father gave him. The one he never, ever takes off.
‘That’s my dad’s ring.’ My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Distant. ‘Killian, that’s my dad’s ring.’
I’m already fumbling for my phone, scrolling to my father’s number with shaking fingers.
‘Avery, we don’t have time for this.’ Killian tries to pull me away but my feet root to the spot.
The call connects, rings once, twice, three times… then his voicemail kicks in.
‘He’s not answering.’ Panic rises, sharp and metallic in my throat. I try again. Nothing.
‘We’re too exposed here, Avery. Get in the car.’ Killian pushes me towards a second SUV.
‘How do we know the vehicle hasn’t been compromised?’ A vision of it blowing up with us inside plays in my mind like a 3D horror movie.
‘We don’t, but we’re running out of time. And this, unlike the Aston, is bulletproof, and stocked with supplies, if you get my drift.’ We rush toward the vehicle. He opens the door and practically shoves me in before racing around to the driver’s side, tapping his earpiece. ‘Secure the premises. Restore the power. Check the camera. Find this fucking bastard. Call in a fucking SWAT team if you need to, but get him.’
As we speed down the long, sweeping driveway, I try my dad again. We don’t have much of a relationship, but he’s my dad at the end of the day. I might not like him, or approve of the choices he’s made in life, but I do love him.
No answer again.
Shit.
Out of pure desperation, I dial Tessa, even though we’ve barely exchanged more than ten sentences over the years. It goes straight to voicemail. The implications crash over me in waves. ‘This is my fault. He’s going after my family because of me.’
Killian places a hand on my thigh, his fingers digging in just shy of painful. ‘This isn’t your fault. It’s his. All of it.’ His eyes bore into mine, fierce and certain. ‘We need to get you somewhere safe.’
I clutch the ring in my palm. ‘We have to check on them.’ My voice steadies with determination. ‘Killian, it’s only five minutes away from here. I have to know if they’re okay.’
‘Out of the question. We’ll send a team. They’ll be with them in thirty minutes.’ His tone is final as he steers us towards the grand exit.
‘I’m going. With or without you.’ I reach for the door handle, even though the vehicle is moving.
‘Avery—’
I hold up the ring, my hand trembling. ‘If something happens to them because of this—because of me—and we could have stopped it, I’ll never forgive myself.’ I swallow hard. ‘Please. If it was your family, you wouldn’t hesitate. Five minutes to check. Then I’ll go anywhere in the world with you. I promise.’
Something shifts in his expression—understanding, perhaps, or recognition of a stubbornness that matches his own.
‘Fine. Five minutes,’ he finally says. ‘We’ll drive by, but we don’t stop unless it’s clear.’
The ring burns cold against my palm as Killian peels out of the driveway. ‘You know where the house is?’
‘Obviously. Photographic memory, remember.’ He taps the side of his temple.
‘Thank God my mother is out of the country.’
‘I’ll be happier when I get you out of the country,’ he grimaces.
‘When will this ever end?’ A sob catches in my throat.
‘Soon, sweetheart. Soon. What happened there today was an escalation. He’s spiralling. That’s when people like him make mistakes. One of the cameras would have picked up his image. At the very least, Thomson will have seen him and will be able to help identify him.’
If he survives.
The words hang unspoken between us.
