I didn't save anyone.

Instead, she whispered,

“Isabetta really okay?”

“She’s asking when she can visit.”

Wren closed her eyes.

“Tell her tomorrow.”

“I already told her tomorrow.”

She looked back at him.

“You're bossy.”

“So are you.”

For the first time, Rafael smiled.

And Wren realized the lie had already begun.

The next morning, Isabetta arrived in a wheelchair, despite protesting loudly that she could walk.

“You look terrible,” she announced.

Wren blinked.

“Good morning to you too.”

“You look like death.”

“Thank you.”

“I've always hated hospital gowns.”

“They're not exactly flattering.”

“Nothing about this hospital is flattering.”

Rafael stood near the window, arms folded.

His mother pointed at him.

“And stop standing there like a prison guard.”

“I’m making sure you're comfortable.”

“You're making everyone uncomfortable.”

Wren laughed.

It hurt immediately.

She pressed a hand against her ribs.

Rafael moved before she could stop him.

“Don't.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're not.”

“I know.”

He stopped.

His hand hovered beside her shoulder before he slowly withdrew it.

Isabetta watched the exchange with unsettling interest.

“So,” she said, “when are you two getting married?”

Wren nearly choked.

Rafael closed his eyes.

“Ma.”

“What?”

“She's injured.”

“She can hear me.”

“She can also throw things.”

“Then she has recovered enough.”

Wren looked at Isabetta.

“You're terrible.”

“And yet you keep coming back.”

The older woman reached for her hand.

The humor disappeared from her face.

“You saved my life.”

Wren swallowed.

“I didn't mean to.”

“I know.”

The words were quiet.

Wren looked at her.

Isabetta's fingers tightened around hers.

“That doesn't make it less true.”

Something inside Wren cracked.

She had spent years being careful not to need anyone.

Need made you vulnerable.

Love made you careless.

Family made you afraid.

She had learned that lesson young.

Her parents had loved her.

They had protected her.

And then they had died.

Since then, every relationship had come with an exit plan.

Every apartment had two doors.

Every job had a backup.

Every friendship had boundaries.

But Isabetta was looking at her as though she belonged here.

And Rafael…

Rafael was watching her like he had already decided she mattered.

That frightened her more than the attack.

Later that afternoon, Rafael found her awake.

He carried a folder.

“You should be sleeping.”

“You should knock.”

“This is my hospital.”

“That's not how hospitals work.”

His mouth twitched.

He sat beside her.

“I found something.”

Wren's stomach tightened.

“What?”

He opened the folder.

Inside was a photograph.

The same dark SUV.

The same estate.

The same afternoon.

But there was something else.

A man stood near the gate.

Wren knew him.

Not personally.

But she knew the face.

She had seen it before.

Three months ago, outside Ridgeline Recovery.

Two weeks ago, across from her apartment.

Yesterday, in the hospital parking garage.

Her breathing changed.

Rafael noticed.

“You recognize him.”

“No.”

The lie came too quickly.

His eyes narrowed.

“Wren.”

“I've seen him.”

“Where?”

She looked at the photograph.

“Near my brother's recovery center.”

Rafael's expression became still.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I didn't know if it mattered.”

“You were followed.”

“I thought I was being paranoid.”

“Were you?”

She looked at him.

“No.”

Silence settled between them.

Rafael closed the folder.

“From this moment forward, you're not going anywhere alone.”

“That isn't happening.”

“It is.”

“You don't own me.”

His eyes hardened.

“No.”

His voice softened.

“And I don't want to.”

The answer caught her off guard.

He leaned back.

“But someone is trying to reach you through your brother.”

Wren's pulse quickened.

“Why?”

“That's what we're going to find out.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

She studied him.

“You barely know me.”

“I know you stayed beside my mother for six months when you could have found an easier job.”

“I needed the money.”

“You stayed after she insulted you.”

“She pays well.”

“You came back after she insulted your shoes.”

“They were ugly.”

Rafael smiled.

Then his expression changed.

“You also stayed when you thought no one was watching.”

Wren said nothing.

He had seen her.

That was the problem.

Not the polished version.

Not the therapist with steady hands.

Not the woman who joked about landlords and pretended she wasn't afraid.

He had seen the exhausted woman who sometimes sat in the Contini kitchen after a twelve-hour shift because she couldn't afford to go home yet.

He had seen her carrying her brother's bills in a folder.

He had seen her fall asleep over paperwork.

He had seen her.

And Wren wasn't sure whether that made her feel safe or exposed.

Rafael stood.

“I'll have someone bring you clothes.”

“I can dress myself.”

“I know.”

“I don't need a bodyguard.”

“I know.”

“Then stop deciding things for me.”

He paused at the door.

“You're right.”

She blinked.

He turned.

“I'll ask.”

That surprised her more than an argument would have.

“Ask what?”

“If you want protection.”

Wren hesitated.

“And if I say no?”

“I'll respect it.”

She studied him.

“You're difficult to understand.”

“So are you.”

He left.

Wren stared at the closed door.

For the first time in years, she wanted to trust someone.

That was precisely why she couldn't.

Because there was still one thing Rafael didn't know.

The attack hadn't begun at the Contini estate.

It had begun three months earlier.

The first anonymous envelope had arrived at her apartment with no return address.

Inside had been a single photograph of her parents.

Taken the week before they died.

On the back, four words had been written.

Your father wasn't wrong.

The second envelope had arrived two weeks later.

Inside was a photocopy of one of her father's financial records.

A company name was circled in red.

Contini Holdings.

Wren had spent weeks trying to determine whether the Continis had been part of her father's investigation or whether someone was deliberately pointing her toward them.

Then the gala attack happened.

Then Toby was followed.

Then someone shot at Isabetta.

And now Rafael knew her name.

That night, Wren lay awake beneath the dim hospital light.

The door opened.

Rafael entered.

“You're supposed to be sleeping.”

“So are you.”

“I have work.”

“You always have work.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him.

“Did my father know your family?”

Rafael stopped.

The question hung between them.

“My father knew a lot of people.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“My father knew Daniel Mercer.”

Wren's heart hammered.

“How?”

“He hired him once.”

“For what?”

Rafael hesitated.

“To audit several companies.”

“Did he find anything?”

“Yes.”

The room seemed to contract.

“What?”

Rafael looked at her.

“He found money being moved through companies neither my father nor Sloane officially owned.”

Wren whispered,

“Victor Sloane.”

Rafael nodded.

“And your father believed someone inside my family's organization was helping him.”

“Who?”

“We don't know.”

She stared at him.

“You're telling me my father died because he found corruption inside your family's business.”

“I'm telling you that I think your father's death and yesterday's attack are connected.”

Her hands began to shake.

Rafael reached for them, then stopped before touching her.

“Wren.”

She looked up.

“You can be afraid.”

Her eyes burned.

“I've been afraid for four years.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't.”

Her voice cracked.

“You don't know what it's like to wake up every morning wondering if someone found you. You don't know what it's like to hear a car slow down outside your apartment and wonder if that's the day everything ends. You don't know what it's like to love someone so much that every phone call makes your heart stop because you're terrified something happened to them.”

Rafael was silent.

Then he said quietly,

“Maybe I know more than you think.”

She looked at him.

His expression had changed.

Not the businessman.

Not the heir.

Just a man carrying something old and heavy.

“My father died when I was nineteen,” he said. “Everyone told me I inherited an empire.”

He looked toward the window.

“They never mentioned that what I really inherited was a list of enemies.”

Wren didn't speak.

Rafael returned his gaze to her.

“I learned early that power doesn't keep people safe.”

“What does?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“Knowing who would stand beside you when it doesn't.”

Wren looked down at their hands.

She had spent four years believing she had survived because she trusted no one.

Maybe survival had only taught her how to be alone.

And maybe that was the one lesson she no longer wanted.

Rafael moved toward the door.

“Get some sleep.”

“Rafael?”

He stopped.

“Thank you.”

He looked back.

“For what?”

She swallowed.

“For staying.”

His eyes softened.

“I told you.”

“What?”

“You're not doing this alone anymore.”

The door closed behind him.

Wren lay back against the pillow.

Outside, Chicago glowed beneath the midnight sky.

Somewhere beyond the hospital walls, someone was still searching for her.

Someone knew about her father.

Someone knew about Toby.

Someone had tried to kill Isabetta.

And someone had just made the mistake of putting Wren Ashby under the protection of Rafael Contini.

For the first time in four years, Wren wasn't sure whether the most dangerous thing in her life was the enemy hunting her.

Or the man who had begun to make her believe she might finally be safe.