Chapter Four: The Safe House

The safe house was buried in the woods across the Aurelia River, no cameras, no drones, no traceable signals. Only shadows, silence, and trees that whispered secrets to the wind.

Killian drove us there himself. No security detail. No convoy. Just him behind the wheel of a matte black Aston Martin, jaw clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I sat beside him, the red gown long gone, replaced by all-black lounge wear that had magically appeared in the guest suite. Even the clothes fit too well. I should’ve been unnerved. I wasn’t. I was too tired to be scared.

“Do you always keep a panic mansion in the woods?” I asked dryly, trying to cut the silence.

“I keep options,” he said. “Silence is one of them.”

“You should sell it. It’s deafening.”

He cracked the faintest smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

We reached the property after forty minutes of winding roads. A massive estate emerged from the dark like something out of a spy movie, smooth angles, dark wood, no windows facing the road.

He pressed his thumb to the sensor. A steel gate slid open like a sigh.

Inside, the air was warmer. The kitchen hummed with quiet appliances, and the entire space smelled faintly of cedar and something expensive I couldn’t name. A wall-sized fireplace flickered to life with a wave of his hand.

“I’ll sweep the perimeter,” he said.

“I’ll drink your liquor.”

He paused at the door. “Ava?”

“Yeah?”

“Lock the door. Twice.”

I did.

Twenty minutes later, he returned with a slightly relaxed expression and two mugs of black coffee.

“Not poisoned, I assume?” I teased.

“If it was, you’d already be mine.”

I raised a brow. “A little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m never full. I’m always calculating.”

We sipped in silence for a moment, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Killian, who’s trying to ruin you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But they know enough to hurt people. Not just me.”

He walked to a wall panel and tapped something. A hidden room opened, cold blue screens blinking in rows. Surveillance. Communications. Code.

A central screen lit up.

Subject Activity: Monroe, Ava

Status: Under Evaluation

Threat Level: Undetermined

I froze.

“What. Is. That.”

Killian didn’t flinch. “It’s an old file. Created before I met you. Standard when we vet hires with high access.”

“You’re spying on me.”

“I was protecting the investment.”

“You mean yourself.”

“No. You.”

I stepped back. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear survival. Yours, mine, and the company’s.”

I moved to the screen and scrolled. The file included images of me outside my old apartment, in my college lecture hall, at my mother’s funeral.

My chest tightened. “This isn’t vetting. This is obsession.”

Killian’s voice dropped. “It became necessity the moment you stepped into my life and didn’t flinch.”

He stepped closer, but I backed away.

“I don’t trust you,” I whispered.

“You’re not supposed to,” he said. “You’re supposed to stay alive.”

He turned off the screen and dimmed the lights.

We stood in the glow of the fire, both of us breathing harder than necessary.

Then he asked the question that split the silence like glass underfoot.

“Why are you really here, Ava?”

I opened my mouth to lie. I really did. But something about the way he looked at me, like he already knew the answer, cracked me open.

“Because for the first time in my life, someone picked me. Not for pity. Not for convenience. But because I scared them. Because I wasn’t easy.”

He stared at me like I’d just confessed to murder.

“You think I’m scared of you?” he asked.

“I think you should be.”

And then he did something I didn’t expect.

He laughed.

Not cruelly. Not mockingly. But with this low, rare sound like it had been buried under years of control. His entire body relaxed as if something in my answer had unraveled a knot inside him.

And then…

He kissed me.

No warning. No permission.

Just heat, fire, lips on lips, hands gripping my waist like I was the only anchor in his chaos. I didn’t push him away.

God help me, I kissed him back.

Because whatever this was, staged, strategic, fake, it didn’t feel like it.

It felt like war.

And I wanted to lose.

When we broke apart, breathless and tangled, he rested his forehead against mine.

“This is a mistake,” he whispered.

“Then we’re both making it.”

But before we could say another word, a sound cut through the room.

An alert. Low. Steady. From the wall console.

Killian turned, eyes narrowing.

I followed him into the comms room. He tapped the blinking red square on the screen.

A security feed popped up.

The gate was open.

And someone had just walked in.

But the cameras showed no struggle. No breaking. No urgency.

Because whoever had come...

had the access code.

Killian stiffened.

“Who has that code?” I whispered.

“Only three people.”

He tapped a key. The next frame loaded.

And there, stepping into the house like she owned it, was Celeste.

The woman from the gala.

Diamond earrings. Crimson heels. And a knowing smirk.

Killian didn’t speak. He just watched her walk up to the camera and wave.

Then the screen went black.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I asked, throat dry.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly.

“But she’s not supposed to know this place exists.”