The mansion was too quiet.
Zade stepped through the front doors and paused, keys still dangling from his fingers. No shouting. No footsteps echoing through the halls. No Andrea pacing like a lunatic, no distant voices from the drawing room, not even the usual thrum of music someone always left running.
Just silence.
He glanced around. Lights were still on. Everything looked the same, untouched. But it felt wrong—off—like a storm had swept through and left stillness in its wake.
“Finally,” came a low voice from the stairs.
Zade turned, spotting Simon descending slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked almost regal in his dark suit, like this was any ordinary evening. But the shadows under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw—something had shifted.
Zade stepped into the foyer, eyeing him warily. “Where is everyone?”
Simon reached the landing and exhaled sharply, as if Zade had asked a foolish question. “Gone,” he said simply. “Packing. Fleeing. Fractured.” His lip curled with distaste. “This family is bleeding, thanks to your brother’s idiocy. The only priority now is survival.”
Zade didn’t reply.
Simon’s gaze flicked to his hand. “Do you have it?”
Zade raised an eyebrow.
Simon stepped closer, tone sharpening. “The contract. The one Andrea forced Steel’s heir to sign. It gives you controlling interest in her company. With Andrea out of the picture, it’s the only leverage we have left.”
Zade reached into his jacket.
The paper was still there—folded and worn from where his fingers had clenched it all day. His mind had run through it over and over: what it meant, what they’d planned to do with it, how his father would use it like a dagger against Alex.
He held it between his thumb and forefinger.
Simon extended his hand. “Give it to me.”
Zade looked him dead in the eye.
And tore it down the center.
Once. Then again. And again, until the pieces fell like confetti to the marble floor.
For a second, Simon didn’t react. He simply stared at the shredded paper, as though unable to comprehend what he’d just seen. Then his face cracked—shock bleeding into disbelief, disbelief boiling into something darker.
“You ungrateful bastard,” Simon hissed, voice trembling with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” Zade said, his voice steady. “I ended it.”
Simon stepped forward, hands twitching. “You think this makes you noble? Do you think betraying your own blood makes you some kind of hero?”
“I think letting you blackmail the woman I love makes me a monster,” Zade snapped. “And I’m done being your puppet.”
“You are nothing without me,” Simon spat. “Everything you are, I built. Every cent in your account, every deal you closed, every ounce of respect you think you’ve earned—it came from my name.”
Zade’s jaw tightened. “Then you can have your name back.”
Simon’s eyes gleamed. “You’re a fool.”
Zade’s hand curled into a fist. “No. I’m finally free.”
The tension snapped.
Simon lunged.
Zade saw the flash of steel too late.
The knife struck just beneath his ribs—fast, sharp, cruel. For a heartbeat, he felt nothing.
Then came the pain.
A deep, burning shock that spread through his chest like wildfire.
He staggered back, gripping his side. Blood bloomed through his shirt, hot and fast. His knees buckled, but he caught himself against the banister, refusing to fall. Not here. Not in front of Simon.
Simon didn’t move. Just stood there, eyes wide, breathing hard like he hadn’t expected to go that far.
Zade didn’t speak.
He didn’t give his father the satisfaction.
He turned and walked.
Each step was agony. The world swam in and out of focus, his breaths shallow and sharp. The front door loomed ahead like salvation. He reached for it, fingers slipping against the handle.
When it opened, he thought for a moment it was the wind.
But then he saw her.
Alex.
Standing in the doorway, framed by light.
Her eyes widened the moment she saw him, and Zade felt something in his chest twist—not just from the pain, but from relief. From the terrifying, sudden realization that she was the only person he wanted to see.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
The pain overtook him.
His vision blackened.
And he fell.
Straight into her arms.
***
The beeping was the first thing he heard.
Sharp. Rhythmic. Inevitable.
Zade blinked slowly. White ceiling. Sterile walls. The scent of antiseptic and something faintly floral.
Hospital.
He turned his head—barely.
And saw her.
Alex was curled awkwardly in a chair beside his bed, one arm draped across her chest, her head resting against her fist. Her hair was a mess. Her makeup gone. But she was there.
His chest ached for reasons that had nothing to do with stitches.
She stirred, eyes fluttering open.
For a second, she just stared at him.
Then she exhaled.
“I won’t blame this one on you,” she said, voice dry.
He almost laughed.
But the sound caught in his throat, sharp and painful. “That’s… generous.”
Alex leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You’re an idiot.”
Zade smirked weakly. “Didn’t say I wasn’t.”
“Why’d you go back?” she asked. “You could’ve died.”
“I had to finish it,” he murmured. “He wanted the contract. I gave him an answer.”
Alex sat back, arms crossed. “Well, your answer nearly got you murdered. Again.”
He studied her. “Why are you here?”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t flatline.”
“Your father said he’d keep me away from you forever.”
“My father doesn’t get to make all the decisions anymore,” she said. “Besides… I already told the authorities everything. Simon’s been arrested. The rest of the family is being hunted down. I made sure they know you weren’t involved.”
Zade blinked. “You defended me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just told the truth.”
Silence stretched between them.
Not awkward. Not angry.
Just quiet.
Then he felt it—her hand wrapping gently around his.
Warm. Steady.
Real.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at her hand, then back at her face.
She wasn’t smiling.
But she wasn’t gone.
And for now, that was enough.