POV Owen
Rain falls like it’s trying to drown the whole world.
I can taste metal in my mouth—blood, sweat, rage. My hands shake as I step into the abandoned shipyard, my boots sinking into mud and broken glass. Somewhere in the distance, thunder cracks like a gunshot.
He’s here, Silas Kane.
The man who built me, broke me, and turned me loose like a weapon. The man who haunted every quiet moment of my life.
“Come on then,” I mutter to the dark. “End it.”
And he answers. “I already did.”
His voice slides out from behind the stacks of cargo crates—smooth, venomous, familiar. He steps into view, the rain cutting silver lines down his face. He looks older now. But the madness is still there, coiled behind his eyes.
“You’re slower,” he says. “Softer. I suppose that’s what love does.”
“I’m not the one hiding behind a gun,” I say.
He tosses it aside. It lands in the mud with a dull thud. Then he pulls a knife from his belt—thin, curved, sharp enough to whisper death. “Let’s make this clean.”
“Nothing about us was ever clean.”
He grins. “True.”
And then he lunges.
The first swing cuts across my arm. The pain is white-hot, but it clears my head. I catch his wrist, twist, and slam my elbow into his jaw. He stumbles back, snarling, the knife spinning out of his grip.
I go for it—but he’s faster. A knee to my stomach sends me reeling.
“You think killing me makes you free?” he spits. “You’ll always be what I made you.”
I wipe blood from my mouth. “Then I’ll die undoing it.”
He laughs—a broken, wild sound. “You’re a fool. You had power, fear, control. And you traded it for a woman’s smile?”
I glance toward the warehouse door. “That smile’s worth more than your entire empire.”
He charges again, grabbing a rusted pipe from the ground. He swings, barely missing my head. The impact echoes through the metal walls like thunder. I grab his arm, forcing the pipe up between us. The strain burns through my muscles.
He leans close, teeth gritted. “She’ll never be safe, Owen. You know that, don’t you? The world eats people like her.”
I twist the pipe, forcing him off balance. “Then I’ll make it choke.”
He slams his forehead into mine. The world blurs. I fall backward, dazed. My hand lands on something cold—his knife.
He grins when he sees it. “There it is. The monster’s still alive.”
“No,” I whisper, pushing myself to my feet. “Just the man who learned how to fight for something else.”
Then I hear her.
“No!”
Noelle! She’s standing at the far end of the dock, soaked, breathless, her flashlight cutting through the rain. Behind her, red and blue lights flash faintly in the distance—police sirens getting closer.
“Go back!” I shout. “Get out of here!”
“Not without you!”
Silas laughs, turning toward her. “So this is the famous wife.”
He takes a step toward her, knife still glinting in the rain. I move instantly, blocking his path. “You touch her, and I swear—”
He cuts me off. “You swear what? To kill me? You’ve been trying for years.”
“Not trying,” I growl. “Finishing.”
He lunges again. We crash against a shipping container, the knife scraping against the metal inches from my throat. My arm’s numb, my breath ragged, but I hold on.
He’s stronger than I remember. Or maybe I’m just tired—tired of blood, tired of ghosts, tired of this man’s voice in my head.
He pushes the blade closer. “You were my masterpiece, Owen. My perfect weapon. And now you want to die pretending you’re human?”
“I already am,” I say.
The blade nicks my neck. I grab his wrist, twist hard—bone cracks. He screams, dropping the knife. It clatters between us.
We both dive for it. But before he can reach it—light floods the dock. A blinding, white-hot beam.
Noelle is pointing her flashlight straight at his eyes, her voice trembling but fierce. “You took my peace once,” she shouts over the rain. “Try my wrath next.”
Silas reels back, disoriented, cursing, his arm flailing wildly.
It’s all the opening I need. I grab the knife and drive my shoulder into his chest, forcing him back. He swings a fist that grazes my jaw, but I don’t stop. We struggle, slipping in the mud, the rain turning everything slick and red.
He claws at my face, tries to bite, but I slam the knife down between his ribs.
The sound is wet, final. His body jerks once, then stills. For a moment, all I hear is the rain. Noelle’s flashlight drops to the ground, rolling until it stops by his hand. She’s shaking, breathing hard.
I stumble back, staring at what’s left of the man who owned my nightmares. The rain washes the blood from my hands, streaking it down into the earth.
He’s gone, really gone.
Noelle runs to me, her hands on my face, her voice breaking. “Owen. Look at me. You’re bleeding—”
“I’m fine,” I say, though I can barely stand.
“You’re not fine,” she cries, pressing her forehead to mine. “You’re shaking.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “So are you.”
Sirens wail closer. Rhea appears from behind a wrecked car, arm in a sling, gun still in hand. “Jesus,” she mutters. “You two never make it easy.”
Doc Rivera limps after her, med bag soaked from the rain. “If you’re both alive, I’m charging extra.”
Noelle laughs through her tears. “He did it, Doc.”
Doc glances at Silas’s body. “Looks like he did.”
Police lights fill the dock. Officers pour in, weapons raised, shouts echoing off metal and water.
“Drop your weapon!” one yells.
I drop the knife instantly, raising my hands. Rhea steps forward, badge flashing. “Stand down! They’re cleared!”
Vale arrives seconds later—umbrella, heels, the same cold poise as ever. Her gaze sweeps over the scene. “What a mess.”
Owen Tate, once her target, now her evidence.
I meet her eyes. “You can’t touch us anymore.”
She exhales, almost smiling. “No. I can’t. Not after what Jamie posted.”
Noelle frowns. “Posted?”
“Your friend streamed everything,” Vale says. “The files, the payments, the confessions. The world knows Silas Kane wasn’t your ghost—it was theirs.”
She turns to leave, voice low. “Enjoy your peace, Tate. You’ve earned it.”