Ashton’s POV
Three days without sleep.
I sat in a rental car parked on a side street with a clear view of campus, my eyes burning, my body running on coffee and fury. I'd switched vehicles on the second day when I noticed campus security patrolling the area—the last thing I needed was to get arrested for violating the restraining order before I could prove Donovan was the real threat.
I'd rented a room at a motel ten minutes away, but I hadn't used it for anything except showering. Every moment I wasn't watching Lyra was a moment she was unprotected.
I tracked her movements through the day.
Morning: she walked to her literature class with Angel, head down, shoulders hunched. She looked pale. Tired. Smaller than I'd ever seen her. Angel kept glancing at her with worry, saying things I couldn't hear, probably asking if she was okay. Lyra just shook her head and kept walking.
Afternoon: she went to the athletics building for practice. I watched from across the street as she disappeared through the doors, watched the clock tick for two hours, watched until she emerged looking even more exhausted than before. Moving through the motions. Surviving but not living.
Evening: she returned to her dorm and didn't come out again. The light in her window stayed on until midnight. I wondered if she was sleeping. Wondered if she was crying. Wondered if she ever thought about me with anything other than hatred.
She was surviving. But she wasn't thriving. And the worst part was knowing I'd put that look on her face—or rather, Donovan had, using me as the weapon.
On the second day, I saw Donovan's silver Mercedes pull up outside the athletics building.
The man stepped out in his tailored suit, checked his phone, and walked inside like he hadn't just orchestrated the destruction of two people's lives. Like he hadn't spent twenty years planning this moment. Like my entire world wasn't burning because of his lies.
I watched him through the glass doors, shaking hands with staff members, smiling that warm, fatherly smile that made my stomach turn. Everyone trusted him. Everyone thought he was a pillar of the community, a generous benefactor who only wanted to help.
They had no idea they were looking at a predator.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles ached. I imagined dragging him out of that building. Imagined my fists connecting with his face until there was nothing left to recognize. Imagined making him pay for every tear Lyra had cried because of him.
Four hours later, the same Mercedes appeared near her dormitory.
Donovan didn't get out this time. Just sat there for twenty minutes, watching, then drove away. Circling. Testing. Making sure his prey was alone and vulnerable.
Every instinct I had screamed to intervene. To drag him out of his expensive car and beat the truth out of him. But that would blow everything. Kian needed evidence, not a corpse.
Not yet, anyway.
I called Kian that night with an update.
"Donovan visited campus twice today. Once at the athletics building, once near her dorm. He's not even trying to hide it."
Kian's voice was tight with controlled anger. "I've had my people digging deeper. The connection is confirmed—Donovan's brother Elias was one of the lieutenants we eliminated during the territory war. Three months after my wife's funeral."
The weight of it settled over me. Fifteen years of patience. Fifteen years of planning. All leading to this moment—to Lyra, alone and unprotected, with no idea she was the endgame.
"This isn't just about information," I said slowly. "He doesn't want to spy on her. He wants to destroy her. Destroy you through her."
"That's my assessment as well." Kian paused. "We need to dismantle his network before we move. If we strike too soon, he disappears and we lose our chance to find out how deep this goes. How many others are involved. Whether the remaining Crestwood leadership is backing him or if this is personal vendetta."
My jaw clenched. "And while we're being patient, Lyra is walking around campus with a target on her back and no protection."
"She has you."
"She doesn't know that. She thinks I'm the enemy." The words burned in my throat. "She won't even answer my calls."
"Then protect her from the shadows. It's what you've always done."
It wasn't enough. I wanted to shake him, to make him understand that the woman carrying his grandchild was in danger every second Donovan walked free. But I knew he was right. Moving too fast could make things worse. Donovan had spent twenty years building this trap—we needed to understand its full scope before we sprung it.
"Fine," I said finally. "But if Donovan makes any direct move toward her before we're ready, I'm going in. I don't care about the network or the evidence or the bigger picture. She comes first."
Kian was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was different. Softer. "How much does she mean to you?"
I didn't hesitate. "More than my own life."
Another pause. I waited for the anger. The accusation. The reminder that I'd betrayed his trust by touching his daughter.
"Then keep her safe," he said instead. "Whatever it takes. We'll sort out the rest when this is over."
The next morning, I watched Lyra cross the quad toward the library.
She was carrying a stack of books, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark circles visible even from this distance. She stopped to talk to a classmate, managed a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, and continued on her way.
She had no idea I was watching. No idea that every step she took, I was tracking, ready to intervene at the first sign of danger. No idea that I'd barely eaten or slept in three days because leaving her unguarded felt like leaving my own heart exposed.
The ache in my chest was almost unbearable.
I wanted to go to her. Wanted to hold her, explain everything, make her understand that I would rather die than betray her. That every word I'd said in that equipment room was true. That I loved her—loved our baby—and nothing Donovan showed her could change that.
But she wasn't ready to hear it. The pain was too fresh. The doubt too deep.
And until she was ready, all I could do was watch and wait and pray that Donovan didn't make his move before Kian was ready.
My phone buzzed.
A text from one of Kian's contacts: Donovan meeting with unknown parties tonight. Warehouse district. 11 PM. Address attached.
I stared at the message, a cold smile spreading across my face.
Finally.
A chance to see who else was involved. A chance to document the connections between Donovan and Crestwood. A chance to build the case that would bring him down and prove to Lyra that I was never the enemy.
I looked back at the library where she'd disappeared inside. Imagined her sitting at a table with her books, trying to focus on schoolwork while her world fell apart around her. Imagined her hand drifting to her stomach the way it did when she thought no one was watching. Imagined the baby growing inside her—our baby—innocent and vulnerable and depending on both of us to keep it safe.
Tonight I would get the evidence we needed. Tonight I would find out who Donovan was working with, document the connections, build the case that would bring him down. And when I had proof—real, undeniable proof—I would find a way to show Lyra the truth.
I made a silent promise.
I will fix this. I will prove that everything I told you was real. And when this is over, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Both of you.
Then I started the car and headed to prepare for tonight.
The hunt was on.