Bellamy’s POV
I take Noah to school Monday morning.
It's become routine—the drive through Old Town streets, the drop-off at the curb, watching him run toward the entrance with his oversized backpack bouncing. A small piece of normalcy in the chaos I've created.
But today, something catches my attention.
A car parked across the street from the school. Dark sedan. Tinted windows. Two men inside.
I wouldn't have noticed except that it wasn't there yesterday. Or the day before.
And in the month we've been here, I've become familiar with the regular patterns—which cars belong to which parents, which vehicles are always parked in the same spots.
This one is new. My instincts prickle—old habits from my security days kicking in automatically.
I study them for a moment as Noah climbs out of the car. One man is checking his phone, casual, relaxed. The other is watching the school entrance but not in a focused way. Just looking around, maybe waiting for someone.
They're not looking at me specifically, not tracking my movements. Just two guys sitting in a car.
Could be anyone: parents waiting for pickup even though it's drop-off time, colleagues taking a break. Someone who lives nearby and this is just where they parked.
"Bye, Papa!" Noah calls, already halfway to the entrance.
"Have a good day, buddy!" I wave, forcing myself to look away from the car.
I pull back into traffic. Check my rearview mirror more than usual on the drive home. Watch for the sedan, for any car that stays behind me too long, for any sign I'm being followed.
Nothing. The streets of Geneva flow normally around me. No one is tailing me, no one is paying attention to my gray sedan at all.
At the apartment, I park in the underground garage. Take the elevator up, unlock the door. Sophie is in the kitchen making coffee. She looks up when I enter, and her expression shifts immediately.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"Nothing." The lie comes automatically. "Just tired."
But she's watching me too closely. Seeing something in my face or posture that I thought I was hiding.
"You seem tense."
"I'm fine." I force myself to relax my shoulders. Unclench my jaw. "Just didn't sleep well."
It's true enough. I've barely slept since our conversation about letting her go. Since looking at Olivia's photos and finally facing what I've become.
Sophie doesn't push, just pours me coffee and goes back to her room.
I sit on the couch and force myself to think rationally.
The car was nothing. Two guys waiting for something—a meeting, a friend, whatever. Geneva is a city of half a million people. Hundreds of cars park near that school every day.
And I did everything right. False names on the lease. Cash payments that can't be traced. Covered my tracks completely. Used contacts who owe me favors and won't talk. Changed our appearance enough that casual observers wouldn't recognize us from photos.
It's impossible for Adrian to find us. Statistically impossible. He'd need to know we're in Geneva, narrow it down to Old Town, find Noah's school, and even then he'd need to identify us through false identities.
The odds are astronomical.
That car was nothing. I'm being paranoid.
The security training that kept me alive in dangerous situations is now making me see threats where none exist. Creating shadows out of coincidence.
I need to let it go. But that night, I barely sleep.
Not because of the car. I've convinced myself by now that was paranoia. Just my guilty conscience making me jumpy, making me see consequences closing in even though logically I know Adrian can't possibly have found us.
No, I can't sleep because I can't stop thinking.
Sophie's question keeps echoing: What's your endgame here, Bellamy?
I still don't have a good answer. Still don't know what I thought would happen.
That Sophie would eventually fall in love with me? That we'd live here forever, hiding from Adrian, pretending this was normal? That Noah would grow up thinking this was how families work?
And Noah. God, Noah.
His confusion about whether Sophie is staying. About when Amelia will join them. About becoming a "real family." I let him build this entire fantasy in his five-year-old mind because I was too caught up in my own fantasy to think about the damage I was doing to him.
The guilt that's been building for weeks has become crushing.
Every time I look at Sophie, I see what I've stolen from her. Every time I think about Amelia, I know I've taken her mother away during months she'll never get back. Every time Noah mentions Miss Sophie, I know I'm setting him up for heartbreak.
And Olivia—I keep thinking about our conversation. About Sophie's honesty when I asked if Olivia would hate me for this.
Yes. I think she'd be heartbroken.
She didn’t fall in love with a man who uses grief as justification for destroying lives. The man who kidnaps women and calls it rescue. The man who becomes exactly what his father was—selfish, destructive, convinced his needs matter more than anyone else's.
I think about the photos on my phone: Olivia's smile, her eyes full of love and trust and hope for our future together.
What would she say if she could see me now?
I know what she'd say. She'd tell me to let Sophie go, to face the consequences. To be the man she believed I was instead of the monster I've become.
She'd tell me to think about Noah, about what example I'm setting. About what kind of father holds a woman captive and expects his son to accept it as normal.
She'd tell me to stop running from grief and finally, finally face it properly.
By morning, something has crystallized in my mind. I know what I have to do.
Not in a few days. Not after I've made more arrangements or found the perfect moment or convinced myself I'm ready.
Today. This week. As soon as I can get Noah somewhere safe.
I need to take Sophie to the airport. Put her on a plane home. Give her back to Adrian and Amelia and the life I stole.
And then I need to face what comes next. The police. The charges. The reality that I destroyed multiple lives for a fantasy that was never going to work.
The thought terrifies me.
Because it means the end of everything. The end of pretending Sophie might stay.
The end of imagining a future where this all works out. The end of avoiding the grief and loneliness and emptiness that drove me to this in the first place.
It means admitting I was wrong. Catastrophically, unforgivably wrong. It means facing Olivia's memory with honesty instead of using it to rationalize my choices.
It means accepting that Noah will see me arrested. Will have to live with the knowledge that his father is a kidnapper. Will grow up answering questions about why Papa did what he did.
I'm just not sure I'm strong enough to do it.
To walk into that airport and watch Sophie board a plane knowing I'll never see her again. To turn myself in knowing what comes next. To face the consequences I've been running from.
But Sophie was right. The only options are run forever or face what comes next.
And I'm tired of running.