Chapter 7
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to Sylvie's core. She swallowed hard, looking up at his angular face. The danger surrounding them was absolute, but the safety she felt in his presence was undeniable. The quiet mutual affection they had shared in stolen glances for months was finally bursting into the luminous light of the nursery.
"Is this real?" Sylvie whispered, leaning almost imperceptibly into the warmth of his hand.
"Do I seem like a man who deals in illusions?" Grant asked, his thumb gently tracing the line of her delicate cheekbone. "Have you not realized that you are the only light in this dark house?"
Before Sylvie could answer, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to Grant's belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static. The spell was broken instantly.
"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."
Grant did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Sylvie’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander. The brief moment of intimacy vanished, replaced by cold, calculating steel.
"Are the Reed convoys already here, Marcus?" Grant asked into the radio.
"Yes, sir," Marcus reported, his voice tight with tension. "It's Victor Reed himself. He has thirty heavily armed men with him. He is demanding you hand over his daughter immediately, or they breach the walls."
Sylvie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The war had arrived faster than anyone anticipated. The consequences of exposing Camilla were now violently knocking on the front gates.
"Will you wait here and lock the door behind me?" Grant asked, looking back at Sylvie.
"You can't go down there!" Sylvie pleaded in a harsh whisper, reaching out to grab his forearm. "They will kill you!"
"Do you think an army of cowards can break a fortress built by kings?" Grant asked softly, looking down at her delicate fingers resting against his crisp white shirt.
"They have an army, Grant," Sylvie said, dropping his formal title in her absolute panic. "Did I start a war that will destroy this family?"
"Does a man ruin his house by cutting out a cancer?" Grant inquired, a dark, terrifying warmth returning to his cold eyes. "Did you not simply force the poison into the light before it could finish my daughter?"
Sylvie swallowed hard, tears welling in her expressive eyes. "Will you come back?"
"Have I ever failed to protect what belongs to me?" Grant asked.
He gently pried her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before turning his broad shoulders toward the door. He slipped out into the hallway, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. Sylvie immediately threw the deadbolt, pressing her back against the wood, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm alongside the sleeping child and puppy.
The grand foyer of the Whitestone estate was a cavernous space of polished marble and soaring archways, entirely devoid of the warmth present in the nursery above. The cascading crystal chandeliers were unlit, the only illumination coming from the harsh security floodlights outside bleeding through the high, reinforced windows.
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Grant descended the sweeping marble staircase with measured, deliberate steps. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the intricate, refined tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms.
Standing in the center of the foyer, surrounded by six of Grant’s heavily armed enforcers, was Victor Reed. Camilla’s father was a ruthless, aging capo, his face flushed with arrogant rage, his heavy wool overcoat looking out of place amidst the tactical gear of the guards.
