Chapter 92
Harrison‘s pov
I got the inside tip that afternoon.
Golden Harbor was hosting a “special auction” that night—no public list, no official invitations, just a quiet circulation inside their own circle. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have shown up. But the encrypted preview packet included a single shot: a hand, and nothing else.
A slim wrist. Clean knuckles. And near the base of the pinky, close to the palm, a faint mole.
I told myself it meant nothing. Still, the unease stayed lodged under my ribs. If that was Sienna Price and I arrived a step too late, she wouldn’t just be hurt—she would be swallowed whole.
So I changed my schedule.
I had Marcus Barnes move our people into position and coordinate with law enforcement. On the way to Golden Harbor, my thumb kept tracing the edge of my phone, my mind stuck on that image.
When I stepped into the hall, the lights were harsh and the air was thick with alcohol and cheap perfume. I saw the iron cage onstage, and in the same instant I knew the photo hadn’t lied.
The worst part was that I didn’t know when they’d changed her clothes.
Sienna was dressed in tight black leather that barely covered what it had to, while making sure every line of her body was exposed, as if she’d been arranged and priced before she ever opened her eyes. I looked once and felt my breath turn rough.
The bids rolled through the room in waves.
“Five million.”
“Eight million.”
“Twenty million.”
Under the spotlight, Sienna kept her eyes shut, lashes trembling. Her fingers were clenched white, and even from where I stood I could see the thin shell of composure cracking.
“Fifty million,” the auctioneer called. “Any higher?”
My hand tightened inside my sleeve until my knuckles ached. The crowd went briefly still, and then someone said, satisfied, “Sold.”
The man who’d bought her started walking toward the stage. Sienna’s head snapped up, her gaze tracking him in blind panic, like someone searching for an exit that didn’t exist.
The lights cut out.
Gunfire tore through the dark—sharp cracks that bounced off the walls. Screams rose, chairs scraped, footsteps scattered. I pushed forward with my team, forcing a path until the doors were breached and a hard beam of light split the room open.
I didn’t count shots. I only kept one fact in my head: she was still in that cage, and I was taking her out.
In less than two minutes, the lights snapped back on.
Bodies were on the floor across the hall, masked faces pressed down, arms pinned behind backs. The air reeked of sweat and gunpowder. I stood at the cage and found her immediately—yanked back from a nightmare, her stare gone hollow. A restraint covered her mouth, keeping her silent.
She locked onto me. Her face drained even paler.
“Why…” Her lips moved. I understood without hearing.
I lifted a finger to my mouth, telling her to stay quiet. This wasn’t safe yet, and I refused to let anyone turn her into a spectacle again.
The key was brought to me. I opened the cage myself, pulled off my coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders to cover the obscene leather before I lifted her out.
She was too light—like fear had hollowed her. Her body was rigid in my arms, cold as stone, and when she finally forced sound past her throat, it came out scraped raw.
“Harrison… why is it you again?”
Her fingers clutched my shirt and then tried to pull back, as if she remembered she didn’t want to owe me. I held her anyway.
We moved out into a dim corridor and into a night so black the moon might as well not exist. Sienna shivered against my arm in small, involuntary tremors.
Marcus kept pace beside us, his voice calm. “Mr. Blackwood. The operation was executed as planned. The police have taken control of Golden Harbor. Victor Price attempted to leave the country and was intercepted at the airport.”
My arms tightened around her before I could stop myself. Sienna flinched at Victor’s name and buried her face.
I kept my voice low. “Any news on who Victor was working for?”
“Nothing solid,” Marcus said. “Victor was a scapegoat. The force behind him is familiar with everything about the Blackwood family. I suspect it’s someone we know.”
I let the silence hang for a beat. “Lock it down. Not a word about tonight leaks.”
At Blackwood Estate, I carried her into the bedroom and set her on the bed. She immediately dragged the blanket up and wrapped herself in it as if she could hide her skin.
My throat was tight, but I kept my tone controlled. “Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll have Martha Wilson bring you clothes.”
I turned to leave. Behind me, her voice—shaking, but unnaturally clear—stopped me.
“Harrison. Let’s finalize the divorce tomorrow. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
I didn’t look back.
She kept going, as if she’d practiced until the words were the only thing holding her upright. “I know you’ve been protecting me these five years. The moment the divorce news spread, someone targeted me. Now I understand—I owe you more than I can repay. I’m sorry for what I said before, but please, let me go.” Her breath hitched. “After the divorce, I’ll leave the country right away. I swear you’ll never see me again, and I won’t interfere with you finding another woman…”
I stepped back toward the bed, and she screamed—because I pulled the blanket away.
She curled into herself instantly, arms locked around her legs, shaking so hard she could barely breathe. She wouldn’t lift her head. “No… I don’t want this. Get out. Let me be alone. If you have something to say, wait until I can breathe again. Please.”
I didn’t scold her, and I didn’t let her go.
My hand settled on her shoulder with only enough pressure to keep her from spiraling. “Sienna.”
She shook her head violently.
I slid my hand to the side of her neck. Her skin was icy; her pulse was frantic. I cupped her chin without forcing it, guiding her gaze up a fraction at a time until she finally looked at me.
Her eyes were wet and emptied out at once.
“It’s over,” I said, holding my voice steady. “Sienna. I brought you home. This won’t happen again.”
“Home?” The word came out bitter. She turned her face away. “Do I still have one? This is yours and Elena Whitmore’s home.”
Then, hoarse and exhausted, she drove the blade where she knew it would cut. “Why did you save me, Harrison? Did you save me because you still haven’t tormented me enough? It’s fine. I don’t hate you anymore. After the divorce, we’ll owe each other nothing. Okay?”
The sentence hit like a blunt object to my chest.
I pulled her into my arms, tight enough to block out the rest of the world, one hand cradling the back of her head as the other lifted her onto my lap.
She went rigid, breath stuttering.
“No,” I said against her hair, low and absolute. “Not to torment you.”