Chapter 106: Home never felt so good

The drive back should have been comforting.

Instead, every single time I glanced into the side mirror, I found myself frantically scanning the lanes behind us for that sleek black car.

I was looking for any sudden movement, looking for proof that I wasn’t just losing my mind and imagining things.

Zane kept one hand loosely on the steering wheel while his other arm rested casually on the center console. To anyone else looking in, he probably seemed completely relaxed.

But I knew better.

The tighter his jaw got, the calmer he forced his face to look. That was just how Zane worked. The more dangerous a situation became, the quieter and more still he got.

"We lost them," he finally said, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

I blinked, looking over at him. "What?"

"The black car. It's gone."

I immediately twisted around in my seat, straining to check the rear window.

Nothing. No suspicious vehicles, no heavily tinted windows, no familiar menacing shapes. Just regular, everyday traffic.

Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better.

"Maybe they’re just hiding. Maybe they’re still back there."

"They aren’t."

"You sound way too confident about that."

"I am."

I let out a long sigh and slumped back into the leather passenger seat.

For the first time since that horrifying text message had flashed on my screen, I actually allowed myself to take a proper breath. The baby was totally fine. That was the only thing that mattered. Everything else could wait.

My hand drifted down to my stomach completely instinctively—a little habit I had started developing without even realizing it.

Zane noticed, of course. He noticed absolutely everything. "You okay?"

I nodded, staring out at the passing trees. "Just thinking."

"A dangerous activity."

I snapped my head around to look at him, my eyes wide. "Wait, was that a joke?"

"Maybe."

I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest. "Oh my god. The mighty, emotionless Zane Voss just made a joke."

"Don’t tell Vincent," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "He’ll make it his entire personality for a month."

That actually made me laugh—a real, genuine laugh that instantly loosened the tight knot of anxiety in my chest.

Zane glanced over at me briefly, and the very corner of his mouth lifted in a rare, barely-there smirk. Mission accomplished.

By the time we finally reached the estate, the suffocating tension from the hospital had faded a bit. The massive iron gates opened up automatically, the security detail waved us through with sharp nods, and a massive wave of relief washed over me.

Home. I never thought I’d be the type of person to get all emotional about arriving home, but here I was. The second I stepped out of the pink Porsche, I felt ten pounds lighter.

Until the front door literally burst open.

Vincent came sprinting down the steps. Like, actually sprinting.

"MY BABY!" he yelled.

I blinked. Zane groaned loudly behind me. I just let out a massive sigh.

Before I could even attempt an escape, Vincent threw his arms around me, wrapping me in a suffocating hug. "What happened? Are you okay?"

I stared up at his panicked face. "What are you even talking about?"

"The hospital. The text."

I froze, then slowly whipped my head around to look at Zane. Traitor.

Zane looked completely unapologetic as he grabbed our keys. "I gave them a quick update."

"Zane, that was ten minutes ago!"

"They drove back fast," he replied simply.

I looked toward the driveway, and sure enough, Lucien’s sleek black sedan came tearing through the gates, tires throwing up loose gravel. Of course. Of course they had abandoned whatever multi-million dollar business they were doing the second a threat popped up.

Lucien stepped out of the car before the engine had even fully cut out. His dark eyes locked onto mine instantly, scanning me from head to toe. Checking. Assessing. Making sure I was completely unharmed. He only looked even remotely satisfied once he confirmed I was standing on my own two feet.

"I’m fine!" I called out to him, exasperated.

"You look fine," he said, walking up to us with heavy, purposeful strides.

"Because I am fine."

His broad shoulders finally relaxed. Slightly. Which, for Lucien, just meant his expression went from absolutely terrifying to merely intimidating.

Meanwhile, Vincent still hadn’t let go of me.

"Vincent," I muttered into his chest.

"No."

"Vincent, seriously."

"What if you disappear the second I let go?"

"I am literally standing right here on the driveway."

"Exactly. Stay right there."

I burst out laughing, the sheer ridiculousness of it wiping out the last of my panic. Zane brushed past us to head inside, muttering, "I tried to calm him down."

Lucien rubbed a hand across his face, looking exhausted. "You probably encouraged him."

"Also true," Zane called back over his shoulder.

The four of us eventually made it into the house. The exact second I stepped into the foyer, a familiar, heavenly scent hit my nose. Food. Real, amazing, fresh food.

Right on cue, my stomach let out a incredibly loud, demanding growl.

Everyone stopped walking. The entire hallway went quiet. I instantly slapped my hands over my face, completely mortified.

Vincent immediately pointed a finger at my midsection. "The baby wants pasta."

Lucien nodded with total, deadpan seriousness. "The baby gets pasta."

"The baby doesn’t even have functioning taste buds yet, you psychos," I mumbled through my fingers.

"The baby wants pasta," Vincent repeated, completely ignoring me.

I looked at Zane, practically begging for a voice of reason. He betrayed me in a heartbeat. "The baby definitely wants pasta."

I couldn’t believe these men.

An hour later, I was sitting at the massive dining table, happily eating enough carbs for three people. According to Vincent, that was totally acceptable because I technically counted as two. According to me, he was just being an enabler, but I wasn't about to stop eating.

Dinner was surprisingly, beautifully peaceful. No drama, no mentions of Aaron, no mystery numbers, and no arguments. Just normal, easy conversation. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to just exist without looking over my shoulder.

Vincent spun this incredibly exaggerated story about a corporate meeting that ended with some stuffy executive accidentally falling backward into a decorative lobby fountain. Lucien claimed he was flat-out lying, Vincent swore on his life that witnesses existed, and Zane quietly chimed in that the witnesses were probably paid to lie, too.

By the end of the meal, I was laughing so hard my ribs actually ached.

And as I looked around the table, I noticed the sound of my laughter seemed to have a weird effect on them. All three of them. It was like hearing me genuinely happy made a heavy guard drop from their shoulders—a weight they hadn't even realized they were carrying.

After dinner, we drifted into the living room. I curled up on the oversized couch, and Vincent immediately slid into the space right next to me, stealing half the cushions like a giant, space-invading golden retriever.

"Personal space, Vincent," I complained, trying to nudge him with my elbow.

"No."

"Boundaries."

"No."

"You are completely impossible."

"Correct."

Lucien sat in the armchair nearby, quietly scrolling through something on his tablet, while Zane occupied the other end of the room, tracking the perimeter reports. For a long while, nobody said much of anything. The television played softly in the background, and the steady patter of evening rain tapped gently against the windowpanes.

The house felt incredibly warm. Safe. Solid. I hadn't realized just how badly I needed a normal evening like this. No fighting, no crying, no frantic security lockdowns. Just us, existing in the same room.

Eventually, the warmth and the massive plate of pasta started catching up to me. My eyelids began feeling incredibly heavy.

Vincent noticed the shift instantly. "Kitten's getting sleepy."

I forced my eyes open, letting out a small yawn. "No, I'm not."

Another massive yawn betrayed me a second later.

"Very convincing," Vincent teased.

I grabbed a throw pillow and chucked it at his head, but he caught it effortlessly with one hand, flashing a smug grin. Show-off.

Lucien finally looked up from his screen, his dark eyes locking onto my tired face. "Bed, Sarah."

I groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. "I am not five years old, Lucien."

"You can barely keep your eyes open."

"I can absolutely keep them open, watch—" I yawned again, completely ruining my own argument.

Not a single one of them looked convinced. Traitors, the whole lot of them.

A few minutes later, I finally gave up the fight. Because honestly? I was entirely exhausted. Emotionally, physically, mentally... everything. I pushed myself up from the cushions and stretched carefully. "Fine. Goodnight, everyone."

Before I could actually make it to the door, Vincent leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head. Then Zane stepped up, doing the exact same thing, followed closely by Lucien, whose lingering touch felt like a silent vow.

I rolled my eyes dramatically so they wouldn't see me blushing, but secretly, I absolutely loved it. "Goodnight," I murmured again, heading upstairs with a genuine smile on my face.

For once, my mind felt blissfully quiet. No overthinking, no spiraling thoughts, no worst-case scenarios. Just total peace. I changed into my most comfortable, oversized pajamas and climbed into the massive bed. The soft, high-thread-count blankets felt like absolute heaven. Within minutes, I felt myself drifting off, the edges of my consciousness blurring into deep sleep.

I was almost completely gone.

Then, my phone vibrated violently on the wooden bedside table.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Groaning in pure annoyance, I rolled over and blindly reached for the device, blinking against the harsh glare of the screen. An unknown number. Again.

My stomach instantly dropped, the peaceful warmth in my body turning to pure ice. My thumbs trembled slightly as I clicked the message open.

And I completely froze.

It was another photograph. It wasn't from the hospital, it wasn't from the street, and it wasn't from earlier today. This picture had been taken literally seconds ago. It was a crystal-clear shot of my bedroom window from the outside, looking directly in at me lying in my bed.

The caption underneath contained only six words:

You think you’re safe there?

And for the very first time that night... a wave of pure, unadulterated terror crashed over me.