Chapter 108 Fear

Chapter 108 Fear
I woke to warmth. Real, radiant, heavy warmth. Not the dead heat of standard blankets or the crisp touch of morning sunlight, but a primal, enveloping heat that actively breathed.

For a hazy second, I was simply too sleepy to comprehend why my body felt utterly pinned down, trapped in the safest, most comforting way imaginable. Then the memory of the night crashed over me, and it all hit me at once.

I wasn't upstairs in my bedroom. I was still downstairs in Lucien’s private office, buried deep into the oversized leather couch, entirely sandwiched between Vincent and Zane.

Vincent’s heavy, muscular arm was securely clamped around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest as if he had absolutely no intention of ever letting me go. Zane’s long leg was pressed tightly against mine under the cashmere blanket, one of his large, warm hands resting loosely but possessively on my upper thigh.

Directly across from us sat Lucien. He was fully upright in his leather office chair, looking as immaculate as he had hours ago. Wide awake. Watching us.

I blinked against the dim light of the desk lamp, my voice raspy. "How long have you been staring at me?"

Vincent’s sleepy, deep rumble vibrated directly against my shoulder blade before Lucien could even answer. "A creepy amount of time, kitten. Trust me."

Lucien didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. He casually leaned back, his gaze steady. "I’m working."

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to shift out of Vincent's tight grip. "Watching me breathe isn’t work, Lucien."

"It is when someone is actively threatening you," he replied, his tone instantly dropping into a dangerous, icy register.

That single sentence wiped the residual warmth of sleep right off my face. Right. The late-night security breach. The terrifying picture of my bedroom window. The sickening realization that the estate wasn't impenetrable.

My stomach tightened into a violent, anxious knot, and Vincent felt the physical shift instantly. His arm tightened further, his fingers burying into my hip. "Hey," he murmured softly, his lips brushing the back of my neck.

I tilted my head to look at him. "Morning."

His blue eyes were softer than usual, completely devoid of his signature playful spark. It was the look of a predator holding onto his most prized possession, already knowing exactly where my dark thoughts were spiraling.

Zane sat up next, the mattress shifting as he stretched his broad shoulders, his dark eyes instantly locking onto mine. "Did you actually sleep?"

I nodded slowly, pulling the blanket up to my chest. "Better than I expected to. Thank you."

Lucien stood up from his desk, his towering frame casting a shadow over the couch as he walked over and handed me my phone. The exact second my fingers touched the glass, a suffocating pressure squeezed my lungs.

Three missed calls. One unread text message. All from the exact same unknown number.

My thumbs trembled as I swiped the notification open. The room went dead silent, the three men hovering close enough that I could feel their collective breathing halt as they read the words over my shoulder.

Good morning, pretty girl.

That was it. No explicit threat. No terrifying new picture. Nothing inherently violent. And somehow, that psychological restraint made it ten times worse. It was an intimate, casual greeting from a monster lurking just outside our walls.

Vincent let out a dark, guttural curse, his entire body going rigid against mine. Zane instantly snatched the phone from my hand, his eyes narrowing into slits as he analyzed the transmission data. "They’re getting bolder."

Lucien’s jaw clenched so hard the bone looked ready to snap. "Or closer."

"I can’t keep doing this," I said, the sudden spike of adrenaline pushing me to my feet. I threw the blanket off and stood up, my chest heaving as I paced the length of the office.

All three pairs of eyes tracked my movement with fierce intensity.

I ran my fingers through my messy hair, my voice cracking with pent-up frustration. "I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep waking up every morning wondering which shadow is looking at me, or who is standing right outside my glass."

Lucien took a purposeful step toward me, his massive hands reaching out to gently catch my shoulders, stopping my pacing. "You won’t, Sarah."

"That’s incredibly easy for you to say, Lucien! You're untouchable."

"It’s not easy to say," his voice was a calm, steady anchor, his dark eyes boring into mine with absolute certainty. "But it is the absolute truth. I promise you."

I let out a bitter, breathless laugh, my eyes stinging. "Someone literally bypassed your elite security grid last night. They got into the property."

"They got close to the perimeter wall," Zane corrected quietly from the desk, his tone clinical but underlying with a dark edge. "They didn't make it inside the house."

"That doesn't make it any better, Zane!"

"No," he admitted, his gaze steady and unblinking. "It doesn't."

Vincent stood up from the couch, his towering physique radiating pure, unadulterated menace as he stepped up right behind me, his chest pressing into my back. "We’re going to fix this, Sarah."

I turned my head slightly, looking up at him through my lashes. "By doing what? Hiring more guys in suits? Locking me in a deeper basement?"

His handsome face completely shifted. The last remnants of the joking boy vanished, replaced by the ruthless Voss brother who handled the family's darkest liabilities. "By finding them first. And putting them down."

That brutal answer should have terrified me. It should have shocked my moral compass. Instead, a wave of profound, savage relief washed over me. Because at least they weren't just playing defense anymore.

A soft, hesitant knock shattered the heavy atmosphere. One of the house maids peeked her head in carefully, keeping her eyes down. "Excuse me... breakfast is prepared in the dining hall."

I wasn't hungry. Not even a little bit. The sheer amount of anxiety twisting my gut made the thought of food nauseating, but my treacherous stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud, empty growl.

Vincent’s lethal expression melted instantly, a wicked smirk pulling at his lips. "The baby completely disagrees with you, kitten."

I glared at him, a flush creeping up my neck. "Do not use my pregnancy as a tactical weapon against me, Vincent."

"I absolutely will," he chuckled, leaning down to press a quick, possessive kiss to my cheek before leading the way out.

Downstairs, the breakfast spread felt strangely, unnervingly normal. Too normal for the psychological warfare we were trapped in. Fresh buttermilk pancakes, bowls of ripe berries, and piping hot tea lined the table.

But the domestic peace was a total facade. Zane kept checking encrypted data streams on his phone every two minutes. Lucien was pacing the terrace outside, speaking in low, clipped tones on a secure satellite call. Vincent sat right next to me, his blue eyes tracking my every movement—not in his usual suffocating, dominant way, but with a deep, visible undercurrent of worry.

And that was somehow worse. Because Vincent rarely ever worried.

Halfway through the meal, the heavy front doors echoed through the foyer. Fast, urgent footsteps approached, and Ethan walked into the dining room, Amara trailing right beside him. The second my brother saw my pale face and the way the three Voss brothers were positioned around me, his brow furrowed deeply.

"What happened?" Ethan demanded, his voice tight. "We saw the extra guard shift at the gates."

Nobody answered him immediately. Vincent simply slid my phone across the polished wood of the table. Ethan picked it up, his face darkening into pure fury as he read the morning's text. "What the hell is this? Who the fuck is doing this?"

Lucien stepped back into the dining room, ending his call with a sharp click. "Someone managed to loop a security feed last night. They got close enough to take a photograph of Sarah's bedroom window while she was inside."

Ethan’s eyes snapped directly to me, full of terror and protective rage. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Eventually," I murmured, staring down at my tea. "In Lucien's office. With them."

His jaw tightened, the protective big brother instinct flaring up instantly as he looked at the three powerful men in front of him. "I’m staying here at the estate. Permanently. Until this is handled."

Lucien looked up, his expression turning to stone. "That won’t be necessary, Ethan."

Ethan let out a cold, mocking laugh. "My little sister is being actively stalked by a psycho, Voss. I'm not asking for your permission."

"She is completely protected under my roof," Lucien countered, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly quiet tone that usually meant someone was about to get hurt.

"She’s my sister!" Ethan snapped, stepping forward.

The room’s tension spiked instantly—fast, sharp, and lethal as Vincent and Zane both shifted in their chairs, ready to defend their brother's authority.

I let out a loud, exhausted sigh, slamming my teacup down onto the saucer. "Can we please not do this alpha-male bullshit right now? I am the one being targeted. Can we focus on that?"

The sudden authority in my voice stopped them dead in their tracks. Barely.

Amara used the distraction to step up beside my chair, placing a gentle, comforting hand on my arm. "How are you holding up, Sarah?"

I shrugged weakly, leaning into her touch. "Honestly? Just trying not to completely lose my mind."

She gave my arm a sympathetic squeeze. "That’s entirely fair."

For a moment, a heavy silence settled over the room again. Then, the sharp, piercing ring of Zane’s phone shattered the quiet. He answered it on the first ring, pressing the device to his ear. He listened silently for less than thirty seconds, his stoic expression shifting into something incredibly grim. Very not good.

Lucien noticed the shift first. "What is it, Zane?"

Zane lowered the phone slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Our tracking team found the car."

My stomach plummeted through the floor. "The black sedan? The one from the hospital?"

He nodded once. "Abandoned."

Vincent leaned forward, his hands flat on the table, his posture turning predatory. "Where did they dump it?"

"An old industrial sector, roughly three blocks away from the clinic Sarah visited yesterday."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Did the forensic sweep find anything left inside the cabin?"

Zane’s gaze remained fixed on me, a deep hesitation in his eyes that made my skin crawl before he finally spoke. "Yes."

"What did they find, Zane?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Just say it."

He swallowed hard, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "Photographs, Sarah."

My chest tightened so much I could barely pull in oxygen. "Of me?"

He nodded.

Lucien’s voice dropped into a pitch-black register that promised absolute violence. "How many?"

Zane took a breath. "A lot. It’s an entire surveillance collection."

The room went completely, devastatingly dead silent. Ethan looked completely furious, the veins in his neck bulging. Vincent looked ready to physically rip someone apart with his bare hands. Lucien looked terrifyingly, impossibly calm—the look of a man who was already calculating a body count.

And me? I felt physically sick. Not scared anymore. Not yet. Just entirely, thoroughly sick to my stomach.

Because that revelation meant this nightmare wasn't a recent development. It wasn't some random, spontaneous retaliation for what we did to Aaron. Someone had been watching me for a very, very long time. Long enough to build a portfolio. Long enough to study my daily routines. Long enough to know my every move, my habits, my vulnerabilities.

Amara tightly grabbed my hand across the table. "Sarah..."

I couldn't even answer her. My mind was already racing down a horrific rabbit hole. How long? How close did they get while I was walking alone? How many times did I look out a window and miss them standing in the dark?

Lucien stood up, buttoning his jacket with a swift, decisive motion. "We’re going."

I blinked up at him, disoriented. "What? Going where?"

"To the secure warehouse. We're going to see the vehicle and the evidence ourselves."

Vincent nodded sharply, already on his feet, while Ethan checked the tactical knife hidden in his belt. Zane grabbed his keys off the counter. Everything began moving incredibly fast. Too fast. Within five minutes, we were heading out into the rainy morning.

This time, there was no bright pink Porsche. No loud statement. No invitation for attention. We piled into Lucien’s heavily armored, blacked-out SUV. Just pure speed and tactical security.

An oppressive, heavy silence filled the vehicle for the entire duration of the drive. The wipers slapped rhythmically against the windshield, the only sound accompanying the storm inside my head. My fingers twisted together in my lap, squeezing so hard my nails dug into my skin.

Lucien noticed. From the middle seat next to me, his massive, warm hand slid over mine, covering my trembling fingers and gently forcing them to relax. His touch was solid, steady, and entirely grounding. "You’re okay, Sarah. We have you."

I nodded automatically, staring out the tinted window. But I wasn't okay. Not really. Because deep down in my gut, one terrifying thought wouldn't leave me alone. If someone has been watching me for this long... what else do they know about me? What else do they know about my baby?

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a secluded, heavily guarded salvage warehouse on the outskirts of the Voss territory. The massive electronic bay doors rolled up, and we stepped into the cold, concrete interior.

Sitting directly in the center of the floor under a harsh spotlight was the black sedan. It sat there completely still, dented and dark, waiting for us like an open trap.

The forensic team stepped back as the brothers approached. Zane immediately opened the passenger door to inspect the dashboard telemetry. Vincent began tearing through the leather seats in the back, checking for hidden compartments. Lucien walked around to the rear, checking the trunk liner.

Then, Ethan stopped dead in his tracks by the driver's side door. He froze completely, his entire body rigid as he stared down at something sitting on the console.

He reached in with a gloved hand, pulling out a physical glossy print. When he turned around to face me, the color had completely drained from his face.

"Sarah," he choked out, turning the photograph toward me.

My blood ran entirely to ice, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears.

It wasn't a surveillance photo of me walking down the street. It wasn't a picture from the hospital clinic. It was an old, candid photograph of me and Aaron, laughing together in a coffee shop years ago, back when we were young, back before his father's sins turned him into a monster, before everything fell apart.

But it was the words scrawled violently across our faces that made my breath completely hitch. Written in thick, dripping red ink were five aggressive word:

He still belongs to you.